Come What May

Uber-slacking

2011-04-21T13:29:00.000-07:00

Way behind on the blog posts...Pole (KiSwahili for sorry...kinda). And sadly, there wont be any more for some time as Simon, another BVCer, his girlfiend, an Austrian and myself are all going to climb Mount Kenya this weekend. Providing I don't get eaten by a hyena, trampled by an elephant or buffalo, get lost, suffer from chronic altitude sickness, suffer from hypothermia, or die from hunger, I will be back around Tuesday of next week. At which point, I will begin writing more blogs amidst saying goodbye's and tying up a few loose ends. So happy bunny day (Eric I expect there to be some eggs with quarters in them, hidden when I return...oh and those Reese's penut butter eggs, there had better be some of those too - I know where you sleep)!

I hope business parties in the states are this fun.

2011-04-14T23:08:00.002-07:00

We held a going away party for one of the Germans who is leaving tomorrow. I was fairly apprehensive at first because a) there was a football match on and b) most parties where people speak other languages end up with the exclusion of the English speakers. But I figured at the very least everyone else from the Center would be there and some of them are a hoot when they are drinking so there was some fun to be had.

I was way off, it was a ton of fun. Speaking to the fact of other languages, Simon and I figured out that no one can understand the minnesoootan accent so that became our code language. And between watching parts of the match, eating half a goat, dancing, drinking, fending off over-aged suitors for some of the girl guests and almost getting attacked by a stray dog in the street it was a pretty darn good night!

Birthday

2011-04-14T23:08:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just gotta wake up at the crack o’ noon and be like “alright, it’s go time! What t-shirt am I gonna wear?”

I’d say that was a pretty good start to the day. Although, I did manage to rouse myself at 8 for some breakfast before going back to sleep. I don’t even try to hide the fact that I sleep late anymore. The nuns who used to berate me for it now accept it and even joke about it. Nothing better than seeing a nun for lunch at 1 and having her greet me with “Good morning!” They also sang me the extended, holy version of happy birthday at supper later that night; it was quite the scene.

Speaking of which, the night that couldn’t get going and almost didn’t due to a case of malaria and a broken leg (relatives of our friends who access to cars), finally got under way and ended up being a great time. Simon, Steffi (one of the Germans) and I hopped on a matatu and headed off to the bar John took us too.

One problem, we didn’t remember how to get there or the name of it. So we walked alongside of the road after getting dropped off roughly where we thought it was. After an hour or so of dodging drunk drivers and pitfalls from the construction equipment, we decided to head into a hotel that seemed to have a decent music scene.

We sat and drank for a little while before being picked on by the KiSwahili speaking comedian. I guess we were asking for it being the only white people there. I somehow ended up on stage with him thanks to Simon who blurted out that it was my birthday. I think most of the questions that I had to answer were dealing with women and which one I was going to take home, but it was all in Swahili and I had been drinking. But by the end of it I was a celebrity amongst all of the cougs and there was no shortage of dance partners or free drinks for the remainder of the night. It was a blast up until the end of the night by which time most of the women had left and the floor was full of drunk men trying to dance with Steffi. All that meant was that Simon and I had to continue dancing aggressively by blocking them off!

Great night.

The Post Office

2011-04-14T23:07:00.001-07:00

The other night, a monk came to our house to let me know that there were two packages at the post office for some of the volunteers. He also said that it would cost 3,500 KSH to obtain both of them. I read the contents of one of the packages and realized that it was for me, but I could not understand how I had racked up the bill without doing anything! The other package, we thought, belonged to a German volunteer who is currently touring around Kenya. I told Felix, the monk, that I was not going to pay for both packages and could barely afford the highway robbery that was going on with my package. He said, “then don’t” and proceeded to wash his hands of the situation. We will come back to this later.

That little conversation pushed me towards the edge of a cliff the other night and the ensuing soccer match almost threw me over. Luckily sleep has a very calming effect and was the next thing on the schedule for me.

The ensuing morning, I went into Nairobi alone as Simon was still under the weather and the nun who had previously tried to obtain the packages but didn’t have enough money gave me her postal identification card and said that if I presented it she did not need to go to the post office with me. I didn’t complain as she is very nice, but is not quite as fast moving or mentally sharp for catching extortionists in the act. Also there is a fairly sizeable language barrier between us.

Things didn’t get off to the greatest of starts as the matatu I was in decided to let everyone out just on the outskirts of downtown because they spotted a police officer and it spooked them. I didn’t hang around to find out why. So I meandered my way through downtown Nairobi cruising past the rest of the inhabitants who might as well be called the slowest pack-walkers in Africa. I arrived at the post office around 11am or so and stood in line under the “Parcel Pick-Up” sign. I waited for almost an hour while some woman counted out close to 200 individual envelopes and had them weighed only to find out that I had to go to the next floor for my package. Great.

I make it up the stairs and into the customs office where some woman on the phone looked at my slip, printed something out, and tried to send me off without a word to me. I didn’t accept it and motioned that I needed to talk to her. She finished her conversation and then asked me what I needed. I told her that the customs taxes on my package didn’t make sense. She explained to me that the duties are high because the government doesn’t want people importing anything and that my fees were accurate. I then told her that the estimated cost of the contents was incorrect and she told me to talk to her boss. So I sat and waited for 30 minutes before her boss came back. And she told me to go and get the package and bring it to her…after lunch (in one hour). So I bought a newspaper and sat down for some tea before returning to the post office.

This time I went straight to the second floor parcel counter. The lady brought out the package addressed to me (I used the slip with my package ID and the wrong contents). I then told the lady that I thought there was a mixup and the packages didn’t match up with the contents. She told me I was crazy, literally. So I went off like a cherrybomb on the 4th. I said, “ok, let’s open the package shall we?” I opened it, pulled out the items one by one and checked to see if it was on the list of contents. I then turned the box upside down and said that I didn’t think the other contents were in this box. She wasn’t too amused, but couldn’t do anything about it because she was completely baffled as to how the confusion had happened.

They brought out the other package and put it in front of me. I then explained to the other woman that I was here to collect my package. I then asked why my package had been previously opened without my being present. She said that I had sent someone to collect it and it was opened in front of the customs officer for taxing. I calmly went off again trying to explain that no one else had the authority to open a package with my name on it, let alone have it processed with another package belonging to someone else. (I was initially tipped off on the mixup by seeing that the form with my contents had an address line that read ‘benedictine monastrery.’ My parents can spell monastery correctly and we technically aren’t at the monastery) They gave me the little spiel about how someone with authority came in and claimed the packages together and the paperwork could not be undone.

I cant remember how many people I talked to trying to get it sorted out. I was finally sent to the floor customs officer. She also told me that there was nothing she could do. I ended up following her into her office and standing in front of her desk for close to 15 minutes without saying a word all the while she was trying to work. She then looked at me and said that if she had any money she would help me pay the fee for both of the packages so that I could leave. I told her that I wouldn’t have accepted the generous offer. I would have accepted her letting me leave with my package! I then found out that after two months of not paying the packages are sent to a warehouse where they are auctioned off. To that point I argued that the bank would not be getting the full estimated value of the package and that letting me take it by itself at full price would be better than not giving it to me. She said that she couldn’t and that money was a tricky affair. Yeah, no shit. She then told me that if I wanted to I could pay and then file a claim for overpaying, which would have taken close to 3 months.

I said fuck it and amidst glaring eyes from the other disgruntled people in the office, I politely (and sarcastically) thanked them for their patience as they had verbally complained that I was taking up too much of the officer’s time. I then went back to the main customs office and sat in the secretary’s office. Her boss was at a meeting in another building and she told me I could wait for her or come back another day. Coming back wasn’t an option so I said I would wait.

The secretary then offered me a cup of coffee while I waited to which I obliged. Then the pleasantries started. I commented how the building should be staffed by more people like her…and that it was my birthday on Saturday…which led to her talking about her son and family…which led to something else and was finally broken up by another man walking into the office and questioning why I was still there (4 hours after I had initially seen him). I replied and then the secretary asked me to describe the problem one more time. Bingo. Never underestimate the power of being polite and complimentary of secretaries.

I explained everything that had occurred along with the responses of each worker as to why nothing could be done. She said nonsense, crossed out the receipt numbers, called her boss (who was in a meeting), lowered my tax rate, and printed a new receipt for me. I then had to book it to the bank a few blocks down to pay the taxes before it closed. Next, I returned only to find out that I had to get a secondary receipt from another window and then pay the post office handling fee of a dollar and get that receipt before I could actually take my package.

But even before that there was another problem. The secretary had told me to use the slip on which my contents were written, which incidentally had the postal number of the other box. So they wouldn’t let me go with it. I offered loads of solutions to this problem and after 15 more minutes of them standing there and wondering what to do I was ushered into a back office. The floor director then decided with another worker that it would be alright to switch the numbers on the boxes…thanks glad that took 15 more minutes of my time. I thanked them both and then said that they would never have to worry about seeing me again, to which I received the reply “Oh no! We still want your business. You know, part of this was our fault as well.” Ha, no shit. I smiled and proceeded to leave. But in passing all of the other inconsiderate and incompetent workers, including the customs officer, I smiled, held up the box, pointed to it, and whispered “I got my box.”

Some of them were overjoyed at the fact that I was finally leaving and the customs officer was surprisingly happy for me although she was confused as to how I had done it with supposedly the only person who could do anything about it in a meeting on the other side of town. I loaded my backpack and ran out of the building. I then spent the next 2 hours walking around Nairobi trying to find the correct matatu pick-up location. I asked numerous people where to go and it wasn’t until I was on the wrong side of town that a bus driver picked me up and took me to where I needed to be. It was ridiculous and I was tired. I had been in Nairobi for over 9 hours and roughly 6 of them were spent in the post office.

That’s dedication and a very strong desire for the girls scout cookies that were packed inside!

On a final note, when sending packages to Kenya, declare the value of goods inside at a quarter of the cost. The import taxes are 41% of the declared value. Highway robbery I tell you…

Alley Cats

2011-04-06T13:36:00.000-07:00

Around 4 am or so we decided that we should probably head back and get some seep. We stopped upstairs to say goodbye to the other whitefolk before leaving and finding a way back to the other side of town. At first, we decided to walk a ways and see if we were could catch a matatu even though you’re not exactly supposed to take them after 10pm; something about masked men and guns I think.

Well we were walking along this deserted road in an industrial district of Nairobi when we spotted some skyscrapers and the town center about a mile or two away on the left. We took are next left and BIG mistake. Even darker street that had shanties lined up and down the sides. What was worse, there was a stopped car with about 10 men standing around it, and they saw us. You know that little chilly feeling that runs up your spine when you are kind of spooked. We had that. But we couldn’t turn around less show our nervousness and unwillingness to face confrontation so we walked past them stonefaced with the subtle up-tilt head nod to acknowledge them. We made it up a little ways and then heard the car start. Luckily they decided to turn around and go the other way. Then we saw a huge fence in front of us. What now? We decided to keep going and hope that there was a way through, which there was. But immediately upon passing through I spied two fuzzy objects under the loan streetlamp up about a block. In a very coordinated manor we made a quick semicircle and doubled back on the same street hoping that no one would notice. Most everyone whom we had already passed was somewhat preoccupied and took little notice, but we tensed at every grim glance that was shot our way.

We walked a little further and realized that there was no way that we were going to make it back and figured that getting mugged is one thing, but getting mugged on account of stupidity was a-whole-nother matter. Then a taxi came speeding around a roundabout and stopped abruptly at the sight of us. Deciding to play it cool we asked what the price was to our part of town and sat there and debated with him for a few minutes! As if we were going to say no…ha. We did have the fact that there were about 10 taxis outside of the nightclub a few blocks back and that definitely helped. But we agreed on the price and took off. No more than a minute had passed before a torrential downpour lasting a half an hour hit. Whew.

Marathoning pt.2

2011-04-06T13:35:00.000-07:00

Both of us slept through breakfast. Damn, best meal of the day and even better after a night of drinking….missed. So we did the next best thing went back to the bar! It was about 9 or so and the bar had a breakfast option, which was bear bones but it was better than nothing and we were starving. I think we even turned a few heads as the regulars who were there the night before couldn’t believe that we were back so early. We ate and then went back to the room. Simon went back to sleep and I took advantage of the Germans not being around and caught up on some much needed web surfing.

Later that afternoon, Simon received a text from a friend saying that she was having a going away party in uptown downtown Nairobi. And we remembered that we were meeting Vincent from work for a few beers later that evening. So we slow-played everything and ended up leaving to meet Vincent at 6, the start time of the Arsenal match (Simon’s team). He showed up at 7…grr. He had been drinking since noon and was in a very funny state when he arrived. The entire time he was going off on some funny tangents about experiences and what to do or not to do and his life… Simon had a longer attention span than I did. I could keep up for about 3 minutes or so before focusing on the soccer game. Well there was also that girl from the night before…just like the movies, she texted back! Let the texting commence. And let me tell you, be thankful for having the free unlimited texting options because when you don’t it costs $$$, well not too much but it is a hassle to have to go out and buy credits every few days.

Simon and I left after the match amidst Vincent trying to set up a waitress with Simon. We made it back to the house and then decided to head into Nairobi. Getting to the city wasn’t really a problem, but once we were there we had a hell of a time finding the place. We walked through the city for a little while startling quite a few people at the sight of two Wazungus without cars in Nairobi at night. After asking for directions from various people and calling Simon’s friend, we finally found a matatu to take us to the part of town we were looking for. Upon arriving, we exited and followed a complete stranger down some poorly lit streets before he left us and pointed us in the right direction down some more poorly lit streets. But he comforted us saying that we were in an upscale part of town…yeah, cool dude but shit happens everywhere otherwise there wouldn’t be 20’ high electrified and fortified fences all around.

Well we made it to the restaurant safely and just in time to leave. Darn, we were planning on having supper there. And we missed a full goat that was prepared for the party. Double darn. We were then told by Simon’s friend to get a ride to the nightclub with a friend of hers whom we weren’t introduced to. Time to put on the charm. We introduced ourselves just outside of the restaurant and snatched a ride. The place looked like it was going to cost a fortune to get into, bust surprisingly there wasn’t a covercharge! We went in and ended up standing at one end of the bar while watching yet another soccer match. Most of the other white people in the group were dancing albeit with their significant others or in the single sex groups that I haven’t seen since high school.

Just as we were warming up to the place and the 80 db speaker right next to the table, the group decided to leave and go upstairs. We followed suit hoping for greener pastures only to find out that they weren’t so green after all. The place was packed and probably would have been fun had we been in a different mood. But it seemed like everyone there was with someone else so Simon and I decided to split and head back to the other place.

It turned out being the smart move as we made a few friends who were celebrating a birthday. By that point we were ready to dance again and drew the eyes of just about everyone in the place at one point or another. I think we don’t like sharing the spotlight with other Wazungu. Besides we are the only young white guys that we have seen dancing without white girls…claim to fame and dirty looks from the Kenyan stags everywhere because the girls are always watching us!

Marathoning

2011-04-06T13:34:00.000-07:00

Before I arrived in Kenya, Simon made a friend named John who frequents the local bar regularly. Now, John is a very big man both influentially and physically. And he loves to buy alcohol for friends. Simon already knew this very well, but I was introduced to it just this past Friday. We had crossed paths earlier in the week when he mentioned that he would like to take us out to supper on Friday. We obliged him and before you know it Friday was upon us. We had planned to meet at 7, which typically would mean that we would be eating around 7:30 or 8ish. Not that night! Meeting at 7 meant lets sit down and drink for 2 hours on empty stomachs and then drive to a restaurant. We were beginning to wonder if we would make it through the night.

Just before leaving the bar I ordered a bottle of water, which did both of us wonders in terms of prolonging our ability to oblige the free drinks being bought for us. We made it to the restaurant, which conveniently had a butcher shop in the front end, or was that just the kitchen? Anyhow, John picked out a goat leg, an entire freaking goat leg and asked us how it looked. Ha, I have never seen such a good-looking piece of meat in Africa. An entire freaking goat leg. We then walked through the maize of tables and minibars before settling at the main bar that was close to the live musician who was filling our ears with upbeat Swahili dance songs.

At the bar, we continued drinking still with no food in our stomachs. And then out of nowhere this other woman comes up to us and sits down next to me (turns out it was John’s mistress). Not wanting to draw anymore attention to our little party he decided to have her sit next to me so that the attention wouldn’t be focused on him. Ok, I see where he was coming from, but its kind of hard not draw attention to yourself by bringing two white guys into an upscale late-night restaurant. Fortune favored me this night though. Simon and I had previously discussed the tactics of life. Given two options….take the funnier one. Well John’s mistress wanted to dance, but he didn’t want to so she grabbed my hand and he told me to go! Now imagine this scene: Kenyan nightclub with a central dance floor where there are currently two people dancing and then this 22 year old Mzungu walks out into the middle of the floor with a 40 somethin’ year old woman who weighs about two of him. Needless to say, eyes were fixated. Thank God for liquid courage.

Simon followed suit a few songs later upon my return to the bar for refueling purposes. After an hour or so of this, and still no food, we made our way up to the upper level bar where some of John’s other friends were waiting for us. We drank some more there and then danced more. I threw another bottle of water in there just for kicks as I didn’t really see it doing much at the time, but it was probably a life-saver. Around that time John found another woman for me to dance with, a seemingly drunk manager of the restaurant who had her eyes set on something that she definitely wasn’t going to get. Coincidentally, right before we started dancing I tried to get up to go to the bathroom before getting corralled to the dance floor by the manager. So all the while I was trying to find an exit clause…Enter Simon. He saw that I was somewhat distraught, which I must say doesn’t happen to often anymore, and came down to run interference. I made my escape and then returned to the floor looking to get him out of the same predicament. Then I spotted a few girls that we had been casually keeping tabs on. Bingo! I went up and started dancing with them and then spun around grabbed Simon away from another woman who had taken the place of the manager and threw him into the mix of girls. They happened to all be sisters and their older brother and I had a kind of dance off after I saw him trying to get some candids of the mzungu dancing with his sisters. It was straight out of a movie and it was great. The musician then decided to take a break so we returned to our lookout point with John at roughly the same time that the food arrived, midnight. Better late than never I always say. We downed the food and had room for the rest of the goat, but decided not to push our luck as it had been a great evening thus far. We continued drinking and talking and dancing until around 4am, yes we drank nonstop for 9 count it 9 hours. And it was all free. Boom Roasted.

We finally wrapped things up, but before we left I had to take the funnier of two options. I found a napkin, wrote down my name and number, coolly swagged my way across the dance floor and handed it to the girl I was dancing with amid the surprise laughter of all of her sisters, turned around and powerwalked my way to a laughing Simon and went to the car. We got in and then began thinking that we were getting into a car with some very big men who had been drinking for the better part of a day and were about to drive on a dangerous road under construction in the middle of the night. We strapped in, real tight. Luckily our host was of the same mindset and decided to take the back roads, which gave us some comfort aside from the fact that we did think at one point that we could possibly have been abducted just as easily as returned to the Amani Center.

Well we weren’t and we made it back safely. Then I decided to start skyping people, always a good time especially when it doesn’t cost anything (assist to Google). If you got a call from a number in California or a garbled message that cuts in and out…Pole (sorry ‘kind of’ in Kiswahili). I think I made it to bed around 5.

Studies

2011-04-06T13:33:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Simon and Greg’s University of Proper Drinking.

Major courses include: introduction to drinking 101, drinking 102 (types of drinks), drinking 201 (perfecting the pour), drinking 202 (the binge & how to avoid it), drinking methods (research and discussion based course on marathoning), the history of alcohol, law 210 (drinking ages and legal restrictions), partying 301 (the house v. the bar), etiquette 301 (rules for drinking and partygoing), etiquette 305 A&B modules (the party foul), quantitative study analysis (sex ratios v. the size of the venue), senior research option 1 (production of hard alcohol), senior research option 2 (beer brewing), drinking 390 (field experience), drinking 391 (games & the physics of pong), drinking 399 (the home brew)

DL

2011-04-05T13:33:00.002-07:00

Opening day of baseball and I have 3 guys on the 15 day DL. What gives?

In other news I am halfway finished with my computer consolidation project, which includes compiling a master list of music and photographs from 3 separate hard drives (pre-Ireland crash, post-Ireland crash, and the one that got all funny on me in Togo). I have close to 5,250 songs/videos/podcasts spread out between the three folders and not one folder has a complete collection for one artist. I don’t know how it happened, but at least it explains why I can’t find ridiculously random songs when I want to hear them.

I woke up an American today.

2011-04-05T13:33:00.000-07:00

I got shit done at the center despite an entire cultural influence working against me. It doesn’t matter that Simon and I later discussed the infeasibility of what it was that we wanted to do at the center, which was create an informal school so as to save on formal school fees for a majority of our children. Schools don’t carry the same connotation as they do in the states, money does not equal a quality education. The same could be argued for some schools in the US as well, but here you have to break the bank in order to get into a decent school. In any case I convinced the program director to let us do a preliminary study on the feasibility of the idea, which was a feat in and of itself. Sadly, I think, it was all for naught as it wouldn’t be cost effective unless we found at least 4 full time teachers willing to work for free :( I like my odds of getting attacked by a polar bear better.

Fatality

2011-04-05T13:32:00.001-07:00

Seriously. I was told very abruptly and out of the blue at work the other day that one of our new kids was killed last week while Simon and I were away. He was hit by matatu while crossing a street. His family was paid 250 ksh, roughly $0.50 by the matatu driver before the bus left the scene.

Vincent, one of the workers had me pull up the photo catalog of the boys that we have been working on. I scrolled to his picture and Vin told me yeah, “Yeah, he’s dead.” Great way to start of the workday. And just a few minutes after that someone came in to get a copy of the photo for the police report or the newspaper, I didn’t quite catch who they were.

PLAY BALL!

2011-04-05T13:31:00.001-07:00

So as many of you should be aware, the baseball season is about to get under way. And that coincides pretty closely with the fantasy baseball season, iiinnntttteeerreeeesssstttiinnnggg. So yeah, some of my friends and I carried over the league from college and the draft was held just a few days ago at 6:30 pm…CST. I don’t think anyone was too open to the idea of holding at 6:30 GMT +3.

For the most part it wasn’t too terribly taxing as I took advantage of google’s phone and skype to call friends whom I haven’t talked to in a while. I also managed to watch a few basketball games and kept tabs on some hockey games that were going on at the same time. And in fact, I wasn’t really that tired when all was said and done at 5:30 am my time at which time Simon walked into my room joking that it was time for work! (He woke up to use the bathroom and saw my light on)

Somehow, I managed to make it to work around 11 after taking a brief nap. But man o man was I tired. And as the first true sign of aging, it carried over into Tuesday. It’s good to know that I can still hang with the best of ‘em, but the effects are hitting a little harder than they use to. 

But it was worth it, I have a pitching lineup that rivals that of the Phillies!

Another word...

2011-03-29T10:12:00.001-07:00

On that 7 continents in 7 years deal, I just realized that aside from a few people I don’t think that I have explicitly come out with that goal. But it is there and if all goes to plan I should finish it on the first time around. I hit up Europe back in ’08, took out the states in ’09-‘10, and conquered Africa in ’10-’11. That leaves Australia, South America, Asia, and Antarctica. There are expeditions from Argentina that sail to Antarctica so I would most likely have to tag team those two. That gives me one-year leeway assuming I can get Australia and Asia in separate years.

If anyone has any suggestions, I am all ears.

Ahhh shit.

2011-03-29T10:12:00.000-07:00

I don’t like dwelling on things. Shit happens, I reflect and move on – quickly. Dwelling, means that I am missing the next opportunity to learn. I don’t like missing things, especially when I deem them important.

And now I am on the brink of a life altering decision. All fuzzy logic would point towards me going to China and accepting a teaching position at a university there. Everything else is telling me to hold out and wait for something better, which may not present itself in the very near future.

Continue my quest of 7 continents in 7 years in the most practical and affordable way possible – teaching, or go back get a job and fall in line with everyone else. Geeze, putting it that way makes the answer stand out even more. So why am I so torn over such a seemingly easy question? Family. Mine and MINE. The latter doesn’t exactly exist…yet. Enter “dwelling” stage left.

So here I am contemplating odds and opportunities that could or may not present themselves leaving me wondering about the potential hindsight of making either decision and trying to figure out wtf I am going to do.

Not that it really has any impact on the decision, but I most likely will have an offer from the French Teaching Assistantship to go and teach in the Marseille arondisement for next year as well. I’ll most likely be turning that one down, for the second time in as many years. It definitely pays to have options, but sometimes I just want all but one to go and take a swan dive off a cliff.

GOOOAAAALLLLL

2011-03-29T10:11:00.000-07:00

Well I stayed up pretty late to watch the Richmond v. KU basketball game…mistake. I should have slept and then woken up to watch the two games after that. Oh well. Needless to say I didn’t get much sleep…before breakfast. Afterwards, I still didn’t get much sleep in between the random phone calls and knocks on the door, which were either answered by a very groggy Simon or Greg.

Most of that post-breakfast dealt with getting tickets to that night’s soccer match, but at the time both Simon and I were ready to say screw it let us sleep! I am glad we didn’t. After leaving later than one could in the US and expect to see any significant action, we took a few matatus and finally arrived at the stadium. It wasn’t anything too spectacular as it only holds 30,000 people and is nothing more than a really big, circular stair case inside. But what did stand out was the 6” barbed-wire fence that encircled the playing field. That was new. But considering the stadium is an built in a way that nothing can be destroyed or used against anyone else in a brawl, it seemed like it was probably necessary.

Before we even entered the stadium, we had to make our way through the hoards of people, most of whom were scalping, selling or stealing. Completely aware of my surroundings, I actually caught a pick-pocket going for my phone. I grabbed him and spun him around only to find out that there was a whole team of them and had it escalated, I could have lost a lot more than my phone. I let it slide, but I think that may have scared him enough.

But this match was everything you would expect in an African stadium – chaos. 95% of the people were Kenyan supporters who showed up hoping that they would see a miracle as the national team had only won one match in their past 19! And that is exactly what they got, a miracle. Well, the Kenyan side played a much better match than the supposedly superior Angolan side. So it wasn’t exactly a miracle, but the final goal came in the closing minutes of the game from a spectacular strike at the top of the 18. It was incredible and as fate would have it, Simon and I were sitting about 30” from the pitch at a good angle from the home side goal. All of the goals happened right in front of us so it was pretty cool.

As for that fence, we found out pretty quickly why it was there. Even the slightest bad call brought down a shower of empty and full pop bottles onto the field along with the typical jeering, whistles, drums, and vuvuzelas. And after both of the goals, people in the stands rushed the fence and quite a few made it over. There was a design flaw making it fairly easy to make it over unscathed. But the ones who made it over ran around the field taunting the other team and just being taken away by the moment. Security didn’t really seem to do much as the fans were all probably aware of the fact that the Gor Miah (one of the Kenyan Premier League teams) fans were tear gassed for bull-rushing the field after some controversial calls. Aside from that, there isn’t much that can compare to the crowd’s reaction after a goal. Even on a bigger stage, people are in control and rarely leave their seats. But when the seats don’t exist, per se, everyone melds together into a mob and it is insane. The only thing that I could compare it to would be like a very very very big version of Habiyé without the rusty spears and machetes and arrows and frogs. It was surreal.

After the game, the streets were flooded with people and shut down highways and roads on the way to the city centre to celebrate the victory.

Nanyuki

2011-03-29T10:10:00.001-07:00

Br. James approached Simon and I yesterday after work. He was aware that Simon wanted to visit a monastery close to Mt. Kenya and told us that we could go at any time. He had called one of the monks up there and found out that they had some rooms available for us. We decided to leave Wednesday.

It turns out the monastery is more of a retreat center than anything. And when we walked through the front gate it all seemed, familiar. Grassy fields surrounded by pine trees with actual wooden houses and some of them had porches! It was pretty cool and Simon and I immediately took advantage of the treeless, grassy field and pulled out our dinner plate errr frisbee. We play back at the Amani Center, but the field we use is spotted with randomly placed trees and vines and buildings. We got a bunch of looks as most people here have never seen one before, let alone two white people playing with one.

The first night was rather interesting as we had no idea what was going on save the little schedule posted on the back of our door. The monk who was told we were coming was away for the day and wasn’t going to get back until Thursday. So we have been walking around nonchalantly for the past day or so. We ran into the receptionist this morning and she found a monk to give us a tour of the Bible on the Ground, which is retreat-like path that goes through the story of the Bible in the context of African values. It was pretty interesting. There aren’t any pictures though, not allowed.

Also, we are not quite sure if this little retreat deal is free or not. The way it was presented to us sounded like it was going to be gratuit, but it seems expensive here with the quality of the food and some of the services. I guess we’ll find out at checkout. Also, we are above the mosquito line at the current elevation so there are no bugs! It is amazing and also the first time that I have not slept under a mosquito net in over 6 months.

Just another manic Monday

2011-03-29T10:10:00.000-07:00

I showed up late to the bored meeting at the Center as is typical of Monday’s because I literally can’t stand the meetings. Making an actual decision at one of them is about as rare as seeing a Dodo bird. There is no official ‘boss’ at the center as the director wants everyone to be on the same level. That’s all fine and dandy Marx, but it only works on paper and you still need a leader!

The result is an all day meeting during which nothing gets accomplished. The fact that everyone is afraid to criticize and idea of someone else’s and that one critical comment can kill a discussion is evidence that more than just the budget needs to change. Enter Greg. If I am not busy loosing to the damn computer in a rigged scrabble game I am working with Simon to move the meeting on as quickly as possible. Timely comments can do wonders as does quick, analytical criticism. When something is being talked about that we can contribute to, we jump in at any chance just to prevent silence. Nothing really ever gets decided, but at least the discussion moves a little faster.

Also of note from the meeting, there were a few opportunities for people to volunteer for certain tasks that were all in everyone’s job description, Rose and Ann immediately looked away from the center of the table and started fiddling with things or doodling. Simon, two other volunteers and I looked at each other like “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

For people who like being efficient, we sure do despise Mondays.

Sundayzzzzzz

2011-03-28T10:09:00.001-07:00

We slept in as has become the mantra of the Americans. Nothing wrong with it as we typically work harder than most and work outside of work. Upon waking up we spent a majority of the day writing the Safaricom proposal as well as filling out job applications.

That night I found out that ESPN 360 works on Simon’s computer and spent part of the night watching March Madness. It was blissful. I was also saddened by this as ESPN added a “BOSS” button to the menu allowing a viewer to switch instantly to a screenshot of Outlook and a half-written email and I will not be able to use it!

Jokester

2011-03-28T10:09:00.000-07:00

So there is this family staying at the Amani Center. None of the volunteers knows why they are there but they are. And they are annoying and obnoxious. Plus they hold the wazungu to a double standard when they think that we are being loud or annoying. Not good. Anywho, the other night Simon and I were sitting at a table eating our supper when out of the blue the dad decides to sit next to us. He doesn’t eat at the same table of the family and we think it is a tribal thing whereby “warriors” aren’t allowed to eat with women. So he sits down and the little girls start giggling. He doesn’t say a word. Simon tried to engage him in conversation and he gave a few one-word responses. Then he looked away and ate with a smirk on his face.

I wasn’t very pleased with this and neither was Simon. Had he conversed with us we wouldn’t have thought a thing about it. But he didn’t and hasn’t done so since. It should also be mentioned that this family treats the buffet as their personal food service and eats at will without any regard whatsoever to the fact that there are other people who need to eat. I think there have been 4 meals where there is nothing but Ugali (pate) and rice left for the volunteers.

In response to this we have decided to go and sit with him at supper, with the girls and talk amongst ourselves. We may even ask the girls about their opinions on women’s rights in Kenya!

Day's go by...

2011-03-28T10:08:00.000-07:00

The weekend was rather nice. It started raining on Friday and didn’t stop until Saturday morning. It was glorious. Once the rain stopped, Simon and I decided to head in to Nairobi as he had a package waiting for him at the post office. Little did we know that there were three post offices all located in different corners of the city. What’s worse is that after we finally located the right post office, we found out that “yes, we are open, but that department is only open during the week.” So much for that little excursion.

We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the streets and doing some small market window shopping. I was looking for vintage hats. The only one I found was a Hartford Whalers hat that had the names of two people stitched on the side. Had the names been different or not there I would have bought it in a heartbeat as probably very few of you know, that team doesn’t exist anymore.

Lunch was at an emptied out jazz club that doesn’t really play jazz music, but the food made up for it. I had a cheeseburger and fries for the first time in as long as I can remember. After lunch, we made our way back to the matatu station (matatus are 15 passenger vans that resemble the trottros of Ghana). On the way we stopped at the library of all places only to find out that their collection is as old as time and didn’t have anything that wasn’t outdated by about 20 years. It would be a great resource if one were writing a report contrasting styles of thought at various points in time…aka not for us. I was also greeted by a woman wearing an Ethiopian track once we got back on the road. I didn’t pay too much attention to it until I realized that there was an entire team of women wearing track suits. We think that they were a volleyball team hear for some tournament and we are both kicking ourselves for not turning around and running after them once we realized it.

St. Patty's

2011-03-28T10:06:00.000-07:00

It just wouldn’t be right if I didn’t do something big for what seems like an annual 21st birthday. Simon and I, decided to pay a visit to the Guinness factory in Nairobi to drown our sorrows of coming up short in the meeting earlier that day at Safaricom.

It took a while finding the darn place and once we did it was even tougher to get inside. I think we ended up parking illegally after blocking up delivery truck traffic for a few minutes. “It’s all good! Two guys in 3 piece suits, we own the place…” We went into the reception area to find out that tours had to be scheduled. After some deliberation we convinced the woman at the desk to make a call for us and get us the name of the person in charge of it all. She did, and sent us to the corporate office just down the road and told us to tell the security guards that we were there to see so-and-so and were cleared by so-and-so.

Likely story. We walked the half-mile to the corporate building, it wasn’t even Guinness, but a local beer called Tusker. The guards didn’t believe our story and made a call only to tell us that the result of the call was that we had to make the same call that they just made. We didn’t understand, but did it anyways. After about 20 minutes of standing at the guard house it started raining. Good thing we walked. Wait… We finally got a hold of the woman we needed only to find out that they have formally discontinued tours and we had no realistic chance of getting in. I joked that we should claim to be beer inspectors in 3-piece suits, but we let that one go.

Dan took the guards umbrella and ran, err walked back to the car and came to pick us up before heading back to the monastery. He left promptly afterwards and Simon and I crashed for a few hours. Upon waking up in time for supper we remembered that oh yeah, it’s St. Patty’s Day! Good thing we brewed a new batch of Pineapple Cider three days before. We ate and then partied it up with the Spaniards who brought along a bottle of Johnny Walker among other things. We drank the place dry.

All four of us took personal days from work the following morning and life was good.

Slackin'

2011-03-28T10:05:00.000-07:00

Nough said.

Also a group of Norwegians showed up the other day. They looked like snowmen on the first day and then pink snowmen on the second. Welcome to Africa. All kidding aside there was one cute girl in the bunch.

Safaricom

2011-03-27T10:06:00.001-07:00

We didn’t get the money. Drat. Well at least not yet.

Simon and I got all decked out in our suits and headed off to Nairobi for the day with Dan (the Center’s director). We made it to Safaricom headquarters and walked in like we owned the place. I mean, we were two white guys wearing three-piece suits, what else were we supposed to think?

Our attempt to be punctual on African time failed miserably as we showed up early, even on Western standards. That wasn’t too bad though as it gave us a chance go over everything one last time. When the call finally came, we went up and found ourselves in a cubicle-filled room and were shown to a little lounge area where we set up our laptop and took one final deep breath. Greatings were exchanged and then we were off! Surprisingly we were given a full 45 minutes to give our presentation before being rather abruptly shut down.

The woman we were dealing with, the sponsorship chairman, was visibly shocked by how much money we were asking for. I think we blew her away with the presentation though, and it was a very big reason why we were given the courtesy of finishing. She said that there are tons of organizations that send requests for meetings or money as we did, but it seemed like we were a little more prepared than the others.

We joked around for a few minutes to keep a light mood and gave one final pitch, to which she gave us the good old corporate tag line “it’s not that we don’t care, per se, it’s just that helping you doesn’t help us.” To be expected from the largest company in Kenya I guess, but she did tell us that she might be able to help us balance our budget for the current year (roughly $10,000).

We will hear back on our written proposal for that by next week.

All in all, it was a pretty neat experience and something that I don’t think too many other people in our situation have had the opportunity to do. And we learned quite a bit in the process. That all comes second to the fact that we still may be able to gain a large sum of money, securing the program for another year.

Manchester United

2011-03-27T10:05:00.001-07:00

So aside from my time in Ireland I have never really been a diehard supporter of any football team. I mean, Liverpool was an obvious holdover. But outside of that I typically just root against the bigname hotshot teams or against specific players that I will never ever root for AKA Wayne Rooney and Manchester United. And apparently Kenya and most of Africa for that matter suffer from the same thing that swept the soccer crazies in the states in the 90s. Only the top teams in the Championship games get televised and so naturally everyone either picks and team and sticks with ‘em or blows with the prevailing breeze. The ManU “fans” who inhabit the pub down the street are the prevailing breeze type that care about the W and not the way it was won.

I can’t wait until Tuesday night when OM gets a shot at ManU and I’ll get a chance to lay down some French chants. Dirty team, dirty players and even dirtier fans. Think USC at the end of the Pete Carrol era, just dirty. Anywho, at least the atmosphere is a little livelier, sure beats everyone going for the same team.

Impulse

2011-03-27T10:04:00.003-07:00

I had to make up for 6+ months of not being able to make impulse buys. Simon and I bought tailored 3 piece suites for our upcoming presentation. At a whopping $40 it seamed like a pretty good idea, especially considering I have no presentable clothes here save a pair of hiking pants that are khaki. It’s all coming together now and hopefully with a strong final push we can lock this thing in and go on vacation for a month!

Welcome to the Bigtime

2011-03-27T10:04:00.001-07:00

We got the meeting! The head of Safaricom’s Social Works and Funding Division (AKA BIG time corporate funding) finally answered one of our phone calls and Simon set it up for Thursday at noon. It’s not exactly the type of work that I thought I would be doing when I signed up for the children’s center, but fundraising would be supremely more beneficial than anything else I would be doing. Hopefully all goes well as we have spent the past two weeks updating our databases, fixing our budget (which had basic mathematical errors and somehow left out funding for 8 children), and working on pamphlets and a powerpoint presentation.

Well Simon and I have been doing the bulk of it and have probably come off as a little crass when interacting with some of the lazier staff members. And I say that earnestly as just yesterday (Friday) I witnessed Rose (27 year old post-grad student, weighs about 230) try to reach over the side of the couch to grab a pair of flip flops and fail. So, she yelled out the door to one of the children playing and had him come in and move them closer to her feet. You can only imagine what her work ethic is like for the actual work.

But in any case, we should be ready for the meeting and have even considered buying second hand suits for the occasion as my only clothes are the rugged outdoors type save my traditional Togolese cotton suits, which would most likely get me laughed out of the building.

Strip and Go Simba

2011-03-27T10:03:00.003-07:00

Simon and I tested out an African brewing recipe that involved pineapples. It worked, we had roughly 6 liters of Pineapple beer, which we later added Simba brand cane liquor (2 dollar 750ml bottle at 43%) to. You couldn’t taste the rubbing alcohol at all and so we dubbed it the African Strip and GO!

Even the Germans liked it, especially the two moms who were visiting at the time. We were quite surprised. Now its time to perfect it…

Damn Kids

2011-03-27T10:03:00.001-07:00

Simon and I went to fill bottles for our trash fence at one of the local primary schools. I wanted to take some pictures of the kids working. But alas, when a kid in Africa sees a camera there is no such thing as candid working. I was engulfed in a sea of children. And in an attempt to salvage some photos, I continued to back up and keep snapping. Little did I know that the waste trench leading to the river from the school latrines was fast approaching and before I knew it I had fallen in. They immediately jumped back as I quickly pulled my foot out of the foot deep muck. I was jeered with chants of ‘sorry, sorry’ which were more reminiscent of mocks than apologies for allowing me to take the fall. Then there were the other kids who thought that it would be funny to poke the bear and make fun of the ‘stinky foot.’ That stopped pretty quickly after I picked up a perpetrator and dangled him over the trench for a minute or so.

That same afternoon some kids tried to use the bottles that we handed out as water bottles. Luckily they hadn’t thought things through and weren’t doing it sneakily. Already a little on edge I decided to punish them by making each kid I caught with water instead of trash drink the entire thing in front of me and then fill it with trash. I don’t think they realized the severity of the punishment until an hour later when they were sitting in class and weren’t allowed to leave for a bathroom break. That’ll teach ‘em.

Glue (*graphic)

2011-03-09T13:48:00.000-08:00

I have seen some pretty difficult things to stomach in my life, but what I had to witness the other day gave me a sick feeling inside. We recruited about 20 children and confiscated 3 or 4 bottles of substances (glue, soap, and gasoline combinations). Before I get to the tough part, I will tell you that if any of the kids had looked into the office around 3p.m. they would have seen the entire staff sniffing the substances and passing them around. The thought struck Simon and I as we were figuring out what they were and then looking to find that the door was wide open. Oops. I don’t think anyone saw us, luckily.

Anywho, the new recruits are allowed to leave at will and upon leaving they are returned their substances. It baffled and infuriated me. I know the process of rehabilitation and weaning someone off of a substance if they are addicted must be considered. But being a psychology major and knowing the effects of huffing toxins on the brain, well I wasn’t a happy camper. Just to refresh you on the effects of sniffing glue (or a bunch of the smelly markers from 4th grade) the acute and chronic symptoms are:
Acute – impaired sensory ability (like being drunk), slurred speech, ataxia, dizziness, confusion, vertigo, heart palpitations, tachycardia, lung damage, & pneumonitis
Chronic – irreversible CNS, cerebral cortex atrophy, cerebellar degeneration,
peripheral neuropathy, optic neuropathy, blindness, toxic hepatitis, liver failure, & sever muscle weakness

I have seen most of the acute symptoms and the kids with them are wild, uncontrollable. And up until today (a few days after seeing the bottles given back) the acute symptoms were all that I had seen. That changed and it’s scary. A 35 year old mad who looked more like a sickly teenager came to the center. Apparently he had been there almost a decade before, but had left to return to the streets. Not only was he sickly, he had lost most of his dexterity in his hands and had a resting tremor throughout his body due to CNS deterioration. He couldn’t even grip my hand when I went to shake his upon meeting him. Speech is almost non-existent and is mostly a symphony of hysterical laughs and occasionally a slurred word or two. He won’t make it through the year as liver and lung failure are next on the list of potential symptoms.

Mathare

2011-03-09T13:45:00.001-08:00

I took my first real trip to the deepest and darkest corners of the slum today. Dan, the program director, Bruce, a child at the center, and I went to see the shanty where he stays every night. It was built by a former street child and houses 15 adults and 14 children. Getting to it was a task in and of itself as I found myself crawling through trash piles, balancing along brick bridges that ran alongside and through the sewage that flows through the back alleys. At times I was ducking from the rugged tin roofs while balancing on stones and small walls while having to jump from one side of the little rivers to the other. I passed countless children answering nature’s call openly in the sewage, looking up with huge smiles and friendly greetings of “Mazungu!” (white person). I don’t think that they are used to seeing my kind so close to home. There were also the glue sniffers basking in the shade of the shanties and lounging around with the various bottles glued to their noses. I’ll get to this in another post.

We arrived out of the blue as I had no idea what to expect. I was told it was a makeshift center for street people. My conception was a horribly built brick building that was ready to fall down. I was greeted by a two-story tin box held together by inch and a half long nails and various lengths of wood. I was a little freaked out by the location and the fact that if something happened to me there…we just wont go there. But sitting in that sweatbox of a house, I wondered 1. Why am I here? and 2. why anyone would leave a mud brick house in the countryside to come live in the city? To the first, Bruce’s mom left her husband and then abandoned him in the streets and neither has yet to be found. To the second, the thought of a western lifestyle is more appealing than the alternative.

Animal House

2011-03-09T13:44:00.001-08:00

So our house got broken into by the monkeys. Fuckers. We had a nice little stockpile of mangoes and avocadoes in our defunct kitchen and while we were at the center, the little devils somehow opened our loosely latched window and stole everything. Well not everything…Simon and I are brewing Pineapple beer. Luckily, we left it in Simon’s room and it seemed to be undisturbed. But oh my golly would it be hilarious to walk into a house full of drunk monkeys.

Takataka

2011-03-09T13:43:00.003-08:00

It’s a cool word in Swahili, but it means trash. I hear it a lot because I am helping Simon with a project that he had started prior to my arrival. We are currently building a fence out of trash around the little “shamba” or field that borders the center. The goal is to protect the produce that the center grows from the many passers-by who pick the almost ready produce a day or two before we are ready to pick them. So Simon decided to start building a fence out of plastic bottles filled with trash. Sounds simple enough, but trying to get 10, 11, & 12 year old children to fill a bottle with trash from around their school complexes isn’t the easiest thing in the world. But it is fun and once the kids buy into it, they enjoy themselves and start to loosen up around the two white dudes. Pictures of the gate, the only part that had been constructed prior to my arrival, can be found on the center’s website in the photo gallery.

Dan's Pub

2011-03-09T13:43:00.001-08:00

Simon and I got invited to watch a Premier League match with the director of the center last week. It was sure to be an interesting night as all three of us have different team allegiances along with the ‘enemy of my enemy’ mentality. For that match, it ended up being Simon and I against Dan. Upon arriving, Dan welcomed us to his ‘pub,’ which is a one story 3 room house on the outskirts of town. It was a fun night and ended in Simon and my favor when Manchester United lost.

A few nights after this, we were taken out for a beer (at Dan’s Bar – had me confused the entire way there) after work by one of the other workers. Although, this time around, it wasn’t quite as enjoyable. You know that one guy who is the first one to point out that someone bought a round for everyone and then asks for volunteers to buy the next round? Yeah, he sat next to me. And in between his trying to get volunteers to pay for next week’s outing (if it happens…) he regailed me with the do’s and don’ts of sleeping with hookers in Nairobi. Neither Simon nor I could figure out how that conversation started. I mean, he is a really nice guy (Fred, a Kenyan volunteer at the center), but just a touch out of tune with the social do’s and don’ts.

In fact it was his generous asking of our host to buy us beef tips and broth after I mentioned to Simon that I was hungry and couldn’t wait for supper. We ended up waiting an extra hour and a half and missing supper to have lukewarm goat and broth. We weren’t very happy. And that compounded when we were told that one of their new found friends was going to accompany us to the other side of the street. Crossing the 4 lane highway on foot is no easy task, but the last time I checked I didn’t need some stranger to hold my hand. I have Simon for that  But yeah, we walked the Western pace and fumed back at the complex. Luckily, one of the German volunteers saw that we weren’t at supper and snagged some for us. She also bought us a few beers and well you just don’t say no to that!

We ate and drank a little more before winding down the night. At that point, we were groggy and still a bit pissed off from earlier. Then Simon got a call from a friend who was collecting bottles for our fence saying that we needed to come pick them up for some reason or another (I later found out that this girl has a crush on Simon, great reason for me to go and carry a few bags of recycled bottles a half mile at midnight). She ended up coming back with us because her water is out; I should have made her prove it. On the way back we saw some guy either get mugged or get caught trying to stiff the bar that is just down the street. Either way we kept walking and tried to pretend that we weren’t there. Simon ended up having to walk her back home and I should have gone with him because there was animal in one of the bottle bags, which were being stored in our kitchen. I got spooked and drunkenly jumped at any noise outside and shriveled at the thought that a monkey had gotten into our house. I spent the next 20 minutes holding the kitchen door shut waiting for Simon to make it back. Even he was on edge from walking back with visions of the scuffle running through his head.

We slept until breakfast and then slept until noon.

Western Pace

2011-03-05T23:37:00.000-08:00

Simon tells me that my coming was a nice infusion of energy into the center. As a majority of the “work” is playing countless games of Sorry! and checkers with the kids, it is easy to fall into a lackadaisical mindset. Not that it is a bad thing by any means and it definitely provides a nice break from the traditional conception of work, even if it is done at an African pace.

But Simon and I have actually been cruising along. We have convinced the staff to update the database and correct some of the mistakes and anomalies found in the children’s files. And while they work on one computer, Simon and I work on the other creating a website for the center. Not that it wasn’t a legitimate program before, but in the digital age it is almost necessary. You can visit it at www.mathareproject.webs.com. It is still a work in progress, but should be finished and updated regularly after that point. Some of the more interesting updates that we are looking forward to include graphs of the data regarding our children, which the techno savvy Simon and Greg discovered through messing around in the database.

I am gonna like it here

2011-03-04T23:36:00.000-08:00

Simon and I live in a two bedroom “house” equivalent to the dingiest party houses in Saint Joseph, MN with the same accommodations…broken sink in the kitchen, broken water heater, poor water pressure in the shower, small rooms. It’s like heaven.

There are 4 German girls living on the other side of the guest compound along with a few workers and some nuns.

The schedule is pretty much the same as Togo. The only main difference is that we eat separately from the monks. But from the proximity of living quarters from my previous location, I am not complaining. The monks that I have met are very nice as are the local people who I have come into contact with.

Things are more expensive than in Togo and it all seems foreign to me. If I needed something there I could get it fairly painlessly, but here I don’t know anything and am relying on other people. Not that it is a bad thing, but I need to get use to it after Togo.

The weather is comparable to summer in Nebraska and is actually too cold for me at the moment. I found myself shivering in a sweater on Sunday night (it was about 70). A little over a year ago I was running through blizzards in a hula skirt. The days are a cool 80 and unless I am in the sunlight feels like autumn.

I am working at a center for street children in the second largest slum in Nairobi. The center takes children off of the streets and away from crime and drugs in order to rehabilitate them and reconnect them with their families. We also try to get the kids back into school with the ultimate goal being passing their exams and getting accepted into high school.

The food is pretty good. They have their own form of pate, but I choose not to eat it if there are other options.

And… there are monkeys living on the grounds and I was lucky enough to snag a few pictures of them climbing around on the drainage chains hung from the houses.

Welcome to Nairobi

2011-03-04T23:35:00.001-08:00

About 5 minutes into the drive to the monastery we witnessed a street-fight in a poorly lit parking lot on the side of the road. Welcome to Nairobi.

Airports

2011-03-04T23:35:00.000-08:00

I don’t know what it is about me, but the security guards just love to pester me. Before even going through the second screening zone, I got called back into a security room and told to open my checked bag (the one crammed with all of the random things that I knew I couldn’t carry on). Luckily alarm was dismissed by politeness and the setting up of a tripod, the likes of which none of them had seen before. Next in Addis Ababa, without leaving the airport, I had to go through security again. This time, the guard didn’t believe that my little duck tape pouch was only used to hold my credit and health cards. He examined it for over a minute. I was then instructed to drink from my unopened and recently bought bottle of whiskey. I had some leftover money in Togo and there wasn’t an exchange bureau. I laughed and said “you have to be kidding.” He watched me open it, take a pull, and swallow all the way down. Then upon arriving in Kenya, the immigration officer gave me a rough time because I didn’t have an address. The address was totally my fault in lack of preparation, but it never came up in any of my quick messages to Simon and I didn’t exactly have a ton of time to arrange everything electronically. But if he had let me walk another 50 ft. Simon and a monk were there waiting for me. In any case, I got through and will never see him again.

Present

2011-03-03T23:34:00.007-08:00

So I am in my room, sweating my balls off trying to make everything fit in my pack and suitcase when low and behold Ezekiel shows up. He hands me a letter for Boniface and a bag. The bag had a Canadian tuxedo in it as a going away gift. Not that I didn’t like it, but shit now I have an all denim outfit that I have to pack.

Leaving

2011-03-03T23:34:00.003-08:00

The goodbyes took longer than I like, but I played along anyways as I could see that all I have done here has had a fairly sizeable impact on the community. I took one final tour of the garden and did the goodbye thing before sprinting off to the school as the bus was being loaded. I made quick stops by the primary school and each of the grade school classes to say one final goodbye to everyone. The bishop, who was running on a different schedule than mine (he was just going to Kara for the morning), wasn’t shy about his impatience as he honked his horn for me to hurry up. I ran past the school one final time towards the road where I jumped in the bus and the 12 hour, 500 km journey started.

We left at 8 from Agbang. We made it to Kara at 8h45 and left at 9h15. We stopped for a few random pee breaks (there were two women in the travel party, evil included; and nothing against women, but in my experience you need to stop more than guys). We then stopped for an hour long “lunch” (at 3pm) about 150km from Lomé. Upon leaving the driver, Fr. Gregoire, killed a goat. The darn thing had the dear in the headlights look from about 100m away, no chance. We then played stop and let three people out to go bargain shopping for roadside rat and squirrel. Alongside of the highway, hunters sell bush rat and squirrel. I thought we should’ve just taken the goat that we accidentally killed. In any case, we stopped about 3 times for up to 20 minutes at a time to let people out and go haggle with the hunters. Being someone who doesn’t like not having traveled at least 400 miles in 6 hours of driving, I wasn’t a very happy camper being 8 hours in and not having even gotten 400 km.

After finally finding a few rats (of which I will not be eating mind you), we made it to the outskirts of the city where we were greeted by a traffic jam, Togo style. Two and occasionally 3 story trucks, vans, mammy-wagons, cars, and motos to plug the spaces between all going the same direction on a 2-way street. (yes that sentence has no verb, and I am leaving it) The problem as we found out after 2 hours of waiting, was a semi that was having mechanical trouble and parked on the wrong side of the road – into incoming traffic. Then when the one-way passing lane was being cleared, the Lomé bound traffic took advantage of the clearing and moved into the oncoming lane as there currently was no oncoming traffic. That didn’t work out too well when the massive semis leaving Lomé were finally allowed to pass. It was hot and humid. The AC doesn’t work so all of the windows were down, which was wonderful considering all of the toxic fumes streamlining it into my lungs from the mass of cars trapped on what I would consider a country backroad.

We finally got free and then started dropping people off all over the city. Ezekiel even surprised me by telling the evil woman, who he usually has to cater to at the bidding of the prior that we were not going to visit her friend’s house so that she could drop off a basket of tomatoes, but instead were going straight to her house and leaving it all there. She wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t driving either. Ezekiel then surprised me again by getting out of the bus and saying that he would see us later (I found out upon arriving at the house an hour later that he had come straight here because he was thirsty). We stopped at the woman’s house, where she scolded the guard for not greeting her loud enough. I felt sorry for him. She then invited the monks inside for a beer. Nope not tonight after this car ride. I was not shy about my feelings at this point reflecting on the fact that I was all but forced to take the bus down after having already purchased a courier ticket from the postal service line. Luckily, the driver listened to my plea and was out in less than a minute.

Alas, after 12 hours on the road we arrived at the house where I was greeted by all of my friends. I was also greeted by Ezekiel who then told me that he came straight back after getting out of the car. I joked about him not taking me with or even bother asking if anyone else wanted to go back. It came out as a joke, but I was dead serious underneath the mask. That faded as it didn’t have any impact on the present. I am here and only a day away from leaving Togo.

Can you say king?

2011-03-03T23:34:00.001-08:00

Well that’s the kind of treatment I got from everyone on my final visit to Kara. Everyone I visited, was very gracious and saddened at my recent departure. I have never been one for gaudy goodbye’s, so it was somewhat difficult to engage everyone in the endless ‘say hi to your family when you return, good luck, safe travels, Godspeed, say hi to Boniface in Nairobi, enjoy your time, don’t forget us, and be safe’s.’ I received just about every one of those from every person. And that is the shortened/translated version. But I did. There were also a few small gift/trinket exchanges, which were heartwarming.

Back at Agbang (I drove the moto both ways and through the city and incidentally broke just about every traffic rule, what few there are. I only ended up going into oncoming traffic twice!) I was greeted at supper by just about every monk in the community and a nice little going away speech from the prior all before sitting down to a feast of a meal made specially for the occasion. Everyone was all smiles save the beady-eyed woman who had to stand and listen to it all before sitting down to eat it. Win? Yep! It was very satisfying after putting up with her for the past month considering that she is leaving on the same day as I am  The hotelier wasn’t into the speech too much either, but that wasn’t completely unexpected.

On the subject of the woman, the day before she was singing rather loudly outside of my door. It started right after breakfast and inconsequently right when I started cleaning my room and packing up. I had had it, not today on my last day here, and not for four straight hours…again. I went up to Johanas and made my case to ask him to ask her to stop. He agreed with me and then confessed that he was sick of her too. In his words, “This is a monastery, not a hotel. She has no right being here or ordering us around like she does, save she’s in the graces of the prior.” We found the surprior and he said that he would talk to her in a few minutes when he came to give me a list of needed medications. Well that wasn’t for about a half an hour. But he came, and almost as soon as he entered the monastery he heard her bellowing and sprinted to her to ask her to stop. She ignored him and then asked “Why? Because of my voice?” and continued even louder. American Idol candidate anyone? She won for the time being, but the prior showed up soon thereafter with some guests. She shut right up, before he could see her. Talk about putting on a show for guy in charge. It was disgusting, but at least she stopped.

Moving on, after supper I was visited by an unlikely guest, Pelimliwa. He had come the night before and I wasn’t expecting him. I had previously stopped by his house upon my return only to find out that he was at his garden (really far away). It was a nice visit and an appropriate ‘last student’ to see.

Round 2

2011-03-03T23:33:00.001-08:00

Tonight, the night after the crash, I went out after dinner with Fr. Gregoire, the cook, her husband, her 3 year old son, and the father of Pelimliwa for one last Tchuc run. No, I did not take the moto. We walked and I got one last look at the Agbang market and the nightlife of tribal Africa. The company was good as was the Tcuch, although I could have done without a few encounters with some drunken villagers who seem to be under the impression that we are great friends. But no harm, no foul and at least I was able to say some more goodbyes even though they weren’t planned.

CRASH

2011-03-03T23:32:00.003-08:00

So it wasn’t this huge 10 car pile-up or anything, but yes I crashed. Oops. At the time I was pretty surprised that I made it as far as I did without crashing considering the conditions…night, bad light, old motorcycle, sand, 2 people riding, and a belly full of chicken and beer. Adding that all up it makes me think that my decision making at the time was a little off! Before I go further, I should probably clarify that by crash I mean swirving a little in the sand, coming almost to a complete stop, and tipping over.

I’ll just go back to the beginning. Briefly, a former monk of Agbang invited Blaise and I to visit his house and his garden (5 times bigger than ours, but he has land next to the river). I made some time for it thinking it wouldn’t take long and I could profit from it at the same time by saying goodbye. As it turns out, he killed his biggest rooster to say thank you to me for visiting and also to keep me in good spirits hoping that I might be able to help him out one day. Later that night, Blaise and I snuck out during prayer to go meet him at a bar owned by Blaise’s parents in Agbebou. Thinking I could get away with drinking a coke, I toke the bike.

We got there just after nightfall and were greeted with a bowl full of a very deliciously prepared coq. Trying to be courteous I offered to buy some Tchuc, but the waitress said she couldn’t find any and brought us back a flask of wine (which is the equivalent of grape flavored vodka). Now that I think about it, that’s what did me in. Afterwards, the rounds of beer started coming in along with a phone call to the monk in charge of supper saying that I was visiting with friends and wouldn’t make it. Upon the second 1.5 liter bottle, I politely declined and was rewarded with only HAVING to drink half of it. Afterwards, I was offered a free bottle by the owner of the bar and had to defer the request to the following day (which never actually happened ). That was my trying to be responsible me. I knew my limits, but that darned vodka, ugh slipped my mind.

Blaise and I hit the gravel road cruising through the villagers who had yet to disperse from the evening market. En route, I felt pretty comfortable up until I heard Blaise start laughing his head off after telling me that I missed the turn. No worries, we went up to the Agbang market and hung a very w-i-d-e left. I was a little generous on the gas. Everything was going fine up until the school, at which point I became slightly worried having remembered the sand pits that litter and at points overtake the path. I made my way through the first few to realize that I ended up on the wrong end of a divide and was going to nail the big one instead of skim along side of it. Not wanting to overcorrect after the swerving started, I tried to keep ‘er straight, which worked! For the first half. Once I straightened out I celebrated a little too soon as almost instantly I swerved again and crashed.

Blaise was laughing the entire way down. So was I. I want to think that it was the beer that prevented me from feeling anything, but I am certain that part of it was the luck of landing directly in the middle of the sand pit. I escaped with nothing more than a 2 inch 2nd degree burn on my right ankle from landing on the exhaust pipe. Blaise was unharmed and still laughing as I told him that it was the beer driving and not I. We rolled into the monastery just after meal time and parted ways like nothing had happened. I returned to my room to find a timely received care package. What a night!

Kenya!

2011-02-26T03:25:00.000-08:00

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.

Yay Bo!

2011-02-25T03:18:00.001-08:00

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?

Yay Bo!

2011-02-25T03:18:00.000-08:00

New Pictures

2011-02-25T03:17:00.000-08:00

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.

I should eat a bird

2011-02-25T03:16:00.003-08:00

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

2011-02-25T03:16:00.002-08:00

Strange

2011-02-25T03:16:00.001-08:00

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.”

Strange

2011-02-25T03:16:00.000-08:00

Wild Dogs

2011-02-25T03:14:00.001-08:00

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

2011-02-25T03:14:00.000-08:00

The Constant Gardener

2011-02-24T03:13:00.001-08:00

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.

Consumerism

2011-02-24T03:13:00.000-08:00

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.

Computer

2011-02-24T03:12:00.000-08:00

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.

Videos

2011-02-23T03:33:00.001-08:00

The moto ride videos are a work in progress. I hope to get them up soon.

Mosquitoes

2011-02-23T03:12:00.001-08:00

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

2011-02-23T03:11:00.003-08:00

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...

2011-02-23T03:11:00.001-08:00

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

2011-02-23T03:10:00.001-08:00

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.

Why am I teaching?

2011-02-18T07:21:00.000-08:00

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.

The Test

2011-02-18T07:20:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-18T07:19:00.000-08:00

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.

Rain!

2011-02-17T07:18:00.001-08:00

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

2011-02-17T07:18:00.000-08:00

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.

Quick Explanation

2011-02-17T07:16:00.000-08:00

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.

Dames

2011-02-16T07:16:00.001-08:00

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

2011-02-16T07:15:00.001-08:00

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.

Surprise!

2011-02-16T07:14:00.001-08:00

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!

Riding Solo

2011-02-11T03:17:00.000-08:00

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.

African Wildlife

2011-02-10T03:16:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-10T03:15:00.000-08:00

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.

Lazy Sunday

2011-02-09T03:10:00.001-08:00

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.

Surprise Phone Call

2011-02-09T03:09:00.001-08:00

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.

The Eye of the Storm

2011-02-09T03:08:00.001-08:00

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.

In other news...

2011-02-04T05:09:00.000-08:00

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.

Back

2011-02-04T05:08:00.000-08:00

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

2011-02-04T05:07:00.000-08:00

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.

Dzogbegan

2011-02-03T05:01:00.000-08:00

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.

Entertaining Thoughts

2011-02-03T04:49:00.000-08:00

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 Furnace Has Been Lit

2011-02-02T04:49:00.001-08:00

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.

On the road again...

2011-02-02T04:48:00.001-08:00

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.

Updates

2011-01-26T02:54:00.000-08:00

Not too much is going on over here. I am trying to get a trip lined up to Benin to go on a Safari, but we'll see how that turns out. I was informed that I need a visa, but I don't exactly want to run down to Lomé to pick one up for a single day in the country. HOpefully there are some nice boarder guards.

Other than that, life goes on. I am out of American food and am planning on stocking up on anythng I can fit in my pack in Kara today. The water hauling is taking its toll on my metabolism and the monastery food just isn't cutting it.

In other news, the Flyers are the best team in the NHL, Nebraska basketball might double its win total from last lear and maybe even make a postseason appearance, the SuperBowl should be a hard hitting old-school brawl. It should make for a decent start to the new month.

Headstrong

2011-01-26T02:18:00.001-08:00

The water is still out and my shoulders couldn’t take carrying water anymore so I had to use my head, literally. I switched off between a 20 and 25L jug full of water precariously balancing it on my head for the mini trek from the pump to the garden. I have no idea how the people here can do that day in and day out. And they don’t need to use their hands. I was straining with both of mine to keep the darn thing from falling off and breaking, releasing the precious liquid on a worthless patch of dirt. The water tower doesn’t seam to want to be fixed either so its looking like I am going to have my work cut out for me for a little while.

Oh and I saw a scorpion today. It was just a little guy, but his stinger definitely worked. I was studying it on the wall during my English class when one of my students picked up the blackboard eraser and held it close to the scorpion’s head and the little bugger sprang at it with lightning speed. I reacted almost as quickly with my shoe on him.

Tired as a dog

2011-01-26T02:17:00.002-08:00

So the water cut out…again. Normally I wouldn’t be too worried about it considering my only water needs are a half bucket of the stuff to shower with (as I say to hell with the toilets, the woods are cleaner). But yesterday was Sunday meaning that the garden was only watered sparsely at night due to the whole take off the holy day thing, which absolutely drives me berserk when it comes to finding something to do. So in order to save my green beans, tomatoes, and pimon I had to haul the water bucket by bucket the nice little quarter of a mile stretch between the garden and the pump. It wasn’t very fun.

I also got a soccer game in, which was awesome and far too long overdue. And then I slept my way through mass and dinner. Everyone was joking about how tired I was, I gave a hint of a smile passed everyone on my way to my room taking consolation in knowing that I’ll have the last laugh when the little workhorse flies off into the night sky leaving no one to fill his hoofs for another 6 months.

Défelé

2011-01-26T02:17:00.000-08:00

I was offered an opportunity to drive an hour into the mountains for a mass on Sunday by the prior. Not being one to willingly miss out on an opportunity to change things up a bit on the typically low-key weekends, I obliged. My response was followed up with, “Ok good, we’re leaving at 5h30.” FML. I was assured that we would just be going for the mass and then returning promptly after lunch, which gave me some comfort in knowing that I wouldn’t be spending the entire day on the road. I wasn’t expecting to completely follow the schedule that was given to me, but I was definitely not expecting the events that occurred.

The 5h25 wake up call on the 5th alarm that I set the night before wasn’t as rough as it could have been, but it sure wasn’t fun either. Groggy Greg climbed into the van with the Archbishop and the prior for the two-hour ride during which I dozed in and out of sleep while listening to my music. We arrived, had a bare bones breakfast of leftover porridge and then made our way to the little chapel. I managed to find a seat among the hundreds of people gathered to see the 5 marriages, yes 5 marriages. I spent the next four hours hunched over on a wooden bench scrunched between a rather large woman and a little girl who was in danger of falling off throughout the ceremony. It was not how I envisioned spending my Sunday morning. It wouldn’t have been as bad had there not been ten eager cameramen (most using 35mm film cameras out of the 70s, one with a video camera out of the mid-90s, and one with a newer video camera and a stage light). Between being blinded by the stage light being shown in my face every time he passed by to get a shot of the crowd and having my view blocked from the other 9 guys I got glimpses of the action.

After the mass, I stood awkwardly outside of the chapel greeting anyone who came up to me while waiting for my two chaperones. We meandered our way back to the curator’s house all the while thinking ‘eat and leave.’ We got back and eventually started eating while the wedding parties made their way to the house before the separate celebrations started at all corners of the town. The food was pretty good, but the lack of people willing to talk to the white guy that no one had ever seen before made it for a rather solitary meal. I did grab the attention of a little girl whom the archbishop made sit next to him, but that didn't last too long. I even picked up on some not so happy thoughts from some of the brides who weren’t too thrilled about the white stranger getting served first with the nicer dishware while they were stuck with the plastic fill-ins. The ensuing eye contact would’ve turned a lesser man to stone.

After eating my fill and sitting/watching the feasting I was delighted to see Bernard (the prior) motion that we were leaving. Yes! I can still salvage some of the day for personal use! Nope. We ended up driving to three of the newlyweds’ parties and subsequently having to turn down food each one on account of not having any room for more. Up until the third one, we had been giving lifts to random people and some of the other celebrants of the ceremony. Upon leaving the third house however, it was just the three of us. Finally, we can go back to Agbang; except, wait, we are driving North not South. Damn. We made a stop at a house about 25 minutes North of Défelé to say hi to some family friends. Afterwards we were Southbound, finally. But this time we took a right and headed West. We stopped at a convent, chatted for another half hour and then drove one of the sisters to another convent on the other side of this little town where we sat and chatted for another half hour. At least at the second place there was some popcorn (of all things wonderful to find in an African village). At this point it was already 5 o’clock and I had given up all hope of getting back in time to do anything I had planned. By then I was hoping to make it back in time for supper.

We finally got on the road and started the journey back to Kara. I wish I could say that the journey was uneventful, but alas we were stopped at a blockade (the likes of which I had never seen in Togo). Apparently all traffic was grounded between a town a hair south of Défelé and Kara. We were initially told to go back to the end of a 2-mile line of cars and trucks before finagling our way to the front by saying that we had an archbishop and a prior in the group. We waited for about 20 minutes and then coerced our way past the blockade saying that we were going to let the bishop wait in the comfort of a parish house not far away. We took back roads to another small town not too far away only to find out that the passage to the main road was blocked off here too. Apparently January 24th is the anniversary of the death of the former president who died in a plane crash. I couldn’t tell you what was going on to commemorate it, but the president went cruising by with his brigade of followers. After the main part of the caravan had passed, Bernard snuck into the tail end of the pack giving us a free road at high speeds for a little while before turning off of the presidential route. We made it back in the nick of time for supper and then I proceeded to pass out hoping that my I would sleepwalk and do all of the work that I had wanted to do earlier.

Books (revision)

2011-01-22T02:09:00.000-08:00

I have finished. Rolled through that one in just under 3 days having started it at 11 o’clock on Saturday night (hoping for a quick solution for sleep) and had finished tonight a shade before that same time. The Pillars of the Earth was a little more interesting than I had initially thought upon looking at the cover (insert choice axiom). But it settled down into an easy read and gave me something to do with my weekend and free time that would have no doubt been spent playing solitary card games. It was predictable at times, exciting at others, and at times fun to read – I must admit. The one thing that the book had going for it was that it appealed to one of my greater interests in that of Medieval History. Not that I spent 5 months earning my minor in that same subfield less than a 30 minute plane ride from where the story took place or anything. My subtle distain for English and Welshmen flared a little bit at points, but what more can be said for someone who had Irish professors. I haven’t completely changed my view on books as I would be blind not to realize that I am not in my element in the first place and it would not be unlike me to do things that I don’t normally do when I am not there. But reading this one felt, satisfying.

Teeth...

2011-01-21T02:09:00.000-08:00

were given to us for a reason. My dislike of the food here is fairly well known, but despite that I still sit down willingly and suffer through the meals, wishing that we could just say prayer and I could get the heck out of there. I have come to almost dread meal time, especially when the prior is around for lunch. As he is always moving around, he ues the time to socialize with the other wealthier visitors or the bishop (whom I have slowly grown to dislike after getting to know him better). The sitting still in a chair at a table full of monks with the taste of mush, and peanut sauce with green beans fresh in my mouth listening to big-bellied laughs at ecclesiastical and clerical jokes isn’t exactly my idea of fun. Today had been particularly non-welcoming to me at meal time. Both times we had pate, which I have come to despise. When it is made right and has a solid form to it, I can stand it. But today it was pure mush with the cook having used too much water for the amount of cornflower. It was like eating mashed potatoes and green beans smothered in a peanut gravy that may sound appetizing as I am finding out writing this, but the reality is starkly different than the Thanksgivingish meal. All I could think about was ‘give me some damn food that I can sink my teeth into! it was more difficult for me to eat this meal with teeth as there was nothing to chew. a teething baby would have taken more pleasure in this meal than I am’. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into a nice juicy steak the likes of which have never before been seen here.

Santé

2011-01-21T02:08:00.000-08:00

My health has returned although I feel like writing about it is going to re-curse my body. I also feel as clean as a whistle as taking a week’s worth of whatever the heck it was that killed the worms and an anti-diarrheal pretty much gutted my system. And for that I am eternally grateful. I managed to scream through 2 rolls of toilet paper during the first three days and in my shame, I have been using newspaper since (the opposite sides of the huskers articles do the dirty work to avoid disgracing the team). This isn’t the first time, but it’s not much worse than the stuff they give you and this one preserves some of my dignity as I don’t think I could muster asking for a 3rd roll in the same week – less than a week.

Resolution

2011-01-20T02:07:00.001-08:00

I guess it’s only fair to have a(nother) New Years as seeing that Christmas came late. I was happy to see all of the sports articles and was surprised to see a novel, and not just a novel, a big one, for me at least. So in honor of New Years and the resolutions that I don’t believe in I am going to give it a try. In realizing how much of a hypocrite I will be in finding that I may actually like it and also in remembering a recent post about my view on books, you’ll see that I have not taken this decision lightly. But in understanding that I can only play so many hands of solitaire or FreeCell before getting bored it will be a welcome change of routine if not merely something to occupy my copious amounts of time. So here you go (previously non-liked) BOOKS, this is your chance.

In terms of the other gifts, suffice it to say that I have the most amazing friends and family. I will briefly comment on the monkey towel that was sent to me by Eric? The monkey head sewn on top of the towel with a slot for my head so that I can wear it around like a cape is hysterical! The only thing is I am a little frightened to wear it around like that with my hands in the little paw-slots because frankly it only covers down to my bellybutton. I don’t think the monks would see the humor in me running down the hall to the shower dressed like a monkey from head to navel with nothing below.

Reluctance

2011-01-20T02:07:00.000-08:00

I am somewhat reluctant to write today as I am tired from frolicking in the winter wonderland that is January in Togo. I guess I should start from the beginning.

Yesterday was a good day. It started out like any other, rolling out of bed at the clanging of the breakfast bell. Breakfast, which has recently switched from corn soup to steamed yams (bigtime downgrade), was better than normal as the presence of bread at least gave me some reconciliation that my favorite meal of the day wasn’t going to leave a sour taste in my mouth that was oh so used to the sweets. I then did a quick bout of laundry taking advantage of the unusually timed running of the generator to play some music while I worked. Ok I didn’t just play it I practically blared it, as much as is possible from my computer. There weren’t too many people around at the time and I am not shy about using the nonconfrontational style here to my advantage.

After laundry I sat down in my room and stared at my desk before decided to play a few hands of solitaire and FreeCell (old school fashion with the cards as someone didn’t like my music and cut the power). I then received a knock on my door saying that we were having fufu for lunch and they needed help pounding the yams. I jumped at the opportunity to get some kind of physical activity in and dashed off. I saw the UNESCO group who barely blinked at the sight of some random white guy walking around. I pounded fufu for as long as my nolongerleatherskinned hands could take, turning down every offer to take over and becoming more defiant each time as I was the only one receiving the offers. The fact that it was the lazy and uneducated aspirant who was constantly asking me only aggravated me more to the point where I was ready to knock him in the jaw with the mashing baton if he came near me again and blame it on losing my grip. I finally succumbed to the fact that my hands were now raw with blisters and realizing that there was nothing there to prove and I wasn’t rowing that there was no point in completely shredding my hands over a bowl of pounded yams. I saw Blaise make his way over and tossed him the baton, spurning the ones who had been trying to cater to me. I don’t treat anyone differently based on their color and I command the same of anyone I interact with. Treat me with any sign of difference and you’ll get a swift kick in the ass before being afforded the opportunity of watching me doing what it is that you thought I couldn’t.

After Lunch I made my way back to my room where to my surprise the electricity was back on. I figured I had nothing better to do so I watched one of my legally backed up for personal use movies. If you’ve never heard of “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” snag it off of Netflix and start watching. At about the climax of the movie my phone started ringing. My dad called about 5 hours earlier than I expected, which I was hoping for as I had other plans made for the night. I had a great talk about anything and everything I could think of at the time. It was nice to not have to stop and explain my words, attempting different pronunciations in trying to hit upon the West African version of the same word. English is meant to be spoken fast I have determined, as are most languages. And I am thankful to not have started off a conversation with “thank you” (the first time I heard that one I was stopped dead in my tracks, skipped by it and probably came off as incredibly rude when talking to the armed guard in Accra, but seriously? Who starts a conversation with “thank you?”) which people are taught here along with the always present “hi, how are you, fine thanks,” monotony that has been etched into people’s minds, and (although it would be difficult to replicate for a phone call) “I am coming” as a form of saying “I will be right back.” If I have one pet peeve here it is that. In French you say “J’arrive” to say I will be arriving soon, I have arrived, or I am arriving – in context, “I will be right back”. But here they are taught to say “I am coming.” Christian says it all the time in Kara when we are sitting down and he has to run out of the room to go help someone. NO you are not coming, you are leaving, you will be coming back. The proper term is I will be right back.

Anywho the talk was good, but the credits cut out on us right at the end. Almost no sooner than I had clicked continue, I heard a knockin’ at my door. Who on earth could it be? I opened the door to find the man in red himself (minus the red, and the reindeer, and the snow, and rosy red cheeks, and the white beard, and the boots, and the whip, and the bells, and the sleigh, and the elves, and the bag, and the blue eyes)! Santa is black! And his sleigh is really a 2009 Sanya Motorcycle, black. But I was like no shit, this is actually happening. I saw 3 boxes in the ledge outside my door and was greeted by one of the monks, Nikolas, who is always happy to see me since he lives in Kara and we haven’t fallen into the mundane daily greeting routine. He took off as quick as he showed up always having things to do and as far as I could tell he made the special trip down from the north pole just for me. My initial reaction was, my god how did Natalie afford a box this big (as the other two and hers were expected to arrive around the same time). Turns out I am still waiting on that box, but Mom Mom you will be happy to know that someone upstairs has an eye on the USPS because that box somehow made it up from South Africa generally unscathed save the chocolate covered pretzels, which have been reduced to chocolate covered bags with pretzels inside in the African heat.

I had another reaction, but this was to the third person who found his way to be standing outside of my room when the boxes showed up (I think is was a right place, right time kinda deal). It was the lazy aspirant who still owes me money from a moto ride about a month back. He had huge eyes seeing me take the boxes (after bidding farewell to Nik) and said knowing that I prefer French (even though he speaks less than Colin) to his native version of English “On va partager?” I shot him a look that said like hell, gave him a cheerful “nope” and closed the door with my foot.

So yes today was a good day and I have been frolicking in my private winter wonderland for the past day and a half.

Hair

2011-01-20T02:05:00.000-08:00

There was a UNESCO caravan that made it’s way to the monastery today, with what I think was a Peace Corps worker in a white girl. Apparantly they want to set up a one day clinic to help malnourished children in the area. That’s all fine and dandy, I just hope they have a system for keeping up on looking after the kids once the supply of miracle vitamin pills runs out. As long as they keep up with it, power to them. But if this is a one stop shop, hand out, pack up and go home operation the children would probably be better off without it.

I saw part of a documentary (came out this year) on Swaziland during one of my first trips to Christian’s house in Kara. Two things stuck with me. The first was the princess saying that she had a dream from God about it raining in a region where it traditionally hadn’t rained, it came true, and the people who converted to Christianity and believed in Jesus were cured of Aids. Something’s gotta give. The other, was the president (who is female and was dressed out of 19th C England) chronicaled, fascinatingly, how the freedom that had crept its way into a rather close-minded societal structure has lead to that society having widespread HIV/AIDS outbreaks and poverty and that all of the aid and donations that have been given has been more harmful than helpful. She ended with our children grow up wanting this freedom that the outside world offers, the receive it and they only bring back disaster.

I am not saying that UNESCO is going to bring disaster to Togo, but unforeseen consequences of poor preparation/planning can be pretty magnanimous.

Anywho, the girl had really long, blonde hair and one of the strands ended up on a cup or plate that Blaise was going to use at dinner. I picked it up and looked at it like a child looks at a worm for the first time. He then nudged Johanas and they both stared at it in awe wondering what the hell it was. I laughed at the sight, during the silent dinner, and asked what they were looking at. “I don’t know.” I told them it was hair from the girl who visited earlier, to which they were unaware. But the look on their faces was priceless when I told them what it was. It would be worth noting that black people’s hair is spongy, curly and doesn’t fall out very often (could be due to the fact that all men have shaved or shortly buzzed hair as do girls and only well to do women have long hair, which I wont even bother describing).

Back to the Grind

2011-01-19T02:04:00.001-08:00

The worms are still there. Life goes on, although it is rather unsettling listening to WWIII going on inside of me. The booms and mini explosions due to godknowswhat are psyching me out a little bit.

On that note, I went in to teach my class today (at 11h00 on Friday). As a little background, a week ago (Friday) I gave my students a 10-line letter homework assignment to prep them for a pen pal program that I am currently working on. They came in on Tuesday morning saying that they were either sick, didn’t know how to write, and didn’t know what to write. I doubled the assignment, wrote it all on the board and gave them until our next class on Thursday (little did I know that the 13th is a national holiday, but I was bedridden and didn’t miss a beat on skipping class for the day off). I walked into my class today to find two of them starting the assignment and one of them thinking she had it finished with 5 lines. I got the typical “I am sick” excuse. I flipped…”you’re sick? Ok, what do you have? ‘a headache and yesterday I had a stomach ache from some bad soy cheese’ Oh that’s too bad, I have a headache, I have a cough, my asthma is acting up from the dust, I have worms, I am suffering from mal-nourishment due to 3rd world cuisine and I am here in class and not bitching about it; deal with it.” They were waiting for the sympathetic Greg to come out, make a joke or two and start teaching. He was out picking daisies. They all got 0s and the original assignment reassigned for the 3rd time.

I think I was more frustrated at the fact that I caught them in the act and then they tried to hide it or explain it. I was great at working the system in college and the improv/impromptu gene passed down from dear old dad sure helped, but when I got caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing or working on something that should’ve been finished long before the time that I was working on it - man you just gotta lay down the cards and take it. There is no getting around getting caught red-handed. I mean sure the brunt of the force isn’t too bad if you’re not the only one, but you keep your trap shut, take it, apologize, and learn from the mistake (generally show up 20 minutes late to class with a finished assignment and use one of 50 prepped excuses that all have plausible, implausible if you’ve got the balls for it, back stories – and in all honesty the truth is the best excuse, and great professors who have been around the block can see it in the eyes – the words mean nothing to them. ¬°cough, practice).

This all comes back to corporal punishment. Other teachers use it. I don’t. There are better ways of rewarding and punishing behavior, but I think this institution is about a century or so behind Skinner and Pavlov. So my forward way of thinking and positive psychology doesn’t quite work in an equilateral African country bent on tapping behavior/grades into children. I am seen as the easy going, ‘his punishments are better than being hit with a stick’, candy giving white guy. It’s difficult being thrown into a positive punishment society and trying to implement a positive reinforcement ideology. Add in that I only interact with 4 kids for 4 hours per week in the school setting and, well it would take a lot more time than I am going to spend here to do that. But I am getting a very real experience of what life on the other side of the fence is like.

At the onset of my deciding to major in Psychology I told my advisor that I wanted to focus on 2 things, Sports and Cross-Cultural. There is one course on each and I took neither. I played sports and studied the psychology behind it all in my own time and I have traveled and studied it in my own time. I may not know the “scientific” names of the theories, but oh man have I seen them in action. And all I can say for it is that if life were supposed to be a textbook, God would have made everyone blind and written it in Brail.

College football

2011-01-19T02:03:00.003-08:00

is over. Auburn controversially won the national championship, although I am happy that a more balanced team put the lid on a high scoring, defense-to-the wind mentality (tough to say because I love the Ducks, butcha gotta play the game like it was meant to be played). If I had my druthers TCU would be the national champion as they were the most impressive team week in and week out.

Other than that, I would give the season a C+ rating. The controversy over rules violations across the board was pathetic and the fact that the NCAA can’t seem to get a grasp on it is worse. We are finally starting to see what happens when teams schedule weak non-conference games and their actual conference has a down year. Michigan State had an outstanding year on paper at 11-2, but they are no better than a Top 25 team. Ohio St had one quality win all year coming against Arkansas. Iowa tanked at the end of the year due to injuries and Penn St. was in an off year. Wisconsin was by far and away the only proven Big 10 team coming into bowl season. The SEC was loaded and was hands down the best conference in the league this year. The Pac 10 had two top 5 times and might as well just drop the states of Washington and Arizona and half of the teams from California off the docket for next year. Colorado has a great a shot at finishing in the upper half of the league for a change. The Big East should drop football and stick to basketball. The Big 12 was an enigma and a much tougher conference than people will give it credit for after the bowl season. Had it been the SEC that went through a season like the Big 12, the papers would be calling it the best conference by far and away – all of the teams were too good and beat up on each other. Somehow, NU managed to finish 20th in the AP poll falling a miraculous 1 spot after the bowl loss. For as much as the press has disliked Nebraska since the early 2000s, they sure did give us a little credit this year. The ACC is making strides, but will drop off a little next year with player losses. They are far from the powerhouse conference that they were a decade ago. The MWC was the class of the non-AQ this year having more bowl teams than the PAC 10 (or the same if USC wasn’t on probation). Boise State is still over-rated as is Nevada. (ranked 15th come bowl season having beaten two teams with a winning record – Boise St (due to b2b botched field-goals by BSU) and Fresno State who had a whopping 7 wins (6 of them were against the bottom of the MWC and WAC). please don’t dell me that this is even a Top 20 worthy team) Both very good teams, but the strength of schedule just isn’t there. Being the biggest, baddest fish in the pond means squat when the pond consists of Nevada, Idaho, New Mexico, Hawaii, and the dregs of Louisiana/California. The CUSA played some of the most exciting football that no one saw. Good teams with high-powered offenses centered around difficult schemes with defenses to match and there was no high-profile controversy surrounding any one program. The MAC disappointed, but not much can be expected from the BIG 10’s little brother. Asside from Florida Atlantic having a chance to knock Texas out of bowl contention or Western Kentucky snapping an incredible losing streak, nothing of note really happened in the Sun Belt. And last but not least, the Independents. Army made it back to a bowl, Navy showed that the triple option still has a place in football, and Notre Dame was 8 points away from an 11 win season with a new coach and unproven leaders.

The scenery change next year will have a big impact on the football landscape as the Big 10 becomes the Big 12 and visa versa. The MWC loses its top 3 traditional powers to the Big East and Independents, but gains the cream of the crop out of the WAC (wahoo). The Pac 10 picks up a team that probably is no more closer to the Pacific Coast than TCU is to that of the Atlantic. But hey, the way college football works these days, this is normal. No longer does playing in January mean that you are one of the top 10 teams in the nation. No longer is winning seen as a W. It is seen as a statistical nightmare of baseballesk proportions. Winning ugly is basically a loss unless you are in the good graces of the media or hail from the almighty SEC. Playing tough non-conference schedules is about as rare as a consensus Number 1 team. And if the stars align come September, all will be exposed to the entire nation as the NFL lockout will leave College Football in the spotlight. Nothing would be worse for the fate of the bowl system than having the playoff crazy NFL fans clamoring for a playoff in a system that they don’t understand. But for now there is hope. Nebraska changes to the new league and while the schedule may seem daunting it is favorable. Washington loses Jake Locker and the sting from the bowl will carry over into that game. The rest of the non-conference slate should be a cakewalk. Wisconsin will be tough, but will be undergoing some major changes in losing their star quarterback who has been the staple of that team for all but the first year of Bielema’s tenure. Ohio State will be down 6 starters (including their star quarterback) when Nebraska rolls around. Minn sucks. Michigan State loses 95% of their defense in their soon to be drafted middle linebacker. Northwestern saves its big upset for Iowa every year. Penn St. will be tough, but they lost every tough game this year and have some QB controversy. Michigan is getting a new coach and will be changing schemes and working with a team that is unproven in the spotlight. And Iowa loses over half of their defensive starters and their quarterback. Reading between the lines, even with Watson as a coordinator, so long as the Blackshirts do what they have done the past 3 seasons and the offense scores at least a touchdown a game: NU could be looking at a rematch Big 10 championship come December.

School Calendar

2011-01-19T02:03:00.001-08:00

I finally found out all of the important school dates including the last day of school – July 9th. Ha, like a snowball’s chance in hell of making it until then.

Ivory Dreams

2011-01-19T02:02:00.001-08:00

So I have been following this debacle over to the West since I saw the election results get torn up live on television in Kara. Talk about lucking out on my weekly trip in! Aside from the weekly trip, I don’t receive too much up to date information as it isn’t exactly a pressing or accessible issue in the countryside. I occasionally pick up on some public sentiment, which is generally positive about either president, and try to read as much information as I can on it during my few hours at the cyber café.

The other day I got to thinking…the whole gang-like, guerilla, and street civil war scene is fairly reminiscent of the movie “City of God,” which chronicles the street violence in Rio de Janeiro. In it, a kid gets his sights set on becoming a photographer and to make a long story short ends up receiving a camera and taking the only pictures of the violence going on. He had a monopoly on the story and the rest is history. It’s an amazing film if you don’t mind reading subtitles. Some of you can probably see where I am going with this. But hey I am a stones throw away from this country in a time of national crisis, all of the peace-keepers/foreigners/international media members are being kicked out, I am street smart, and I speak West African French! It’s a match made in heaven – I bribe a few guards at the boarder, sneak into Abidjan by night, shoot some candids, maybe get a pic or two of one of the presidents (maybe even an interview?), make a mad dash for the boarder, sell the pics and make some mula and a name for myself in the photo-journalism world. All entirely possible, but I don’t have a death wish. I may be spontaneous and even reckless at times, but this one’s a little out there.

It would be one hell of a story though.

I am turning into a full blown Chemistry experiment.

2011-01-19T02:01:00.001-08:00

Upon returning from Kazaboua, I was greeted with a nice little stomach bug. I played it cool for a day and a half thinking that it would work itself out. Also during that time I was taking a daily vitamin pill and occasionally some Tums (for calcium or stomach troubles depending on the day). After that day and a half I started self-medicating thinking that “I’ve had worse and it’s not too bad.” Give another two days for that idea, during which I was pounding Tums and Imodium AD and drinking my weight in water hoping to flush it all out. Yep, that didn’t work so tonight after being doubled over throughout supper I went to see John de la Croix who gave me two things. The first was a not so inspirational story about how his brother had just died two days ago after going to see him about an illness not three days before. He got to see back-to-back funerals. (The story came after I told him that I could wait until he was done eating as he was just starting when everyone else had finished. He said nope, illnesses come first and went on to tell the tale.) I get where he was coming from, but that didn’t help me much in the patient comfort zone. The second was a boatload of medicine including stuff for worms! My stomach bug may in-fact turn out to be a real bug! Cool!

Busy as a Bee

2011-01-15T04:10:00.000-08:00

Mass was supposed to start at 8 in Kazaboua. The bus rolled in at 8h10 to pick up the bishop and I. Mass started and went for a short 2½ hours except this time it was all in Kabiyé. I was ready to leave as soon as I heard the priests greeting. Mass was followed by a few more hours of sitting and making small talk with whoever was around and that was followed by yet another chaotic meal. If anyone is looking for an entrepreneurial business, come here and start a catering/party planning venture – you’ll clean house.

This time after lunch, I was ready to leave and not afraid to push some buttons to get things moving. For one, the were a ton of people who made the 3 hour trek down from Kpizinde and most of them were still here even though their bus had left. I saw things unfolding very poorly for those who were unaware of the situation and I was determined not to be one of them.

Thankfully the bishop and I were staying at the same house so we were paired together in almost every discussion about seating. As it turns out, we were dropped off at the house around 15h00. I sat in the main room ready to go at the push of a button. The curator made his way in from his morning church rounds and we ended up talking about a bunch of random things before I told him that we would be lucky to get back by midnight (I definitely did not want this to be one of those times when I was right). After 3 hours of sitting and waiting I sent the driver (a monk named Grégoire) a text asking if he had dropped us off at the house so that he could finish all of the left over beer from the funeral with the other monks. I was met with a cold stare when he rolled in close to an hour later. And as I expected there were no monks in the bus. They got the short end of the stick this time and as I am writing this on Monday night, they still are not back yet.

I was happy to see, yet slightly curious, some empty space in the bus. Oh by the way, we are picking up 4 more people. We sat 4,4,3 in a made for 9 minivan. I finagled my way into a seat next to a twig of a girl (we took up slightly more than one seat together) and two other fairly thin villagers, which made for a fairly comfortable 4 hour drive back.

We were just past Kara when the Bishop asked about food (about 22h30). There wasn’t any at the monastery for us so we turned around and went back to Kara. I was tired, but I will take food over sleep if I am hungry enough. We made it to the central gas station when disaster struck. My glass bottle of honey, which had been padded between my feet for the entire drive managed (in being moved to let people out) to hit the one oversized bolt in the entire damn bus and shattered. There was honey all over the floor. I said fuck it and followed everyone to the restaurant. We ate, (me in a cranky silence realizing that I was going to have to spend 30 minutes when we got back cleaning as the bus was supposed to leave before I planned on getting up to pick up the monks down in Kazaboua).

Fortune favored me that night as Grégoire said that he would deal with it in the morning. I was uneasy about letting him clean up my mess, but figured that by his watch I would have time to clean it when I woke up. We pulled into the monastery at exactly 0h00 and I scampered off to my room to pass out from exhaustion.

That trip marked the 6th time that I have driven that 300km stretch of road in less than 2 weeks with 4 of those trips being en route to Lomé from Kara or to Kara from Lomé. And to top off the exhaustion, I no longer have my honey. The little things.

That little excursion...

2011-01-15T04:09:00.000-08:00

turned into a 3 day trip of which 90 percent was spent sitting. I could just feel my muscles wasting away (or what is left of them anyway). The Prior’s mother died in December and “down, spend a night and come back” trip definitely took a little longer than expected.

The morning after the first night spent at the Parish house in the roadside town I got all packed up and ready to roll for the day. The funeral was supposed to start at 9 and as African time would have it we spent the first hour sitting around waiting for everyone to filter their ways into the church. After that came the 3 hour ceremony, which was mostly in Kabiyé (I spent a better part of it daydreaming and wondering when we were going to eat), I spent 1½ hours sitting on a truck fender going through the always awkward “who is this random white kid?” stares by all of the locals and friends of the prior who had yet to meet me. My decision to sit on that truck fender as opposed to walk to the cemetery in a cloud of dust, turned out to be well made. The casketbarrers danced with the dang thing all the way down the road and overshot the cemetery, but decided to dance their way back. Not only that, but there was a hoard of people following them = mass confusion. I figured that seeing a big box get put in the ground was gonna be pretty similar regardless of which part of the world I am in. Plus there were some villagers selling Solja (local soy cheese) and my stomach was eating itself.

Once the procession made its way back to the church more mass confusion set in as there were 500 hungry people. Lucky for me, being white puts me at the table of honor just about everywhere I go. We ate and drank for a little while before I was ready to call it a day. Nap Time. Nope, more like time to find something to do for the next few hours before the bus leaves.

Little did I know – I had ordered a bottle of honey from some order of nuns the week before, but never clearly heard the location of their house – that it was the sisters at Kazaboua who made the honey! Little travelers tip, local honey does a fairly good job at quelling allergies (bees, local pollinators, pick up the plant and dust allergens while pollinating and those in turn get dropped off in the honey a.k.a natural Allegra/Zyrtek/choice of name brand allergy medicine) and it is much cheaper than the alternative. I was approached by one of the sisters holding a liter bottle of the gooey goodness before being escorted by her and some of the monks to the cloister to have a look around. All wonderful, but when the heck are we leaving? Once I got to the house and had a chance to look around I found out that we were spending the night…no problem except that my ride back to the Parish house over 10k away left 3 hours ago. Thank god for Togo being full of moto taxis. The sisters found me one and acted exactly as you expect from some middle aged women who have devoted their lives to serving others “(to the driver and translated) now don’t you go changing the price on him when you get there. (a different nun) And you drive slowly! (another) You make sure he gets back safe! (the previous one) Slowly, slowly, slowly and carefully!...” It went on until I was down the road and out of site. I was giggling, but I am sure the driver was happy to finally get away.

I made it back in time for supper and to the surprise of the Polish curator. And I thought I was the last one to find things out. Luckily there weren’t any other visitors coming that night and my bed was still open. Sleep finally.

Grades

2011-01-15T04:06:00.000-08:00

My students got their 1st Trimester grades back the other day. They weren’t too good across the board. But English was near the top of the list if not at the top for all but one student. And while they could have done better, I felt somewhat relieved seeing that something I was doing was catching on. And now that I know where the grade comes from, I know exactly how to circumvent the system. It would be doing my kids a disservice, but I could train them to ace every single exam. The only problem with that is that they wouldn’t be able to speak English once it was all said and done (a.k.a. that’s what was happening before I started teaching). Like I stated earlier, I am more interested in thinking that regurgitating. You can ask anyone who speaks English in West Africa “How are you?” and they will respond “Fine, thanks,” without fail. Fuck that man, what if you’re not feeling fine or better than fine? Language is more important than people make it out to be in this part of the world.

We are social beings, are we not? If we lose the ability to socialize in a meaningful way what does that reduce us to? My kids not only are learning how to think, they are also scoring better on the regional exams for English than they are in other subjects. Take that LB.