Saturday, February 26, 2011
Kenya!
By the time you see this, I will be boarding a plane in Lomé bound for Ethiopia and eventually Nairobi! If I haven't already had the chance to do so, there are a few more blog updates from my last week in Agbang that will be up soon.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Yay Bo!
The Huskers have a new OC and from everything I have read and heard, he’s the right man for the job! Wohoo! Now all we have to do is find a way for Rex Burkhead to line up at all 11 positions on offense at the same time.
In other news, I haven’t seen a cute (white) girl in over 6 months. Better luck in Nairobi?
In other news, I haven’t seen a cute (white) girl in over 6 months. Better luck in Nairobi?
Yay Bo!
The Huskers have a new OC and from everything I have read and heard, he’s the right man for the job! Wohoo! Now all we have to do is find a way for Rex Burkhead to line up at all 11 positions on offense at the same time.
In other news, I haven’t seen a cute (white) girl in over 6 months. Better luck in Nairobi?
In other news, I haven’t seen a cute (white) girl in over 6 months. Better luck in Nairobi?
New Pictures
I uploaded some new pictures of the garden. The previous picture of the garden is a little outdated now. It shows the original garden, the back 60ft or so, and the first expansion, the front 60 ft including the house of flying green beans. The new pictures include a before (rocks and brush) and after (rock wall) picture of the wall that I built a few Sundays ago along the South side of the garden. There are also a few different angles of a wall that went up this Saturday encompassing nearly the entire front (West) entrance of the garden, which is made out of masonry bricks that were dug up from different areas inside of the now walled in area. There is a picture with some rows of black ash from recently burned brush. That along with a 10 sq ft. area to the right of it is the second phase of expansion for the garden. The barren area to the left of that, which is pictured by itself from the East side of the garden, is the fourth expansion phase, which will be used by Fr. Innocent to grow ginger for the fabrication of the Elixir of Agbang (Vodka steeped in ginger and medicinal roots).
Blaise is picture watering the garden and Innocent is pictured washing his moto. There is also a picture of an African carrot with my hand to show the enormity of the leaves.
Blaise is picture watering the garden and Innocent is pictured washing his moto. There is also a picture of an African carrot with my hand to show the enormity of the leaves.
I should eat a bird
This whole having worms thing has lost its appeal, if it ever had any. I’m ready to be rid of them. I think this round came with a nice piece of goat meat in Benin. But honestly, the way food is cooked, eaten, and stored here I could have picked them up in one of a billion different ways.
I should eat a bird
This whole having worms thing has lost its appeal, if it ever had any. I’m ready to be rid of them. I think this round came with a nice piece of goat meat in Benin. But honestly, the way food is cooked, eaten, and stored here I could have picked them up in one of a billion different ways.
Strange
So I find myself, near the end of my six months in Togo, not shying away from the dangerous things that I probably shouldn’t be messing with. Generally, I would assume that, as the mindset changes regarding the time remaining in a situation, that risk taking would be greater towards the beginning or earlier half of the middle of an experience as opposed to near the end when it is perceived to be the time when the most can be lost. Well, the same amount can be lost throughout, the only difference is that you think there is more to lose at the end and or you are slightly more conscious of it.
This mini revelation comes after realizing that just under 6 months ago I took one of the scariest motorcycle rides of my life from Kara to Agbang at night. Now, I am driving that motorcycle (mine you that was the 4th time ever being behind the handlebars). In the garden I have uncovered snakes in digging up bricks and rocks. I stumbled upon a king scorpion moving dead tree stumps. And in a strange series of events I found myself creeping closer (the photo was worth the risk) to a pack of African honeybees using the gardens water barrel as a personal drinking fountain.
And it isn’t like this is a new occurrence for me. Four years ago this April or May (I forget the exact date), I found myself looking for an adventure along the goat paths that were at times inches away from 500+ ft sheer drops off of the Cliffs of Moore in Galway. And unlike my mom, I didn’t have the satisfaction of knowing that “I am reading this, he is still alive.”
This mini revelation comes after realizing that just under 6 months ago I took one of the scariest motorcycle rides of my life from Kara to Agbang at night. Now, I am driving that motorcycle (mine you that was the 4th time ever being behind the handlebars). In the garden I have uncovered snakes in digging up bricks and rocks. I stumbled upon a king scorpion moving dead tree stumps. And in a strange series of events I found myself creeping closer (the photo was worth the risk) to a pack of African honeybees using the gardens water barrel as a personal drinking fountain.
And it isn’t like this is a new occurrence for me. Four years ago this April or May (I forget the exact date), I found myself looking for an adventure along the goat paths that were at times inches away from 500+ ft sheer drops off of the Cliffs of Moore in Galway. And unlike my mom, I didn’t have the satisfaction of knowing that “I am reading this, he is still alive.”
Strange
So I find myself, near the end of my six months in Togo, not shying away from the dangerous things that I probably shouldn’t be messing with. Generally, I would assume that, as the mindset changes regarding the time remaining in a situation, that risk taking would be greater towards the beginning or earlier half of the middle of an experience as opposed to near the end when it is perceived to be the time when the most can be lost. Well, the same amount can be lost throughout, the only difference is that you think there is more to lose at the end and or you are slightly more conscious of it.
This mini revelation comes after realizing that just under 6 months ago I took one of the scariest motorcycle rides of my life from Kara to Agbang at night. Now, I am driving that motorcycle (mine you that was the 4th time ever being behind the handlebars). In the garden I have uncovered snakes in digging up bricks and rocks. I stumbled upon a king scorpion moving dead tree stumps. And in a strange series of events I found myself creeping closer (the photo was worth the risk) to a pack of African honeybees using the gardens water barrel as a personal drinking fountain.
And it isn’t like this is a new occurrence for me. Four years ago this April or May (I forget the exact date), I found myself looking for an adventure along the goat paths that were at times inches away from 500+ ft sheer drops off of the Cliffs of Moore in Galway. And unlike my mom, I didn’t have the satisfaction of knowing that “I am reading this, he is still alive.”
This mini revelation comes after realizing that just under 6 months ago I took one of the scariest motorcycle rides of my life from Kara to Agbang at night. Now, I am driving that motorcycle (mine you that was the 4th time ever being behind the handlebars). In the garden I have uncovered snakes in digging up bricks and rocks. I stumbled upon a king scorpion moving dead tree stumps. And in a strange series of events I found myself creeping closer (the photo was worth the risk) to a pack of African honeybees using the gardens water barrel as a personal drinking fountain.
And it isn’t like this is a new occurrence for me. Four years ago this April or May (I forget the exact date), I found myself looking for an adventure along the goat paths that were at times inches away from 500+ ft sheer drops off of the Cliffs of Moore in Galway. And unlike my mom, I didn’t have the satisfaction of knowing that “I am reading this, he is still alive.”
Wild Dogs
In watching a Planet Earth episode the other night I came to a startling realization. The African Wild dogs, an endangered species, inhabit the Pendjari Park that I visited a week ago. Not that I saw them, but I did see picture of the dogs painted on buildings with signs saying that they were dangerous but not to kill them. Originally I mistook them for strange picture of hyenas although something always looked off about them (their ears). It doesn’t change anything, but its kind of cool to say that I was within striking distance of one of the most endangered animals in the world.
Wild Dogs
In watching a Planet Earth episode the other night I came to a startling realization. The African Wild dogs, an endangered species, inhabit the Pendjari Park that I visited a week ago. Not that I saw them, but I did see picture of the dogs painted on buildings with signs saying that they were dangerous but not to kill them. Originally I mistook them for strange picture of hyenas although something always looked off about them (their ears). It doesn’t change anything, but its kind of cool to say that I was within striking distance of one of the most endangered animals in the world.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The Constant Gardener
Fr. Blaise stepped up his game today. Everyone did. I decided not to make a run to Kara as I had originally planned due to an unfortunate case of worms and the unavailability of the friend I was going to visit. Also, I had an unexpected surprise as a few students showed up to work in the garden. I had asked them the night before if they could come and figured it was a long shot, but it turned out being worth it.
We successfully finished off over half of the garden project by clearing brush and burning it in the furrowed rows, digging up over 100 mason bricks and creating a wall around the entrance of the garden (the part that is visible from the entrance to the monastery), created new paths, and cleared rocks out of a portion of ground that was previously unusable for planting. In finishing up today, I came to two realizations. The first, the garden will have more than tripled in size since my arrival and has even more room for expansion if it is needed. The second, I should have taught the 4th grade class. Not that Pelimliwa and I aren’t good friends, but I think that the potential was there to have about 5 or 6 Pelimliwa’s had I been in the other class. There are 11 more students, most of them live within a 4 km distance as opposed to one of mine, and they are more outgoing. Not that there shouldn’t be a degree of professionalism when interacting with students, but my more playful and sometimes childlike demeanor meshes very well with most of them. I visited a few of their houses this afternoon to thank them for coming to help me this morning and in doing so I ran into a few more and the little outing turned into a school reunion! Not that I have any regrets about how things turned out, but things could have been different in a very good way.
As it stands, I will get a nice day of rest and recovery tomorrow before packing up and putting some finishing touches on the garden Monday and Tuesday before heading to Kara on Wednesday, Lomé on Thursday, and Nairobi on Saturday.
We successfully finished off over half of the garden project by clearing brush and burning it in the furrowed rows, digging up over 100 mason bricks and creating a wall around the entrance of the garden (the part that is visible from the entrance to the monastery), created new paths, and cleared rocks out of a portion of ground that was previously unusable for planting. In finishing up today, I came to two realizations. The first, the garden will have more than tripled in size since my arrival and has even more room for expansion if it is needed. The second, I should have taught the 4th grade class. Not that Pelimliwa and I aren’t good friends, but I think that the potential was there to have about 5 or 6 Pelimliwa’s had I been in the other class. There are 11 more students, most of them live within a 4 km distance as opposed to one of mine, and they are more outgoing. Not that there shouldn’t be a degree of professionalism when interacting with students, but my more playful and sometimes childlike demeanor meshes very well with most of them. I visited a few of their houses this afternoon to thank them for coming to help me this morning and in doing so I ran into a few more and the little outing turned into a school reunion! Not that I have any regrets about how things turned out, but things could have been different in a very good way.
As it stands, I will get a nice day of rest and recovery tomorrow before packing up and putting some finishing touches on the garden Monday and Tuesday before heading to Kara on Wednesday, Lomé on Thursday, and Nairobi on Saturday.
Consumerism
I recently read an article that talked about the major problems facing humanity. It wasn’t a new concept to tackle by any means. And that is me saying this with my limited resources (few magazines and random newspaper clippings) in the heart of Africa. But something stood out about how we have these “problems.” Over-population scares, consumerism, and all of the environmental issues in between seem to be the popular talking points. There seems to be a relative consensus on the population issue and honestly it’s not going to be as bad as people think, says the suburbian raised white kid from a farm state where you can go 30+ miles without seeing more than a small homestead. And this ‘scare’ is partially coming about due to the nature of world-wide consumerism, which in effect affects the environment. The ‘doomsday trifecta’ of sorts.
And to that almost everyone (that I have read) says that ‘we are making strides’ on the environmental change and the consumerism issue by finding renewable sources of energy and biofuels. Now I am no genius or anything, but finding new ways to consume the same amount doesn’t exactly do much other than create a few jobs, take away others, and start us on a path towards another ‘consumer crisis’ when our newfound source of energy falls into a state of peril or isn’t the ‘answer’. The experts have it right, consumerism is the problem. But they all go awry with the solutions. That is because their solutions aren’t more than temporary fixes, duct tape and a paper clip if you will. And so far as we consume the way we do, the problem will constantly be masked by gray and silver fixes until…Basically all I am trying to say is that if the problem is consumerism then the solution has to include the idea of reducing it, not simply finding a way to allow it to continue at its current levels or even increase at the expense of a newer or more bountiful natural resource.
And to that almost everyone (that I have read) says that ‘we are making strides’ on the environmental change and the consumerism issue by finding renewable sources of energy and biofuels. Now I am no genius or anything, but finding new ways to consume the same amount doesn’t exactly do much other than create a few jobs, take away others, and start us on a path towards another ‘consumer crisis’ when our newfound source of energy falls into a state of peril or isn’t the ‘answer’. The experts have it right, consumerism is the problem. But they all go awry with the solutions. That is because their solutions aren’t more than temporary fixes, duct tape and a paper clip if you will. And so far as we consume the way we do, the problem will constantly be masked by gray and silver fixes until…Basically all I am trying to say is that if the problem is consumerism then the solution has to include the idea of reducing it, not simply finding a way to allow it to continue at its current levels or even increase at the expense of a newer or more bountiful natural resource.
Computer
I found a hidden treasure trove of Planet Earth episodes in a buried file on my computer. (there is no connection between piracy and ‘buried’, that just happened to be the first word to cross my mind) At last a chance to work on my power multitasking skills – watching a movie, listening to music, writing a blog post, and playing the computer in Othello, and getting it all done in less than 2 hours! Yup, I got game.
The real reason for this post is to ask anyone if they know of any computer donating programs or have computers that can be donated/a way of getting them to Africa. It’s a long shot I know, but I told the librarian here that I would ask around and see if anything came up. The expectations aren’t too high on this one, but that’s when you seem to catch the biggest fish right? (any ideas can be sent to me at gsullivan1518(at)gmail.com, yes I am computer illiterate on a French setting of an English keyboard and cant find the damn symbol.
The real reason for this post is to ask anyone if they know of any computer donating programs or have computers that can be donated/a way of getting them to Africa. It’s a long shot I know, but I told the librarian here that I would ask around and see if anything came up. The expectations aren’t too high on this one, but that’s when you seem to catch the biggest fish right? (any ideas can be sent to me at gsullivan1518(at)gmail.com, yes I am computer illiterate on a French setting of an English keyboard and cant find the damn symbol.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Mosquitoes
They’re back! The little buggers have returned and are making up for lost time. Gone are the days where I could go to the bathroom and not have to worry about leaving with four or five bites all over my back and backside. At least I only have to deal with them for another week! Then I get to move to Kenya, which is home to a spider that dines solely on mosquitoes and as strange as it sounds is attracted to sweaty socks.
Lame Duck
Let’s just say that the BVC is lucky that I have a decent set of moral values and have, despite many opportunities to do so, not exploited my position as a lame duck volunteer. As I am leaving in just over a week and could wreak havoc on the monastery budget and monks, I have decided not to. That shouldn’t come as a surprise considering that I have, for the most part, politely refused most offerings and have insisted on paying for just about every courtesy afforded to me. But this is an interesting position that I have never fully experienced before and I can see where it would be easy to fall into a more lackadaisical mindset about what one should do during this period of time.
One thing's for sure...
I am going to be eating well for the next few days. A care package just came! I now have about a week to eat what previously could’ve lasted me close to a month had I eaten sparingly. Who knows, maybe my students might benefit from my good fortune…we’ll see how they behave for the remaining classes.
The Difference
I read an article on American ideology today. It hit some key points, but one thing that really struck out was the fact (anecdotal of course) that we have been brought up to ask “why?” And no I am not referring to the annoying yet amusing age of childhood when it seems like that is the only word that the kid knows. It is not that we have some of the best universities and minds in the world teaching the next wave of students. No. It is that those students question the teacher, the ideas, and the support of those ideas.
Maybe it was a little bit of cultural indifference on my part, but I just now noticed the rather big difference here. It occurred to me during a friendly football match of all places. I have never agreed with all of the rules that are used here as ‘hand balls’ are thrown around as liberally as penalty flags on the Huskers this past season. The hand ball is there for a reason, yes, but you have to play the advantage. It doesn’t always have to be a free kick. In any case I was on an outskilled team of primary school kids up against some of my students and those from the grade above. Obvious mismatch, but we scored the first goal. The “older” kids then took the ball down and threw up a lazy cross towards the goal that was going out of bounds. The pint-sized preschooler who was the goalie (a single cement block is the goal), ended up slipping and throwing his hand up to catch his balance. The ball hit his hand and the older kids cheered for a penalty kick (aka goal) as the ‘gaurdian’ isn’t allowed to use his hands. Go figure, neither is anyone else. So if the goalie can’t use his hands just like the rest of us then why should a stray touching (even occasionally to deflect the ball from hitting his face) count as anything more than a free kick like every other hand ball?
Not being the slight bit worried about my super-competitiveness I got all riled up about it. They were frustrated at losing to a smaller, slower; and less skilled group of kids and tried to take advantage of an obvious flaw in the system to even the score. I explained my argument, after letting the penalty stand, and got a response that went something like, ‘those are the rules that I have been told.’ To that I responded along the lines of, “but if the rule doesn’t make sense then why do you follow it?” Maybe I am a rare breed who likes to understand why a rule is there, sometimes to learn if or how I can break it, or if I agree with it to let it stand. There is no concern for that here. Whether it be the discipline that the culture drives the students towards or a lack of wanting to know, I can’t completely say. But what I do know is that I can definitely see the cultural difference not that I am looking for it.
Maybe it was a little bit of cultural indifference on my part, but I just now noticed the rather big difference here. It occurred to me during a friendly football match of all places. I have never agreed with all of the rules that are used here as ‘hand balls’ are thrown around as liberally as penalty flags on the Huskers this past season. The hand ball is there for a reason, yes, but you have to play the advantage. It doesn’t always have to be a free kick. In any case I was on an outskilled team of primary school kids up against some of my students and those from the grade above. Obvious mismatch, but we scored the first goal. The “older” kids then took the ball down and threw up a lazy cross towards the goal that was going out of bounds. The pint-sized preschooler who was the goalie (a single cement block is the goal), ended up slipping and throwing his hand up to catch his balance. The ball hit his hand and the older kids cheered for a penalty kick (aka goal) as the ‘gaurdian’ isn’t allowed to use his hands. Go figure, neither is anyone else. So if the goalie can’t use his hands just like the rest of us then why should a stray touching (even occasionally to deflect the ball from hitting his face) count as anything more than a free kick like every other hand ball?
Not being the slight bit worried about my super-competitiveness I got all riled up about it. They were frustrated at losing to a smaller, slower; and less skilled group of kids and tried to take advantage of an obvious flaw in the system to even the score. I explained my argument, after letting the penalty stand, and got a response that went something like, ‘those are the rules that I have been told.’ To that I responded along the lines of, “but if the rule doesn’t make sense then why do you follow it?” Maybe I am a rare breed who likes to understand why a rule is there, sometimes to learn if or how I can break it, or if I agree with it to let it stand. There is no concern for that here. Whether it be the discipline that the culture drives the students towards or a lack of wanting to know, I can’t completely say. But what I do know is that I can definitely see the cultural difference not that I am looking for it.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Why am I teaching?
I had two students today. One of the remaining four has been sent home because she has still yet to pay her school fees and the other one was sick. Of the two remaining, only one has any school books and it is not even a complete set. The one without books, Pelimliwa, lost his to the director of the school due to a failure to care for the 25 year old books. Not that I disagree with the fact that the students should learn to be responsible and put new covers on the books and whatnot, but there is only so much you can do for a book that is twice your age (he’s 13). I didn’t even bother arguing it as it would have been taken as a sign of favoritism and I have enough fear over how the students will be treated after my departure. As it stands, the final English exam of the term is set for next Tuesday and will be my last day at the monastery/school. I hope that my students can surprise me considering they are getting hour long 2-on-1 lessons, but given the track record I am not holding my breath.
For that I would say that I can’t blame them. The students here are referred to as lazy by the same people who don’t show up to give classes or survey the exams. I see a certain element of laziness, sure, but I refer to it as being a kid. It is not like the kids are out playing with their tires or makeshift soccer balls every day. For most of them, their evenings are filled with chores or work in the fields/gardens. Any time left over from that can be used for studying, provided there is sufficient light or money for a flashlight or a candle. And then you’re up before the crack of dawn around 4:30 or so. Throw in the lack of money for decent school supllies, confiscated learning materials, and a lack of faith on the part of the instructors that the children are worth the effort and yeah, I could very easily see how students would fall out of favor for trying in school. On top of it they see no reason to overachieve in school, because here it rarely makes a difference. Unless you have a wealthy family or are extremely lucky or are in the top 5 percent of the university class, you’re stuck in a jobless market and turn into a drain on family resources until you can break through and find some type of work.
What does that mean for me? Well, I no longer prepare lesson plans. Not that I did a very good job of that from the getgo, but at least I gave it the good old college try back then (and to be honest, not much work is needed teaching second year English students who are on their 3rd or 4th language). Now, I plan on the fly and cater to the students who are there. Even that doesn’t help as I often find myself going over old material because half of the class wasn’t there the day before. But if I didn’t somewhat enjoy it I would have left the school long ago. And maybe, just maybe some very much needed financial aid coming in from my cousin Audrey's high school will turn the tide a little bit and start an uptrend...hopefully.
For that I would say that I can’t blame them. The students here are referred to as lazy by the same people who don’t show up to give classes or survey the exams. I see a certain element of laziness, sure, but I refer to it as being a kid. It is not like the kids are out playing with their tires or makeshift soccer balls every day. For most of them, their evenings are filled with chores or work in the fields/gardens. Any time left over from that can be used for studying, provided there is sufficient light or money for a flashlight or a candle. And then you’re up before the crack of dawn around 4:30 or so. Throw in the lack of money for decent school supllies, confiscated learning materials, and a lack of faith on the part of the instructors that the children are worth the effort and yeah, I could very easily see how students would fall out of favor for trying in school. On top of it they see no reason to overachieve in school, because here it rarely makes a difference. Unless you have a wealthy family or are extremely lucky or are in the top 5 percent of the university class, you’re stuck in a jobless market and turn into a drain on family resources until you can break through and find some type of work.
What does that mean for me? Well, I no longer prepare lesson plans. Not that I did a very good job of that from the getgo, but at least I gave it the good old college try back then (and to be honest, not much work is needed teaching second year English students who are on their 3rd or 4th language). Now, I plan on the fly and cater to the students who are there. Even that doesn’t help as I often find myself going over old material because half of the class wasn’t there the day before. But if I didn’t somewhat enjoy it I would have left the school long ago. And maybe, just maybe some very much needed financial aid coming in from my cousin Audrey's high school will turn the tide a little bit and start an uptrend...hopefully.
The Test
By the time you read this I will have either failed or passed. And if I have failed then you most likely wont be reading this right now. Hooray me! I took a solo moto ride into Kara, having only an hour of actual drive time, which was recorded on the previous joy ride over a week ago. And I am pleased to say that I have managed to compress the moto ride from Kara to Agbang into a file that is small enough to load on Youtube (it should already be up). If you want to see what my journey was like, play it in reverse.
A little beat up
Currently, I have a strained tendon in my right wrist that doesn’t seem to want to heal making even the most simple of tasks (putting on a sock) somewhat painful. I am also fighting a small bout of Jungle Foot (aka trench foot) that I picked up from wearing gardening boots for 8 hours straight on a hot and humid day. That one is fun. Luckily it is only a small portion of my middle toe on my left foot, but it is extremely tender. On the other side of things, my right big toe has been re-fractured/restrained after not having healed properly over the past 5ish years. I think I can trace that one back to a soccer practice in high school when we were moving the goalposts and my foot got run over by the tractor trailer that was hauling one of them. I guess for the time being it’s not as bad as it could be. But it makes playing soccer and working slightly difficult.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Rain!
It is finally raining! After lying in bed and listening to the thunder for nearly 2 hours and watching the light change with the moving clouds, it started to rain. And I love it. I might actually get to sleep on dry sheets tonight! Wohoo!
SAFARI
Well, I did my little tourist gig (most touristy thing that I have ever done) at a safari zone in Northern Benin - Pendjari. It was a good experience, but suffice it to say that my type of tourism doesn’t exactly coincide with the typical connotation, the African connotation, or park regulations. Getting to the park was a story in and of itself as we got caught up in Kara before leaving 4 hours after the planned time. My version of the driving instructions was literally drive East, cross the boarder into Benin, keep driving East until you hit a really big road and then turn left (and drive until you see more animals than people) and the driver wanted me to print off a map (which not surprisingly, didn’t give much more information than that – that only took about 5 minutes, there were also some top-secret monk emails that had been forgotten about until we were about 5 miles from the boarder and had to turn around and take care of). We also spent the night in some shantitown about 100 km away from the park due to the lost time and the fact that roads in that part of Benin are highly unsafe at night (I was told that armed men set up false road blocks and then rob you for everything you’ve got once you stop). That night I also had to convince our driver that we should leave before 5 am because we were so far away from the park. My argument was something along the lines of if we leave when you want to get up, the animals will be taking their afternoon naps by the time we get there and we wont see anything. He reluctantly obliged, although we didn’t end up hitting the road until close to 6 am. We reached the park a little after 8h15 and finally made it into the park around 8h30.
The roads in the park were somewhat of a surprise as the park was currently using the dry season to level out some of the main paths. The last time I checked bulldozers, dump trucks, and levelers weren’t on the safari zone picture list. It didn’t have a true safari feel, from the imagined form, for the first hour or so until we got a little more off of the beaten path; at which point I stopped feeling like I was driving through the animal ‘safari’ of the Henry Doorly Zoo. The park was also having controlled burns to clear out some of the dead brush and that happened to be in the area where some of the major attractions can be seen. Naturally the animals were nowhere to be found.
In any case I spent every minute in the park scanning the brush for any sign of movement with my camera at the ready. We didn’t see anything for close to an hour as the first part of the park is the hunting zone and the wildlife has all but cleared out. Our guide picked out a predetermined route that seemed pretty standard, although I was slightly disappointed not to have had any say in the matter as we were basically paying him to sit in the car and tell us what we weren’t allowed to do (get out, honk your horn, drive too fast etc). After a little while we started seeing some animals. And this is when the cultural differences kicked in. Me, wanting to capture NatGeo quality photos from the passenger side of a van, was not too pleased with the speed with which we would drive and pass by potential award winning shots! Maybe I was overplaying it a little bit, but the point is clear: for someone not with a camera, when the animals aren’t doing much but grazing or standing there, all you have to do is look at them for a second, snap a quick keepsake and then move on. I managed to snap at least one decent photo of each animal we saw, but I sure was frustrated at the time. But they did come around a little bit when we saw the hippos, which none of them had ever seen before.
Overall I was satisfied with the experience (even though the major attractions; lions, elephants, leopards, hyenas, didn’t bother to make an appearance – partially due to our tardiness) and realized that I can’t get everything right on the first try. And for the way in which we went about the safari and the considerably small amount of money spent on it, I probably came out on top in the end (we paid 10,000 CFA for two double rooms at a hostel for the night and the hotels in and around the safari zone were upwards of 30,000 CFA per head – it’s not too expensive if you’ve got the money, which most of the visitors, upper-middle aged and older white folk, did) I also came to the realization that my pictures couldn’t have gotten much better under the circumstances as I wasn’t allowed to get out of the car in the first place, so my old school zoom and picture setter-upper wasn’t working for me. But I think I fared pretty well. The pictures are to the right, so I’ll let you be the judge of that.
In reflecting on the experience on the car ride home I came to the conclusion that unless you’re willing to fork out the money or happen to be in a position like mine, you’re probably better off going to the zoo. Not that I would deter anyone from ever going on a safari, because I would do just the opposite. It is an amazing experience seeing the animals in the wild, without the cages or glass in between you and them, even if the shot isn’t that great. It’s only that if you’re going to do it you might as well pull out all the stops. Go big or go home as they say.
Here is a quick list of the animals I saw in no particular order, but they are in French so you’ll have to translate some of them: hippopotami, buffle, hippotrague, waterbuck, cobe de buffane, bubale, babouin, vervet (not photographed), phacochére (Pumba), aigle pecheur, crocodile, ombrette, martin-pecheur (not photographed), and a few random birds.
Lastly, I found Rafiki! And as ironic as it would seem, I could only get a shot of his but.
The roads in the park were somewhat of a surprise as the park was currently using the dry season to level out some of the main paths. The last time I checked bulldozers, dump trucks, and levelers weren’t on the safari zone picture list. It didn’t have a true safari feel, from the imagined form, for the first hour or so until we got a little more off of the beaten path; at which point I stopped feeling like I was driving through the animal ‘safari’ of the Henry Doorly Zoo. The park was also having controlled burns to clear out some of the dead brush and that happened to be in the area where some of the major attractions can be seen. Naturally the animals were nowhere to be found.
In any case I spent every minute in the park scanning the brush for any sign of movement with my camera at the ready. We didn’t see anything for close to an hour as the first part of the park is the hunting zone and the wildlife has all but cleared out. Our guide picked out a predetermined route that seemed pretty standard, although I was slightly disappointed not to have had any say in the matter as we were basically paying him to sit in the car and tell us what we weren’t allowed to do (get out, honk your horn, drive too fast etc). After a little while we started seeing some animals. And this is when the cultural differences kicked in. Me, wanting to capture NatGeo quality photos from the passenger side of a van, was not too pleased with the speed with which we would drive and pass by potential award winning shots! Maybe I was overplaying it a little bit, but the point is clear: for someone not with a camera, when the animals aren’t doing much but grazing or standing there, all you have to do is look at them for a second, snap a quick keepsake and then move on. I managed to snap at least one decent photo of each animal we saw, but I sure was frustrated at the time. But they did come around a little bit when we saw the hippos, which none of them had ever seen before.
Overall I was satisfied with the experience (even though the major attractions; lions, elephants, leopards, hyenas, didn’t bother to make an appearance – partially due to our tardiness) and realized that I can’t get everything right on the first try. And for the way in which we went about the safari and the considerably small amount of money spent on it, I probably came out on top in the end (we paid 10,000 CFA for two double rooms at a hostel for the night and the hotels in and around the safari zone were upwards of 30,000 CFA per head – it’s not too expensive if you’ve got the money, which most of the visitors, upper-middle aged and older white folk, did) I also came to the realization that my pictures couldn’t have gotten much better under the circumstances as I wasn’t allowed to get out of the car in the first place, so my old school zoom and picture setter-upper wasn’t working for me. But I think I fared pretty well. The pictures are to the right, so I’ll let you be the judge of that.
In reflecting on the experience on the car ride home I came to the conclusion that unless you’re willing to fork out the money or happen to be in a position like mine, you’re probably better off going to the zoo. Not that I would deter anyone from ever going on a safari, because I would do just the opposite. It is an amazing experience seeing the animals in the wild, without the cages or glass in between you and them, even if the shot isn’t that great. It’s only that if you’re going to do it you might as well pull out all the stops. Go big or go home as they say.
Here is a quick list of the animals I saw in no particular order, but they are in French so you’ll have to translate some of them: hippopotami, buffle, hippotrague, waterbuck, cobe de buffane, bubale, babouin, vervet (not photographed), phacochére (Pumba), aigle pecheur, crocodile, ombrette, martin-pecheur (not photographed), and a few random birds.
Lastly, I found Rafiki! And as ironic as it would seem, I could only get a shot of his but.
Quick Explanation
The Kenya thing has been approved by both the Prior in Kenya and the BVC so in just over a week, I will be in Nairobi and I am stoked for it. I am somewhat saddened to leave Togo, but all good things must come to an end sooner or later. For me, the time is now. The most important task, building a BVC foundation, is finished, the garden is almost finished, and all that remains is my 5th grade English class. Sadly I will not be able to see it fulfilled, and it is no consolation that I only have 4 students. If I take that approach, then every act of volunteering that I have ever undertaken would be undermined. If not for the difference in but one person’s life, why do it? But it is the reality that while meaningful, the quality of life given to my students would not be drastically increased if at all over the remaining 3 months. For the most part my difference here has been made, the seed has been planted. But someone else needs to water it.
In contrast, Simon told me about the work he was doing in Nairobi over our brief phone call a few days ago. He is working through a social outreach program that finds school aged street urchins and attempts to find out why they are not in school/what can be done to get them there. Now there is something that I can help with while making an immediate impact in the life of another person. Not that I am opposed to the slower, potential impact; but I need a mental boost right about now. And in moving to the other side of the continent and seeing a stark contrast in the lifestyle of another, more developed country, I think I will find that. At first I was skeptical as to my ability to re-energize to take on such a task after expending so much energy already, but then I realized that I thrive on it. It is when I am at my best, on my toes and ready to move with things to see, people to meet, and cultures to experience.
In contrast, Simon told me about the work he was doing in Nairobi over our brief phone call a few days ago. He is working through a social outreach program that finds school aged street urchins and attempts to find out why they are not in school/what can be done to get them there. Now there is something that I can help with while making an immediate impact in the life of another person. Not that I am opposed to the slower, potential impact; but I need a mental boost right about now. And in moving to the other side of the continent and seeing a stark contrast in the lifestyle of another, more developed country, I think I will find that. At first I was skeptical as to my ability to re-energize to take on such a task after expending so much energy already, but then I realized that I thrive on it. It is when I am at my best, on my toes and ready to move with things to see, people to meet, and cultures to experience.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Dames
No not women, sadly. Checkers. Dames is the French name of the game. And it is played very differently here than in other parts of the world. Give regular pieces the ability to jump backwards and kings the ability to super jump any number of spaces in a line. It is a much different game and the Togo version even comes with a an annoying little brother who happens to be the youngest of the family and takes on the traditional role of attention getter. Only this one, isn’t my little brother and he hasn’t learned that when you poke the bear you better be prepared to run for your life. In this case the bear, me, was in a very intense game of checkers (how lame does that sound?), it was the first time that I was actually in danger of losing – street cred was on the line. And the little kid kept touching pieces in the annoying, but harmless way. Christian yelled at him and he snuck his way behind me to deflect the intense stare his brother was giving him. He then started to poke me. Using the shadows I picked out his location in relation to my chair, and surprised him with a lightning quick reverse bear hug. I think it was the sheer surprise of it that made him cry as I only held him for a second, just long enough to make a move and ask him if he was finished poking me. But in any case he made a swipe at me that missed as I leaned forward to examine the board and then he got yelled at by his mother before running inside. Once a big brother, always a big brother. The kid lived and he hasn’t come within poking distance of me since. And I am still undefeated in checkers.
Boom Roasted
So I totally spaced writing about one of the best things that happened to me this past week. It was quite possibly the most defining day in my six months here.
As it happened, last Tuesday morning started out like any other. I showed up to school at 7h05, took a quick note of the unfinished homework from the day before, taught my lesson, and went promptly to the cafeteria at 8h to ease my hunger pains. I found out that the bishop wasn’t eating breakfast that morning and for some strange reason the devil woman didn’t eat with the rest of the community a half an hour earlier. That left the two of us to eat together in silence. As usual I let her take her bread and share of eggs first, and then something strange happened. I spoke. I asked if she was finished with the eggs before I took them. She shook her head. So I thought, come on I took the step meet me halfway, even a harsh yes would’ve been better than a shake of the head, which didn’t even answer the question as the action meant she didn’t want anymore. I rephrased the question so that “no” meant that I could have the rest of the eggs, heck I probably could have asked her if she was from earth and I still would have gotten the same shake of the head response.
In any case, I ate my portion of eggs with the ever-looming hotelier (Eugene) in the background constantly peering in to see if I had finished and if there were any scraps left that he could scarf down. I can’t stand it when he does that. Every day, he comes in and asks if I am finished with the hot water and tray of condiments so that he can clear them and go on to do more important things, as if he has more pressing things to do. His job at the monastery is to look after the guests, hence hotelier. Not that I abuse that, hell I even offered on multiple occasions to clear everything so that I could sit in peace for a little while, but for some reason or another that one never manifested. The woman meanwhile, washed her bowl while leaving her full loaf egg sandwich on the table to be taken back to her room.
So far so good, but it was then that I shook the bottle. Generally I wash my breakfast dishes. From the start Colin and I, with the exception of our learning curve period, washed our own dishes and most of the communities’ breakfast dishes (cookware included). But when I am pressed, for school or work, I neatly stack them and leave them with the rest of the breakfast dishes. No problem whatsoever with it, in fact I am told to do it by the people who know my work around the community. Well on this particular Tuesday, I left my dishes (which consist of a bowl, a spoon, a knife, and a plate – none of which are very dirty as I have tea and bread with an occasional egg). I stacked them neatly with platter used for the eggs, wiped off my seat, and went to the garden.
Here it comes, I heard the woman about five minutes later saying, “(translated for your convenience) He is down at his friend’s place (aka, I was working in the garden).” Then I heard Eugene. I turned around from my daily survey of what needed to be done and saw him by a window. He yelled down in a condescending and aggravated voice, “You forgot to wash your dishes!” Replying and toying at the same time, “What dishes?” I gave it a second and went again, “Nope I didn’t forget, but you mean bowl, spoon, knife, and plate; right? I guess I can go back and wash those.” He took the bait. “And the egg platter?” Time to go off…”Oh, that’s my responsibility?” His response, get ready for this cause it literally almost had me doubled over in laughter, “You were the last one to use it.” Come on, are you freaking kidding me?! I haven’t heard that one since 4th grade or maybe an infrequent sibling squabble. With a huge grin on my face I calmly said, “I have to teach and because I am doing so while everyone else is eating I am predispositioned to clean up after them? I guess in the future I can just be sure to run to the kitchen, be the first one to take the food, take the best pieces of food, and let the other person there clean up after me!” That one did it, the cork came flying out of the bottle. The woman was standing next to him, but out of site hoping to witness me getting a verbal lashing for not cleaning up after myself. Nope, she went off on that last comment like a nuclear explosion. Eugene even started to laugh, more so out of nervousness as she was threatening a lot of things and finished her little tirade with “…NO, in that case I am going to go back to Lomé.” I was thinking ‘DIEU MERCI!’ but something inside of me prevented it from coming out as that would have sealed the deal and also could have had some negative ramifications (although most of the people who heard the rant were thinking the same thing). I turned around and went back to work, feeling smug about my position for reasons that will soon become evident.
Blaise came out to the garden not a minute later with an even bigger smile than I had at the time. He all, but congratulated me on the little ‘victory.’ Little it was, and I knew it. I stood up against being coerced to act differently than I wanted to, differently than what should be done – not because I thought it was best, but because it was right. As I have realized in my time here, it is not the people as much as it is the mentality of the community that takes the biggest effect in situations like this.
Time for the background, which should clear up a few things about this story. The night before at supper there were only seven people total eating in the kitchen. Two monks were sitting in their assigned places at the 3rd table, but were told to move up to the 2nd so that only two tables had to be served. One did, one didn’t. The one who didn’t was the one who was previously excommunicated, but later conditionally readmitted to the community. He rattled off a few statements to the sub-prior as to why he would not move. They were all horrible arguments and everyone knew it. It was wrong of him to publicly defy his superior like that, but what was worse in my mind was that Eugene started laughing at him. Maybe I have a soft spot for people in that position because I have been there before, but self-serving laughter at someone who is visibly defeated is degrading and distasteful. Throwing salt in the wound and making sure that it stays there if you will. It was not reprimanded or stopped. I was furious, but bit my tongue from lashing out at him. If Africa has taught me another thing, it’s patience. There is a time and a place for everything, but this wasn’t the time for me to fight even though I was ready.
Next, as far back as I can remember here (which is a long ways) I have made it very clear that breakfast is by far the most important meal for me. I can eat anything save slimy sauces for the other meals, but I need a good, strong breakfast. With that said, it was great up until Eugene became the hotelier. For whatever reason the breakfasts have declined drastically to the point where some days I am told that there is luke-warm water and yams if I would like them. Nope, not gonna take it. On top of it, I am a fast eater. Get in, get it in you, get on with life. So when I say that he rushes me to eat faster so that he can clear the table, you know that I am being rushed and subsequently left to clean up whatever happens to get left behind. Occasionally I obliged, but not any more. On top of it all, I have already described the woman who is back again for whatever reason (vacation I think). But she does not work. She sits in her room or around some of the monks who are doing minor chores, or she goes on walks. Yes, I understand you are sick. Get over it, you’re not dead and I have no pity for you – btw wash your own darn egg platter and the next time someone tries to throw a hand out the least you could do is have the decency to give a verbal response. Also a few days before any of these events took place, I quietly mounted a revolution against the poor breakfasts by buying my own bread and eggs and making my own mid-morning ‘snack,’ which I am allowed to do, but it starts the behind-the-back chatter. I’ll take it over the chatter I get from my stomach and malnourished muscles.
Moving on. Later that same day, after hauling downed trees from the garden to the kitchen (by myself mind you, while visibly seeing a few people napping), I asked Eugene if there was any hot water in the kitchen (as there generally is for anyone who needs it, I take a cup of it with a spoonful of honey for health and energy in the afternoon). He said sorry, but all of it was given to someone who was sick (code for the woman). He went back to his conversation with the other person who was there hoping that I would disappear. I thought, no worries, I’ve got matches and hauled enough wood to make a bonfire the size of a small hut. Prosper, the LB, saw me walking away without the water and asked why I didn’t have it. I explained that I was going to get some matches and he generously helped me make a fire in front of Eugene. The LB has turned a corner of late and while still big and clumsy, he is a genuinely nice person. Eugene then had the nerve to tell me that when I had finished that I should prepare the water for the evening meal. And later that night he asked me to charge his new phone while I was in Kara. I don’t know why I obliged to both, willingly. That is a lie. I know all to well why; I can dance and I know it. I can play the political game as well as anybody and better than some. All it takes is hard work and integrity. You can’t argue with someone who has given you results and has shown you the honesty with which those results have been obtained. It is a large part of why nothing more came from the early morning encounter. If he takes that to anyone, he looks lazy for not washing a plate that he is technically responsible for. And the other monks would rather see me continuing my work than washing dishes. He has no ground to stand on and he knows it and he knows that I know it.
Time for the vindication part to come it. I had a beer with Ezekiel that night in Kara. We shot the breeze for a little while before he brought up some issues about the school and the large problems that it was facing. I gave my 2 cents, saw an opening, seized the opportunity, and hit a home run. Time will tell if it was in the 1st or 9th inning of game 1 or game 7. But I pulled the problems of the school into the mentality around the monastery. Game over. I pulled out every single meaningful argument that I could muster that was backed by verifiable events and data. This was the talk that I had been waiting for, the talk that the program needed to have in order for it to function here, the talk that only someone on the outside and not bound by the traditional rules of monastic life could have had. And I felt liberated. My small sufferings and trials over the past 6 months finally paid off, not completely, but it’s a start.
The person who needed to hear it heard it and what was surprising is that he knew most of it. He was waiting for me to say it, before acting on it. From within the community a position can seem self-serving, but from someone who has nothing to gain from any potential change – it’s the unbiased opinion that is very difficult to come by in a closed community.
And now, it is back to the grindstone for a few days before a nice little day trip to a safari in Benin (yes, Tony I will watch out for the lions) and then in two week’s time - Nairobi, Kenya.
My experience in Togo is now winding down for the near future. I don’t want to be here for the changes, some of which I already know about, and I absolutely refuse to be here for. I will visit again in a few years time to see how time has affected the course of this community and the people that it affects. Hopefully it will be changed for the better and I think it will be, I know it will be.
Boom, Roasted.
As it happened, last Tuesday morning started out like any other. I showed up to school at 7h05, took a quick note of the unfinished homework from the day before, taught my lesson, and went promptly to the cafeteria at 8h to ease my hunger pains. I found out that the bishop wasn’t eating breakfast that morning and for some strange reason the devil woman didn’t eat with the rest of the community a half an hour earlier. That left the two of us to eat together in silence. As usual I let her take her bread and share of eggs first, and then something strange happened. I spoke. I asked if she was finished with the eggs before I took them. She shook her head. So I thought, come on I took the step meet me halfway, even a harsh yes would’ve been better than a shake of the head, which didn’t even answer the question as the action meant she didn’t want anymore. I rephrased the question so that “no” meant that I could have the rest of the eggs, heck I probably could have asked her if she was from earth and I still would have gotten the same shake of the head response.
In any case, I ate my portion of eggs with the ever-looming hotelier (Eugene) in the background constantly peering in to see if I had finished and if there were any scraps left that he could scarf down. I can’t stand it when he does that. Every day, he comes in and asks if I am finished with the hot water and tray of condiments so that he can clear them and go on to do more important things, as if he has more pressing things to do. His job at the monastery is to look after the guests, hence hotelier. Not that I abuse that, hell I even offered on multiple occasions to clear everything so that I could sit in peace for a little while, but for some reason or another that one never manifested. The woman meanwhile, washed her bowl while leaving her full loaf egg sandwich on the table to be taken back to her room.
So far so good, but it was then that I shook the bottle. Generally I wash my breakfast dishes. From the start Colin and I, with the exception of our learning curve period, washed our own dishes and most of the communities’ breakfast dishes (cookware included). But when I am pressed, for school or work, I neatly stack them and leave them with the rest of the breakfast dishes. No problem whatsoever with it, in fact I am told to do it by the people who know my work around the community. Well on this particular Tuesday, I left my dishes (which consist of a bowl, a spoon, a knife, and a plate – none of which are very dirty as I have tea and bread with an occasional egg). I stacked them neatly with platter used for the eggs, wiped off my seat, and went to the garden.
Here it comes, I heard the woman about five minutes later saying, “(translated for your convenience) He is down at his friend’s place (aka, I was working in the garden).” Then I heard Eugene. I turned around from my daily survey of what needed to be done and saw him by a window. He yelled down in a condescending and aggravated voice, “You forgot to wash your dishes!” Replying and toying at the same time, “What dishes?” I gave it a second and went again, “Nope I didn’t forget, but you mean bowl, spoon, knife, and plate; right? I guess I can go back and wash those.” He took the bait. “And the egg platter?” Time to go off…”Oh, that’s my responsibility?” His response, get ready for this cause it literally almost had me doubled over in laughter, “You were the last one to use it.” Come on, are you freaking kidding me?! I haven’t heard that one since 4th grade or maybe an infrequent sibling squabble. With a huge grin on my face I calmly said, “I have to teach and because I am doing so while everyone else is eating I am predispositioned to clean up after them? I guess in the future I can just be sure to run to the kitchen, be the first one to take the food, take the best pieces of food, and let the other person there clean up after me!” That one did it, the cork came flying out of the bottle. The woman was standing next to him, but out of site hoping to witness me getting a verbal lashing for not cleaning up after myself. Nope, she went off on that last comment like a nuclear explosion. Eugene even started to laugh, more so out of nervousness as she was threatening a lot of things and finished her little tirade with “…NO, in that case I am going to go back to Lomé.” I was thinking ‘DIEU MERCI!’ but something inside of me prevented it from coming out as that would have sealed the deal and also could have had some negative ramifications (although most of the people who heard the rant were thinking the same thing). I turned around and went back to work, feeling smug about my position for reasons that will soon become evident.
Blaise came out to the garden not a minute later with an even bigger smile than I had at the time. He all, but congratulated me on the little ‘victory.’ Little it was, and I knew it. I stood up against being coerced to act differently than I wanted to, differently than what should be done – not because I thought it was best, but because it was right. As I have realized in my time here, it is not the people as much as it is the mentality of the community that takes the biggest effect in situations like this.
Time for the background, which should clear up a few things about this story. The night before at supper there were only seven people total eating in the kitchen. Two monks were sitting in their assigned places at the 3rd table, but were told to move up to the 2nd so that only two tables had to be served. One did, one didn’t. The one who didn’t was the one who was previously excommunicated, but later conditionally readmitted to the community. He rattled off a few statements to the sub-prior as to why he would not move. They were all horrible arguments and everyone knew it. It was wrong of him to publicly defy his superior like that, but what was worse in my mind was that Eugene started laughing at him. Maybe I have a soft spot for people in that position because I have been there before, but self-serving laughter at someone who is visibly defeated is degrading and distasteful. Throwing salt in the wound and making sure that it stays there if you will. It was not reprimanded or stopped. I was furious, but bit my tongue from lashing out at him. If Africa has taught me another thing, it’s patience. There is a time and a place for everything, but this wasn’t the time for me to fight even though I was ready.
Next, as far back as I can remember here (which is a long ways) I have made it very clear that breakfast is by far the most important meal for me. I can eat anything save slimy sauces for the other meals, but I need a good, strong breakfast. With that said, it was great up until Eugene became the hotelier. For whatever reason the breakfasts have declined drastically to the point where some days I am told that there is luke-warm water and yams if I would like them. Nope, not gonna take it. On top of it, I am a fast eater. Get in, get it in you, get on with life. So when I say that he rushes me to eat faster so that he can clear the table, you know that I am being rushed and subsequently left to clean up whatever happens to get left behind. Occasionally I obliged, but not any more. On top of it all, I have already described the woman who is back again for whatever reason (vacation I think). But she does not work. She sits in her room or around some of the monks who are doing minor chores, or she goes on walks. Yes, I understand you are sick. Get over it, you’re not dead and I have no pity for you – btw wash your own darn egg platter and the next time someone tries to throw a hand out the least you could do is have the decency to give a verbal response. Also a few days before any of these events took place, I quietly mounted a revolution against the poor breakfasts by buying my own bread and eggs and making my own mid-morning ‘snack,’ which I am allowed to do, but it starts the behind-the-back chatter. I’ll take it over the chatter I get from my stomach and malnourished muscles.
Moving on. Later that same day, after hauling downed trees from the garden to the kitchen (by myself mind you, while visibly seeing a few people napping), I asked Eugene if there was any hot water in the kitchen (as there generally is for anyone who needs it, I take a cup of it with a spoonful of honey for health and energy in the afternoon). He said sorry, but all of it was given to someone who was sick (code for the woman). He went back to his conversation with the other person who was there hoping that I would disappear. I thought, no worries, I’ve got matches and hauled enough wood to make a bonfire the size of a small hut. Prosper, the LB, saw me walking away without the water and asked why I didn’t have it. I explained that I was going to get some matches and he generously helped me make a fire in front of Eugene. The LB has turned a corner of late and while still big and clumsy, he is a genuinely nice person. Eugene then had the nerve to tell me that when I had finished that I should prepare the water for the evening meal. And later that night he asked me to charge his new phone while I was in Kara. I don’t know why I obliged to both, willingly. That is a lie. I know all to well why; I can dance and I know it. I can play the political game as well as anybody and better than some. All it takes is hard work and integrity. You can’t argue with someone who has given you results and has shown you the honesty with which those results have been obtained. It is a large part of why nothing more came from the early morning encounter. If he takes that to anyone, he looks lazy for not washing a plate that he is technically responsible for. And the other monks would rather see me continuing my work than washing dishes. He has no ground to stand on and he knows it and he knows that I know it.
Time for the vindication part to come it. I had a beer with Ezekiel that night in Kara. We shot the breeze for a little while before he brought up some issues about the school and the large problems that it was facing. I gave my 2 cents, saw an opening, seized the opportunity, and hit a home run. Time will tell if it was in the 1st or 9th inning of game 1 or game 7. But I pulled the problems of the school into the mentality around the monastery. Game over. I pulled out every single meaningful argument that I could muster that was backed by verifiable events and data. This was the talk that I had been waiting for, the talk that the program needed to have in order for it to function here, the talk that only someone on the outside and not bound by the traditional rules of monastic life could have had. And I felt liberated. My small sufferings and trials over the past 6 months finally paid off, not completely, but it’s a start.
The person who needed to hear it heard it and what was surprising is that he knew most of it. He was waiting for me to say it, before acting on it. From within the community a position can seem self-serving, but from someone who has nothing to gain from any potential change – it’s the unbiased opinion that is very difficult to come by in a closed community.
And now, it is back to the grindstone for a few days before a nice little day trip to a safari in Benin (yes, Tony I will watch out for the lions) and then in two week’s time - Nairobi, Kenya.
My experience in Togo is now winding down for the near future. I don’t want to be here for the changes, some of which I already know about, and I absolutely refuse to be here for. I will visit again in a few years time to see how time has affected the course of this community and the people that it affects. Hopefully it will be changed for the better and I think it will be, I know it will be.
Boom, Roasted.
Surprise!
So I kinda spaced the surprise that I mentioned two weeks ago. It is here, but I don’t know if I will be able to get it up online in a timely manner like I had hoped. A few weeks ago I took a video of the moto ride from Kara to Agbang and I had no way to control the settings, so the file size is a little too large and I will have to tinker with it before getting it down to an acceptable size. But it is coming!
Friday, February 11, 2011
Riding Solo
I got a motorcycle! Well, sort of. So I asked Fr. Innocent if he could teach me how to drive a motorcycle a few weeks ago. He received permission from Bernard and got a hold of a spare monastery moto that doesn’t get used terribly often. It’s a nice little junker straight out of the early 90’s, has no working accessories (lights, odometer – which reads 00000, speedometer, rpm’s – don’t know the name of that one, horn, gear indicator, or automatic start) and is a little touchy going into 1st, but it runs. I had a nice little hour-long lesson from Emanuel (a French teacher at the school) and then went on a little cruise to Agbebou during which I found out how touchy the 1st gear was. I’m a pro once I get the dang thing rollin’, but that didn’t happen too often. I was the afternoon spectacle everywhere we stopped, because the white guy stalled out about 15 times before finally getting it together. The African sun definitely wasn’t a friend of mine either as I knew what the problem was, being a little too quick off the clutch, but couldn’t find the right touch. As soon as I did though I was about ready to drive to Kara. Had there not been lunch shortly thereafter, I probably would have.
As I parked the moto in the trees, Emanuel showed me how to lock it up and then tossed me the key. That’s right, he tossed me the key. Talk about feeling like I was 15 again. Later that afternoon, after working in the garden and right before a soccer match, I decided to take an implied, but generally looked down upon liberty of mine – freedom of mobility. No one was around, I had an errand to run, and I had the key to a motorcycle. Recipe for a joy ride anyone?
I went down past the school, where I got a few jeers from my students who were in P.E., and headed down the path towards Agbebou. Suddenly the bike stalled and the engine died. Right about then I was thinking ‘oh shit. This one’s gonna blow up in your face – meh oh well, (high British inner voice) it’s only a flesh wound.’ Fortune favored me though. It turns out that I double clutched into 4th by accident and didn’t give the proper amount of gas to keep the engine going.
I made my way all high and mighty like to the bar where I had a tab running from an outing with Blaise the week before. Trying to act in the ‘cool, yeah I’ve gotta bike and I know what I am doing’ attitude I parked my bike right in the middle of the access way without even realizing it. I greeted everyone, who all had rather surprised looks on their faces, paid of the tab and took off. Whether it was my subconscious or my speed demon inside of me or just pure chance I had a perfectly executed, accidental peel out and left the bar in my dust. (fyi peeling out on a dirt/gravel road with 3 ft deep ditches on either side is a little more exhilarating/outride scary than it sounds).
I made it back to the school where I found that no one had stayed to play soccer because the ball is deflated and for some reason no one has figured out a way to keep it inflated (a few of the students have bike pumps at their houses). In any case I made back to the monastery in one piece and with a still functional motorcycle, so I’d call it a good day.
As I parked the moto in the trees, Emanuel showed me how to lock it up and then tossed me the key. That’s right, he tossed me the key. Talk about feeling like I was 15 again. Later that afternoon, after working in the garden and right before a soccer match, I decided to take an implied, but generally looked down upon liberty of mine – freedom of mobility. No one was around, I had an errand to run, and I had the key to a motorcycle. Recipe for a joy ride anyone?
I went down past the school, where I got a few jeers from my students who were in P.E., and headed down the path towards Agbebou. Suddenly the bike stalled and the engine died. Right about then I was thinking ‘oh shit. This one’s gonna blow up in your face – meh oh well, (high British inner voice) it’s only a flesh wound.’ Fortune favored me though. It turns out that I double clutched into 4th by accident and didn’t give the proper amount of gas to keep the engine going.
I made my way all high and mighty like to the bar where I had a tab running from an outing with Blaise the week before. Trying to act in the ‘cool, yeah I’ve gotta bike and I know what I am doing’ attitude I parked my bike right in the middle of the access way without even realizing it. I greeted everyone, who all had rather surprised looks on their faces, paid of the tab and took off. Whether it was my subconscious or my speed demon inside of me or just pure chance I had a perfectly executed, accidental peel out and left the bar in my dust. (fyi peeling out on a dirt/gravel road with 3 ft deep ditches on either side is a little more exhilarating/outride scary than it sounds).
I made it back to the school where I found that no one had stayed to play soccer because the ball is deflated and for some reason no one has figured out a way to keep it inflated (a few of the students have bike pumps at their houses). In any case I made back to the monastery in one piece and with a still functional motorcycle, so I’d call it a good day.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
African Wildlife
I have recently found out that a type of black wasp and I have similar tastes. I walked into my room this afternoon (Sunday) only to find a massive wasp building its next on my bedpost. I accidentally left my stoop door open all day. I mean what can I say, he was looking for a quiet place, out of the sun, away from heavy traffic, and fairly safe from predators or anything that could harm him in any way. He can join the club because that’s exactly why I like my room! Sadly, I am a little more selfish than him. As soon as he flew out to get some more dirt (he builds this thing by mixing saliva and dirt to form a mud that gets molded into a hive-like nest) I shut the door and window, scraped of the nest and tossed it out the opposing door.
The Lord's Day
In terms of ‘setting my students free’ from their work, there was a massive cultural clash that went unnoticed. Here, children are used as laborers just like everyone else. But at the monastery some of the monks often call upon students to do work and generally the students are bound by some unwritten rule of not leaving until being allowed to out of fear of retribution come the next class with whomever they are working for. In my case, the students weren’t mine, I asked them to come without any obligation, I told them that they would be rewarded for their efforts, I asked how long they could/were willing to stay, and I fed them, twice. They were there by their own wanting to be there. I paid them each 500CFA, which is more than most people in the country make in a day, but would put me on par with abusive practices around the world had the conditions been somewhat different. Hell, that’s enough money to feed their families for close to a week!
As for not working on Sunday, well I think part of that spiel was due to the fact that we were working right below his window and he likes his post lunch quiet/nap time. Respectable, and I understand that aspect. But I am a little fuzzy on why we’re not supposed work on Sunday (not that I follow it in any case). If you go to the Bible, you’ve got the whole ‘keep holy the Lord’s day.’ I don’t recall seeing much if anything relating work and holiness.
Frankly, the Bible can be interpreted in any one of a billion ways and I choose to see it somewhat differently than most. Keeping holy the Lord’s Day means more to me than just simply going to church. I am not one of the ‘spent my hour thinking about football while some guy in a robe gave some spiel about money, God, and community and now I am free for another week’ type of people. In fact I would be almost the complete opposite. That train of thought runs through a station that is similar to Valentine’s Day (that’s St. Valentine’s Day for those who didn’t know it is a feast day). Let’s take one day and make it so that everyone who loves someone has to say I love you in a special way, while trying to surprise them at the same time. If you get something, you’re inevitably happy about it, but in reality slightly disappointed that it wasn’t what you had built up in your mind, it wasn’t from whom you wanted it to be from, or it wasn’t anything at all. All that aside, the meaning gets lost in translation. Yes, you love me, but you had to do this because society tells you to and I will be mad as a hornet if I don’t get my heart-shaped box of chocolates! Now I am no revolutionary, but wouldn’t that box mean a little bit more on any one of the other 364 days of the year when society isn’t telling you that you have say ‘I love you’? It would for me.
Pulling that one back in I would rather do that and go to mass any other day of the week to show that “Hey, God, gotchya on my mind, let’s chat” and work in a productive way using the gifts and talents that have been given to me on the ‘Lord’s Day.’ In any case, the Lord’s Day technically isn’t Sunday. The 7th day of the week (going off of the God rested today theory) is Saturday by all contemporary calendars.
As for not working on Sunday, well I think part of that spiel was due to the fact that we were working right below his window and he likes his post lunch quiet/nap time. Respectable, and I understand that aspect. But I am a little fuzzy on why we’re not supposed work on Sunday (not that I follow it in any case). If you go to the Bible, you’ve got the whole ‘keep holy the Lord’s day.’ I don’t recall seeing much if anything relating work and holiness.
Frankly, the Bible can be interpreted in any one of a billion ways and I choose to see it somewhat differently than most. Keeping holy the Lord’s Day means more to me than just simply going to church. I am not one of the ‘spent my hour thinking about football while some guy in a robe gave some spiel about money, God, and community and now I am free for another week’ type of people. In fact I would be almost the complete opposite. That train of thought runs through a station that is similar to Valentine’s Day (that’s St. Valentine’s Day for those who didn’t know it is a feast day). Let’s take one day and make it so that everyone who loves someone has to say I love you in a special way, while trying to surprise them at the same time. If you get something, you’re inevitably happy about it, but in reality slightly disappointed that it wasn’t what you had built up in your mind, it wasn’t from whom you wanted it to be from, or it wasn’t anything at all. All that aside, the meaning gets lost in translation. Yes, you love me, but you had to do this because society tells you to and I will be mad as a hornet if I don’t get my heart-shaped box of chocolates! Now I am no revolutionary, but wouldn’t that box mean a little bit more on any one of the other 364 days of the year when society isn’t telling you that you have say ‘I love you’? It would for me.
Pulling that one back in I would rather do that and go to mass any other day of the week to show that “Hey, God, gotchya on my mind, let’s chat” and work in a productive way using the gifts and talents that have been given to me on the ‘Lord’s Day.’ In any case, the Lord’s Day technically isn’t Sunday. The 7th day of the week (going off of the God rested today theory) is Saturday by all contemporary calendars.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Lazy Sunday
wasn’t so lazy.
I started by waking up at 6 to go make some off-the-record breakfast (which is a story in and of itself). Basically, I found out that breakfast was going to be water that was heated up the afternoon before and yams with a chance of bread. After a day of only having semi-warm water and old bread, I decided not to risk the near morning starvation by having a friend bring me eggs and bread the night before. So I woke up got and made my way to the kitchen, with “my pantry” in tow (honey, bread, tea, tomatoes, pimon, & eggs). As Blaise and I were finishing up my 3 egg omelet with toasted bread accompanied by tea with honey, the guy who is in charge of breakfast. I had told him a few days before that I would like to eat a little early because I had some students coming to help me in the garden at 7h. He gave me a piece of bread, the previously heated water, and a bag of tea the night before, not knowing that I had plans of my own. Well I think the point got across that people who work need to eat food. You can imagine the grin on my face as I walked away from the busy as a bee Blaise (who was cooking an omelet sandwich for himself, which I gave him as a sign of gratitude) working in front of an awe-struck monk who was probably still trying to get over how big my omelet was. Sorry dude, but I work my ass off in the garden and I put up with all of the food save the slimy gumbo sauces, which a handful of monks don’t even eat. It’s no secret that the American loves and needs his breakfast. If you can’t help me out a little bit then you had better believe that I am going to go behind your back to make sure that my tummy is happy.
After eating, I went straight to the garden and started working. Blaise came out, but only to tell me that he wasn’t feeling well and had to finish his morning prayers. Luckily two of the ten students that I asked to come and help showed up. I gave them the rest of the monks breakfast, consisting of yams and rice, and then got down to business. Part 1 of my garden project was to clear the paths of the rock pieces and clear out the trees on the South side of the garden from all of the old mason bricks that were tossed there during the construction of the monastery. We worked up until mass, at which point I darted back into the monastery, showered, and made it to mass in time for the gospel and my favorite, the 40+ minute homily. At least this one was in French. But he lost me on the fifth word, as I didn’t know what it meant.
Anywho, I bolted after communion and went straight back to the garden. Shortly after that the lunch bell rang and I managed to get a few extra places set for my little workers. Lunch came and went with the blink of an eye and before I knew it we were back to work, except now the sun was in full force. Luckily, the work we were doing, thanks to our earlier efforts, was now in the shade of the cleared out trees. We finished building the first half of the wall and were gathering the random toe stubbers throughout the garden and placing them as supports for the backside of the wall when I was called upon by John de la Croix. Apparently the community doesn’t work on Sundays (more on this later) and my workers had a lot to do at home on Sundays, generally speaking. He asked me to “set them free” and without explicitly saying it to stop working for the day. We finished our current task and then I let them go, at our previously determined stopping time. And then I went on to water the entire garden and clean up some random things around the garden getting it ready for the week. So much for stopping.
I am craving a donut right now.
I started by waking up at 6 to go make some off-the-record breakfast (which is a story in and of itself). Basically, I found out that breakfast was going to be water that was heated up the afternoon before and yams with a chance of bread. After a day of only having semi-warm water and old bread, I decided not to risk the near morning starvation by having a friend bring me eggs and bread the night before. So I woke up got and made my way to the kitchen, with “my pantry” in tow (honey, bread, tea, tomatoes, pimon, & eggs). As Blaise and I were finishing up my 3 egg omelet with toasted bread accompanied by tea with honey, the guy who is in charge of breakfast. I had told him a few days before that I would like to eat a little early because I had some students coming to help me in the garden at 7h. He gave me a piece of bread, the previously heated water, and a bag of tea the night before, not knowing that I had plans of my own. Well I think the point got across that people who work need to eat food. You can imagine the grin on my face as I walked away from the busy as a bee Blaise (who was cooking an omelet sandwich for himself, which I gave him as a sign of gratitude) working in front of an awe-struck monk who was probably still trying to get over how big my omelet was. Sorry dude, but I work my ass off in the garden and I put up with all of the food save the slimy gumbo sauces, which a handful of monks don’t even eat. It’s no secret that the American loves and needs his breakfast. If you can’t help me out a little bit then you had better believe that I am going to go behind your back to make sure that my tummy is happy.
After eating, I went straight to the garden and started working. Blaise came out, but only to tell me that he wasn’t feeling well and had to finish his morning prayers. Luckily two of the ten students that I asked to come and help showed up. I gave them the rest of the monks breakfast, consisting of yams and rice, and then got down to business. Part 1 of my garden project was to clear the paths of the rock pieces and clear out the trees on the South side of the garden from all of the old mason bricks that were tossed there during the construction of the monastery. We worked up until mass, at which point I darted back into the monastery, showered, and made it to mass in time for the gospel and my favorite, the 40+ minute homily. At least this one was in French. But he lost me on the fifth word, as I didn’t know what it meant.
Anywho, I bolted after communion and went straight back to the garden. Shortly after that the lunch bell rang and I managed to get a few extra places set for my little workers. Lunch came and went with the blink of an eye and before I knew it we were back to work, except now the sun was in full force. Luckily, the work we were doing, thanks to our earlier efforts, was now in the shade of the cleared out trees. We finished building the first half of the wall and were gathering the random toe stubbers throughout the garden and placing them as supports for the backside of the wall when I was called upon by John de la Croix. Apparently the community doesn’t work on Sundays (more on this later) and my workers had a lot to do at home on Sundays, generally speaking. He asked me to “set them free” and without explicitly saying it to stop working for the day. We finished our current task and then I let them go, at our previously determined stopping time. And then I went on to water the entire garden and clean up some random things around the garden getting it ready for the week. So much for stopping.
I am craving a donut right now.
Surprise Phone Call
Just got off the phone with Simon, the volunteer in Nairobi. Sounds like an awesome site. Not to say that Togo isn’t, but the major city, other volunteers/people, and different work sounds like an amazing change of pace for me. I was hesitant at first about not returning home, but I think if this goes through it will be well worth taking advantage of the opportunity.
In terms of Togo, I have come close to nailing down this Pen Pal deal between Duchesne and the girls at the school here. Everyone seems to be on board, now I just have to see if it will work out as planned. Aside from that I have decided to spend the last 3 weeks here expanding the garden and making it a little more user friendly. Currently, as you can see in the picture that I posted last week, there is a row of trees and brush on the right side, a curved, rocky path down the center, overhanging trees, dead plants and everything in between on the left. My goal is to clear the brush in the line of trees and fill the void with the rocks that are scattered around. The dead brush, plants, and branches will be cleared to make room for further expansion (or maybe even a bench or two since the garden is the only green thing this side of the Nile and North of the Equator). The paths will be straightened and expanded to allow for easier passage. The entrances will be gated to prevent people from wandering in and taking random veggies. Currently where the gates will be going, Blaise is using a pile of brush, which works well…too well even, because sometimes it takes me a few minutes to clear a path for myself! I have also been trying to think of a rain collection system to help with water-distribution during the wet season.
If there is one thing I have learned here, it is that decoration and the “looks of the place” come second to usefulness. Well the garden and areas around the monastery are an eyesore, with the exception of the buildings themselves. But as I am hoping some people pick up on, adding a touch of class here and there can do wonders for a public image and psyche of a place like this. Also, the renovations will double the current size of the garden allowing room for expanded use.
In terms of Togo, I have come close to nailing down this Pen Pal deal between Duchesne and the girls at the school here. Everyone seems to be on board, now I just have to see if it will work out as planned. Aside from that I have decided to spend the last 3 weeks here expanding the garden and making it a little more user friendly. Currently, as you can see in the picture that I posted last week, there is a row of trees and brush on the right side, a curved, rocky path down the center, overhanging trees, dead plants and everything in between on the left. My goal is to clear the brush in the line of trees and fill the void with the rocks that are scattered around. The dead brush, plants, and branches will be cleared to make room for further expansion (or maybe even a bench or two since the garden is the only green thing this side of the Nile and North of the Equator). The paths will be straightened and expanded to allow for easier passage. The entrances will be gated to prevent people from wandering in and taking random veggies. Currently where the gates will be going, Blaise is using a pile of brush, which works well…too well even, because sometimes it takes me a few minutes to clear a path for myself! I have also been trying to think of a rain collection system to help with water-distribution during the wet season.
If there is one thing I have learned here, it is that decoration and the “looks of the place” come second to usefulness. Well the garden and areas around the monastery are an eyesore, with the exception of the buildings themselves. But as I am hoping some people pick up on, adding a touch of class here and there can do wonders for a public image and psyche of a place like this. Also, the renovations will double the current size of the garden allowing room for expanded use.
The Eye of the Storm
The winds have started. It is slightly cooler during the day and there are some large clouds looming in the distance. From what I have been told, the “heat” hasn’t yet started. It will begin soon, but only after the first rain. Apparently the dust is settling and will no longer provide a barrier against the solar rays that are turning me darker than the other side of the moon. It won’t be long now.
Friday, February 4, 2011
In other news...
Ezekial found me some honey. After 5 months of searching for the gooey goodness, I finally have it. Now the hard part begins, keeping it away from prying eyes. As Colin told me before he left, honey is somewhat of a delicacy here. And keeping it for myself to help with the dry season allergies while not seeming cold and selfish is going to be a politcal dance.
Next week should bring with it a surprise for all of you regular readers, so be vigilant.
And all is well. I am keeping myself busy with random work and am picking up on little tidbits of Togolese cuisine here and there. God hasn't turned on the fan yet despite my little prayer every night before bed. And judging by the increasing size of my sweatstains, the heat is here to stay and it's only getting started.
Lastly, I am everso close to nailing down this international penpal deal with some Omaha high schools. Hopefully it all works out.
Next week should bring with it a surprise for all of you regular readers, so be vigilant.
And all is well. I am keeping myself busy with random work and am picking up on little tidbits of Togolese cuisine here and there. God hasn't turned on the fan yet despite my little prayer every night before bed. And judging by the increasing size of my sweatstains, the heat is here to stay and it's only getting started.
Lastly, I am everso close to nailing down this international penpal deal with some Omaha high schools. Hopefully it all works out.
Back
It took 12 hours, a beer, a pack of gum, a loaf of bread, a Coke, 3 bathroom breaks, a half a pintade and a Fanta, but I finally made it back. I didn’t really see too much on the road that I haven’t seen before. However, I did come to the realization that there are 4 types of people in Togo. First, there are those who are lucky enough to have running water (provided the water pump/electricity works). Second, there are those who live in the city and have communal running water. This is where there is a pipe with a nozzle sticking out of the ground, a person walks up under it with a bucket on their head, pays the fee, and stands there for a few minutes filling up before truckin’ it back to their house. Third, there are those who have to pump the water themselves. There is a mixture of foot pumps and hand pumps throughout and I don’t think there is a real rhyme or reason to it. They are predominantly found in the countryside or on the outskirts of the cities. Fourth, there are those who have to old-school it with a hole in the ground, a length of rope and a 2 liter leather satchel. I saw a little girl filling up a 25L basin at a well like this. The water was close to 75 feet down. And I thought I had it rough having to jump up and down on a little pedal for 5 full minutes.
Pepper
I have never had a good taste for spicy foods. Ever since I put my tongue on a Tabasco bottle when I was 7 I haven’t touched anything the registers above sugar on the spicy scale. So that may not be completely true, the second part anyways. But I have traditionally had a weak tongue when it comes to spices and an even weaker digestive tract. Well Togo took care of that. I now have an ironclad stomach and can eat peppers and spices without feeling like if opening my mouth would be the equivalent of the fires of the apocalypse descending on earth.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Dzogbegan
We took off at 4 this morning. I swear on my name as Grégoir that I am going to hibernate for a week when I go home. We drove about 4½ hours north of Lomé towards Kpalimé, where I saw a cute white girl for the briefest of moments before getting jolted around by the makeshift speed bumps and holes in the road. Yes, making speed bumps is as easy as throwing a tree in the road and putting some dirt around it. No government intervention necessary. I can just see Pacific Street lined with downed trees and makeshift signs.
Anywho, I found out during the ride that the main purpose for the trip was to go the golden (50th) jubilee for a monastery that is much better known than the one in Agbang. I immediately started prepping myself for a 3 hour mass followed by a few hours of wondering around, then getting a bit of decent food, and finishing off the night with a late arrival in Lomé. I was almost dead on. We show up and surprisingly a good majority of the monks there knew of me somehow. I had about 30 minutes to kill before mass started from the time we arrived. I spend that wondering around the grounds after telling the local monk that I didn’t need a babysitter and I could find my way around (the Agbang monks were getting ready for mass and greeting friends). The grounds were amazingly nice as the monastery is in the mountains so the temperature was cooler and everything was really green and lush. I made it back in time to find a seat close to the door. From experience, if you’re gonna sit for a few hours you might as well be near a breeze. Other than having 15 traditionally dressed village chiefs (whose crowns made them look like big teddy bears wearing dyed cotton clothes) there was nothing different about this mass – long sermons and jokes in a language that I don’t understand. After mass, I waited outside watching some of the dancers before being told to follow Bernard to get some grub. I followed him up until he stopped at the Bishop’s table and sat down. No room for me at that one, I guess ill turn around and go find someone else to tell me where the lesser beings eat.
By the time I got to the line there was hardly any food left, but I managed to get enough to stave off the hunger. The next few hours were spent searching for any of the Agbang monks and breaking into our own van, which I did successfully. Once everyone was back in the van along with a few randos looking to hitch a ride, we took off on the journey back to Lomé. Successfully I spent almost twice as much time on the road than I did in Dzobegan, breaking my first rule of road trips – if the time spent driving isn’t the same as the amount of time you’re going to spend there, you had better have a darn good reason to go. Not that a 50th jubilee celebration isn’t a good reason, its just that the whole 3+ hour mass in Kabiyé followed by awkwardly standing around or being forgotten about and left to tend to the car is getting old. Fast.
I realize the novelty of being a white person here, and one who is working in a community as closely as I am, but feeling like I am being led around by a leash to these events was interesting and even fun, at first. But now it’s getting to a point where it is almost degrading. “Ok, you’ve put your face time in and said ‘hi I am the white guy working in Agbang and yes the other white guy is back in America’ now go find something to do or eat until we leave.” Not that I expect to be waited on hand and foot by any means, but if you're going to bring me to an event like this you can't put me in a corner with a plate of food and hope that I will be content.
Aside from that, the monastery is more of the Mt. Michael sorts than Agbang. It’s a quaint little complex tucked into the heart of the mountain forests, with fields and gardens surrounding it on three sides. There is running water, constant electricity (coming from Ghana I believe), a cooler climate, and well aside from the obvious it’s everything that Agbang is trying to be – self-sufficient. It’s been around for twice as long sure, but the place runs like a well-oiled machine and its got more of a traditional monastery feel to it. But then again, I only got a superficial look at the place, I am not living there.
Anywho, I found out during the ride that the main purpose for the trip was to go the golden (50th) jubilee for a monastery that is much better known than the one in Agbang. I immediately started prepping myself for a 3 hour mass followed by a few hours of wondering around, then getting a bit of decent food, and finishing off the night with a late arrival in Lomé. I was almost dead on. We show up and surprisingly a good majority of the monks there knew of me somehow. I had about 30 minutes to kill before mass started from the time we arrived. I spend that wondering around the grounds after telling the local monk that I didn’t need a babysitter and I could find my way around (the Agbang monks were getting ready for mass and greeting friends). The grounds were amazingly nice as the monastery is in the mountains so the temperature was cooler and everything was really green and lush. I made it back in time to find a seat close to the door. From experience, if you’re gonna sit for a few hours you might as well be near a breeze. Other than having 15 traditionally dressed village chiefs (whose crowns made them look like big teddy bears wearing dyed cotton clothes) there was nothing different about this mass – long sermons and jokes in a language that I don’t understand. After mass, I waited outside watching some of the dancers before being told to follow Bernard to get some grub. I followed him up until he stopped at the Bishop’s table and sat down. No room for me at that one, I guess ill turn around and go find someone else to tell me where the lesser beings eat.
By the time I got to the line there was hardly any food left, but I managed to get enough to stave off the hunger. The next few hours were spent searching for any of the Agbang monks and breaking into our own van, which I did successfully. Once everyone was back in the van along with a few randos looking to hitch a ride, we took off on the journey back to Lomé. Successfully I spent almost twice as much time on the road than I did in Dzobegan, breaking my first rule of road trips – if the time spent driving isn’t the same as the amount of time you’re going to spend there, you had better have a darn good reason to go. Not that a 50th jubilee celebration isn’t a good reason, its just that the whole 3+ hour mass in Kabiyé followed by awkwardly standing around or being forgotten about and left to tend to the car is getting old. Fast.
I realize the novelty of being a white person here, and one who is working in a community as closely as I am, but feeling like I am being led around by a leash to these events was interesting and even fun, at first. But now it’s getting to a point where it is almost degrading. “Ok, you’ve put your face time in and said ‘hi I am the white guy working in Agbang and yes the other white guy is back in America’ now go find something to do or eat until we leave.” Not that I expect to be waited on hand and foot by any means, but if you're going to bring me to an event like this you can't put me in a corner with a plate of food and hope that I will be content.
Aside from that, the monastery is more of the Mt. Michael sorts than Agbang. It’s a quaint little complex tucked into the heart of the mountain forests, with fields and gardens surrounding it on three sides. There is running water, constant electricity (coming from Ghana I believe), a cooler climate, and well aside from the obvious it’s everything that Agbang is trying to be – self-sufficient. It’s been around for twice as long sure, but the place runs like a well-oiled machine and its got more of a traditional monastery feel to it. But then again, I only got a superficial look at the place, I am not living there.
Entertaining Thoughts
It’s freaking hot here.
The other day I was confronted with an idea. What if everything that I have accomplished in life was due to one single event over which I had absolutely no control? There is an absolutely hilarious video on the onion.com website called "Pre-Game cointoss makes Jacksonville Jaguars realize the randomness of life." This is one of those videos that I will not describe because everyone should see it at least once if not for the interesting philosophical undertones, for the sheer fact that it can make even the scroogiest of people laugh their socks off.
Coming back to reality, I entertained the thought of an existential revelation dealing with eternal salvation and the beginning of life. In short I have based a majority of my faith on doing good works as opposed to sitting in church. For better or worse, that’s who I am and its nothing new. With that said, there is a choice when it comes to doing anything – do or do not, act or react. And with those there are countless other possibilities, but that delves further into the mind than I want to go at this point in time. At the very least there is a choice. But what if there wasn’t? What if I am nothing more than the some of my actions which all stem from some random meeting of two cells of which I had no control over. The entire idea behind free will and having a choice is defunct before it can even be given a chance. That is to say, I was blessed to be born into the family that I have, which as it turns out is deeply routed in the Catholic faith. Had I been born into an Islamic, Jewish, or even Atheist family yet still made the same decisions that I have made; where does that put me? What am I? Where does that put me in terms of eternal salvation, as we Christians believe it to be? Am I to be demoted to the lower reaches of hell because I would not have been a believer or baptized in the right religious beliefs? Or if everyone is saved eventually, in this case everyone worthy of eternal salvation, what's the point of it, to make it to heaven a few millenia before someone else (which can be reduced to almost nothing when it comes to eternity)?
I will now reference the movie A Beautiful Mind (genius turns out to have a skitzotypal personality disorder and becomes a paranoid schizophrenic, manages to get a hold on it and goes on to win the Nobel Peace Prize). At the commencement of the electroshock therapy (about halfway through the movie), the doctor’s voice goes into a monologue and asks “What would you do if you woke up one day and realized that the things you knew or thought you knew and the people you cared about were not just dead, but never existed?” To pull it all together, what would happen to a guy like me who has based most of his life on the idea of Free Will and experiential learning if he woke up one day and realized that the freeness to act comes second to a random act of biological evolution?
In other news, I have officially decided to rejoin the ‘procrastinators unite! tomorrow’ club and put off thinking about it until a future date, which will be determined the day after the procrastinators unite.
The other day I was confronted with an idea. What if everything that I have accomplished in life was due to one single event over which I had absolutely no control? There is an absolutely hilarious video on the onion.com website called "Pre-Game cointoss makes Jacksonville Jaguars realize the randomness of life." This is one of those videos that I will not describe because everyone should see it at least once if not for the interesting philosophical undertones, for the sheer fact that it can make even the scroogiest of people laugh their socks off.
Coming back to reality, I entertained the thought of an existential revelation dealing with eternal salvation and the beginning of life. In short I have based a majority of my faith on doing good works as opposed to sitting in church. For better or worse, that’s who I am and its nothing new. With that said, there is a choice when it comes to doing anything – do or do not, act or react. And with those there are countless other possibilities, but that delves further into the mind than I want to go at this point in time. At the very least there is a choice. But what if there wasn’t? What if I am nothing more than the some of my actions which all stem from some random meeting of two cells of which I had no control over. The entire idea behind free will and having a choice is defunct before it can even be given a chance. That is to say, I was blessed to be born into the family that I have, which as it turns out is deeply routed in the Catholic faith. Had I been born into an Islamic, Jewish, or even Atheist family yet still made the same decisions that I have made; where does that put me? What am I? Where does that put me in terms of eternal salvation, as we Christians believe it to be? Am I to be demoted to the lower reaches of hell because I would not have been a believer or baptized in the right religious beliefs? Or if everyone is saved eventually, in this case everyone worthy of eternal salvation, what's the point of it, to make it to heaven a few millenia before someone else (which can be reduced to almost nothing when it comes to eternity)?
I will now reference the movie A Beautiful Mind (genius turns out to have a skitzotypal personality disorder and becomes a paranoid schizophrenic, manages to get a hold on it and goes on to win the Nobel Peace Prize). At the commencement of the electroshock therapy (about halfway through the movie), the doctor’s voice goes into a monologue and asks “What would you do if you woke up one day and realized that the things you knew or thought you knew and the people you cared about were not just dead, but never existed?” To pull it all together, what would happen to a guy like me who has based most of his life on the idea of Free Will and experiential learning if he woke up one day and realized that the freeness to act comes second to a random act of biological evolution?
In other news, I have officially decided to rejoin the ‘procrastinators unite! tomorrow’ club and put off thinking about it until a future date, which will be determined the day after the procrastinators unite.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
The Furnace Has Been Lit
So the hot season is starting early this year. And as dry as the heat is in Kara, I would take it over Lomé’s humidity. It feels like I am swimming and constantly caked with a layer of dir due to the dust that is finally starting to settle. This only means that mosquito season is going to roll around soon, which is perfect considering my malaria meds are sitting on my chair back in Agbang. Oops. Looks like I am either gonna rough it out or risk the over the counter fill-in. Decisions decisions.
In other news I was putting on a shirt of mine and noticed that the tag said ‘made for ages 3+.’ I had two thoughts on this. 1) If I see a 3 year old who can fit into the same shirt that I can I am going to laugh my ass off. 2) Why is the limit 3 and not 2? I can’t imagined that they ran tests on this thing making sure that it was suitable for children or that they seriously made this thing for anyone under 10.
In other news I was putting on a shirt of mine and noticed that the tag said ‘made for ages 3+.’ I had two thoughts on this. 1) If I see a 3 year old who can fit into the same shirt that I can I am going to laugh my ass off. 2) Why is the limit 3 and not 2? I can’t imagined that they ran tests on this thing making sure that it was suitable for children or that they seriously made this thing for anyone under 10.
On the road again...
So I am back in Lomé. Surprise! Upon returning from Kara, I was greeted by the entire community who was working in the dark with flashlights trying to replace the group water pump. I giggled at the thought of having 12 hours of daylight yet seeing everyone fumbling around with pipes and tubes in the dark. But they got it fixed and the prior celebrated by cracking a bottle of decent wine and passing it around to everyone who worked on the darn thing. He also called for me to come in from the small crowd of bystanders to give me a glass of it. I responded with a “but I didn’t do anything!” and passed the bottle instantaneously. One of the other monks who doesn’t have the acquired taste gave his cup to me after it was all said and done. Talk about a win-win, take the high road and get the reward!
Just before supper started I was also approached by Ezekiel who to my surprise was asking me if I was ready for the trip. Apparently I was included in plans to go to Lomé for 4 days, but wasn’t told about it. I told him that I wasn’t aware of it, but that I needed to work in the garden and ream out my students for underperforming on their exams. He said “ok,” walked straight to the prior, said a few words, and then came back to me to say goodbye (he was going back to Kara for the night). Not a minute later was I approached by the prior asking if I liked going for car rides. I felt like I damn dog that was thinking about going to the park, but instead getting a visit to the vet instead. I said yes hoping to get another word in. That didn’t happen. It was immediately followed with “Good, we are leaving at 5 in the morning.” End of discussion
And so here I am after another nice, long day of traveling. Nothing of note really happened on the road with the exception of an argument about heat that I could have had with a 5th grader. Briefly, there is a button in the van labeled “rear heat.” Apparently I am the only one who doesn’t find the humor of English directions in a Francophone/Africana country. They kept turning it on thinking it was just a fan to move air around the van, but I kept turning it off as soon as it came on. That led to a conversation on the differences between an AC unit and a fan followed by the is the more efficient between opening windows and the AC unit. Thanks to Mythbusters and countless other wacky resources like that, not to mention 10+ years of remembering taking road trips/driving, I was well versed in that answer (if there even is a right answer). That led to talking about heat in general and the green house effect (in cars and then globally). Only after we reached Lomé and I could draw diagrams to show exactly what happens did I convince some of the monks that for all practical purposes, that the closer you get to the sun the hotter it becomes theory doesn’t work. I am just glad that I didn’t have go back and disprove the theory of the solar system revolving around the earth.
After thinking about it for a little bit, I am actually pretty happy about coming down. I have a break from the routine that in all reality I have never stuck to, I have cybercafés less than a block from my room, and it will be a break from the monotony of teaching my now official count of 4 students and gardening.
Just before supper started I was also approached by Ezekiel who to my surprise was asking me if I was ready for the trip. Apparently I was included in plans to go to Lomé for 4 days, but wasn’t told about it. I told him that I wasn’t aware of it, but that I needed to work in the garden and ream out my students for underperforming on their exams. He said “ok,” walked straight to the prior, said a few words, and then came back to me to say goodbye (he was going back to Kara for the night). Not a minute later was I approached by the prior asking if I liked going for car rides. I felt like I damn dog that was thinking about going to the park, but instead getting a visit to the vet instead. I said yes hoping to get another word in. That didn’t happen. It was immediately followed with “Good, we are leaving at 5 in the morning.” End of discussion
And so here I am after another nice, long day of traveling. Nothing of note really happened on the road with the exception of an argument about heat that I could have had with a 5th grader. Briefly, there is a button in the van labeled “rear heat.” Apparently I am the only one who doesn’t find the humor of English directions in a Francophone/Africana country. They kept turning it on thinking it was just a fan to move air around the van, but I kept turning it off as soon as it came on. That led to a conversation on the differences between an AC unit and a fan followed by the is the more efficient between opening windows and the AC unit. Thanks to Mythbusters and countless other wacky resources like that, not to mention 10+ years of remembering taking road trips/driving, I was well versed in that answer (if there even is a right answer). That led to talking about heat in general and the green house effect (in cars and then globally). Only after we reached Lomé and I could draw diagrams to show exactly what happens did I convince some of the monks that for all practical purposes, that the closer you get to the sun the hotter it becomes theory doesn’t work. I am just glad that I didn’t have go back and disprove the theory of the solar system revolving around the earth.
After thinking about it for a little bit, I am actually pretty happy about coming down. I have a break from the routine that in all reality I have never stuck to, I have cybercafés less than a block from my room, and it will be a break from the monotony of teaching my now official count of 4 students and gardening.
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