Trifecta

How to Perfect the Trifecta:

Step 1: Extend your arm out in front of your body, palm facing up. Your arm is in the position described for only a moment because you are gesticulating.

Step 2: You have to be telling a story. The story is not stimulating, but the gesticulations help.

Step 3: Sit under a ceiling fan.

Now here comes the magic: A lizard the size of your index finger has to rest on the ceiling above the ceiling fan. Next, the lizard has to fall from the ceiling, through the spinning ceiling fan, and into your momentarily outstretched hand.

This is what I like to call the trifecta. Some crazy lizard moons must have been aligned the night this lizard fell into my palm. I have been waiting for the perfect story to resuscitate my blog, and it finally came like an omen in the form of a baby lizard.

It was like being struck by lightning the same day I won the lottery. Eat that up, Alanis.

Ghana

Last week I returned to Ghana for the first time since studying abroad in Accra in 2004. In the past 3.5 years Accra seems to have completely transformed. I could not believe how much progress Accra has made in such a short amount of time. I almost did not recognize the city with the new underpasses, overpasses, streetlights, new buildings, clean streets, fixed gutters, lane additions on major streets, and a mall…

Togo has a long way to go.

Raise your hand if you have been in a small car with a loose bull!

A few weeks ago I was sitting in a bush taxi with a bull tied up in the back. I was sitting shotgun when the bull broke free of the ties and started bucking and swinging his horns like one might think a bull confined in a two door car would do. His bull hooves were flailing all over the place, so I rolled down the window and put more than half my body outside of the car. The driver pulled over with a smile plastered on his face the whole time. He tied the bull down, and every 10 minutes I would persuade him to pull over and re-tie the bull so that both passengers and car survived the ordeal.

Blogingtons Redux

Happy Anniversary

So my first blog entry was posted one year ago today.

I just thought I would try and lighten the mood from my previous message.

There is a large amount of info to publish in the coming weeks, so stay tuned. I promise more uplifting stories!

I leave you with a link, no, a gentle persuasion to come to Togo and experience the wonderment.

http://www.salon.com/books/literary_guide/2006/06/15/togo/index.html

Tama

March 2007

My phone rang and the caller ID flashed Tama’s name. Abruptly after the first ring the phone went silent. These types of calls are not uncommon. The caller lets the phone ring long enough to register the call but not long enough for the recipient to pick up. My Twi language professor in Ghana used to call this HIPC calling (the devastating satirical power of that joke needs not be translated literally), more commonly the practice is called beeping or flashing. The idea is that the person getting beeped (beepee) will have more phone credit than the beeper, and will thus return the phone call. Tama rarely beeped me so I knew it must be important.

I called back immediately and Tama excitedly asked if we could have a short meeting about our AIDS association. Having just returned from a Project Design and Management (PDM) training, my optimism about development was somehow restored. Tama caught me in a motivated pocket vis a vis my hopes of creating a functioning AIDS association in Kante.

Association Espoir pour Demain (AED) is a community based organization where decision making power is delegated to people living with HIV/AIDS. AED requires a 5 person decision making body called a “bureau” which is elected by all the members of the association. 3 of the 5 members have to be HIV positive including the president of the organization. Since Kanté is trying to open an AED satellite, elections were held in February and Tama was chosen unanimously to be president.

Moving back in time.....

November 2006

My week long post visit (one week during training during which trainees live in the community they will serve in post- training) in November happened to coincide with one of the AIDS association meetings I would be helping with during my service. Ishmael (predecessor) brought me to the meeting and introduced me to the hospital staff and members of the association. While we waited for the meeting to begin, we sat and talked with Tama, a 31 year old teacher, and the head of Kanté’s peer educators, a group of middle school students that help educate the community. Ishmael had told me he had worked with Tama and his peer educators throughout his service. Tama was very excited to meet Ishmael’s replacement (me) and told me his desire to restart the peer educators group. Last year’s peer educators had all moved on to their third year of middle school and were no longer able to volunteer as peer educators. We exchanged phone numbers and I left excited about the prospect of working with him in the future. Finding motivated, educated people to work with in Togo is difficult.

January 2007

Ishmael brought Tama to AED/Kara last year when his health was failing. During his time in Kara, Tama made a remarkable recovery and had been fighting strong ever since. When I met him in November it was impossible to tell he was sick. During Tama’s time at AED he developed a relationship with the psycho-social director, Abass. During my first month at post I consulted Abass about the AIDS association in Kante. He told me to meet with AED Bafilo (the first AED satellite), invite one of their coordinators to a Kanté association meeting, and elect the bureau. Abass encouraged Tama to run for president and I agreed with this decision. Charlie and I brought Awali, a coordinator from AED Bafilo to Kanté to help explain the bureau and election process.

February 2007

Awali was impressed with Tama and agreed with Abass that Tama would make a great AED president. Tama gave a speech before a vote was taken expressing his desire that the president not be an authoritarian ruler but a person that listens to the demands of everyone in the association. I had never really heard Tama speak publicly, but I was impressed by his short speech, and was hopeful for the future of the association when he was elected unanimously.

March 2007

A few minutes after his phone call, Tama arrived at my door. He seemed genuinely excited to start his work as the president of the association. We sat on my couch and discussed then planned the association for hours. He had developed a system for the members to each contribute a small amount of money each month in hopes that a small account could be set up for the association. He wanted to set up a system of sharing costs so that when one person is sick and unable to afford health care, the association could help defray the costs of treatment. When we finished up the meeting he told me he had not wanted to be president because he was busy as a teacher and had little time to himself. He had been thinking about leaving Kanté and moving back to his home in Niamtougou but had decided to stay to help create the AIDS association in Kanté. He left me telling me he was going to Kara the next morning to have a CD4 count analysis and would be back the following evening.

The next afternoon I received a phone call from Tama. One ring, two rings, three rings. He had to see me urgently. Within a few minutes of the phone call, Tama stood outside my door, beads of sweat pouring down his face. I quickly invited him inside where he refused water and all he could say was, “ca ne va pas”, I am not well. Reaching into his bag, he showed me the results to his CD4 analysis.

Treatment in Togo

For five years Tama had a stable CD4 count of 150 per micro liter of blood. According to the World Health Organization (WHO), a CD4 count lower than 250-200 per micro liter of blood is defined as full blown AIDS. For many people in Togo with CD4 counts far lower than 200, there are no funds to help pay for life saving medications. The majority of Togolese people cannot afford to pay 9 dollars or more each month for ARV treatment. In Togo, ARV treatment is reserved for the wealthy and the lucky.

Over the past 5 years the price of ARV drugs has dropped significantly. In May of 2007 the price of ARVs dropped from 8,535 cfa per month ($20) to 4,350 cfa ($10) per month, though access to life saving drugs is still out of reach for most people in Togo. The Global Fund to fight AIDS, TB, and Malaria, has cut any new funding until the next round of proposal due to mismanagement of project funds. This has made getting a new government/Global Fund subsidized carnet (1,000 cfa [$2.50] per month for ARVs) impossible until further notice. The carnets are used to ensure treatment for people with CD4 counts lower than 200. Today even people with CD4 counts considerably lower than 200 are still unable to receive a carnet and are often not placed on a waiting list. ARV treatment is a lifelong commitment. If a Togolese person can afford 4,350 cfa one month, in order to properly adhere to the regimen, they would have to be able to finance ARV treatment for the rest of their lives. With the suspension of new funds from the Global Fund, and few other sources for funding treatment programs in Togo, the situation for PLWHAs in Togo today is dire.

Tama was lucky to get his treatment funded by the Global Fund before it was decided that they would no longer fund new treatment for people living with HIV/AIDS. Tama fought the disease and his CD4 count was “stable” at 150 per micro liter of blood. According to the World Health Organization (WHO), A CD4 count lower than 250-200 is defined as full blown AIDS.

61

The analysis was not difficult to read. There was a graph with the average healthy person’s cd4 count at the top (1,200-1,500 per micro liter) and then at the very bottom was Tama’s dot. 61. Since September 2006 his CD4 count began to drop from 150. Slowly his body built a resistance to the medication.

“I am done fighting, I have lost all hope”, he whispered. The man that had walked through my door the day before, a teacher, an educated person giving back to Togo, had been transformed into a defeated man.

We discussed better nutrition practices or another trip to the hospital. My efforts felt even emptier than they were when Tama refused. I called the medical assistant, the hardest working person I have met in Togo, who also helps run the association. He told me that Tama needed an infusion of drugs and vitamins directly into the blood that costs 2,000 cfa ($5.00). I convinced Tama to try the infusion and take a trip to AED Kara in the morning. He agreed.

The next morning I walked into the AED Kara office and saw Tama with no shirt on lying on two plastic chairs. He looked far worse than he had the day before. His muscles were tightening he was having trouble speaking. He was taken on the back of a moto to the hospital in Kara where he received 11 more infusions. He was in the hospital for almost a week. Throughout the week I would visit him a couple of times a day and by the end of his stay in the hospital his health had make another remarkable come back.

We discussed Togolese history, colonization, the German occupation of Togo, and how he had always wanted to take a trip to the Tamberma country but never had even though he always lived relatively close.

Tama returned to Kanté, took a hiatus from his job, and rested. We discussed future plans for the association but he was still too tired to attend meetings. I received another phone call from him a couple of weeks after his visit to the hospital and stated he would be going back to his village to be with his family and he did not know when he would return. He did return to Kanté to help another person from our association. I was visiting him nearly every day. One day while wandering around Kanté looking for someone’s house I found myself in front of Tama’s house. I told him I was lost and just decided to stop by to say “hi”. Even in a weakened state, he got up and walked with me about a half a kilometer to the person’s house and then waited with me for over an hour until the person showed up.

May 2007

The head of the peer educators, a young, energized 16 year old boy was at my house not long after I had returned from a meeting in Kara. With tears in his eyes he told me that Tama had passed away the night before. Tama had packed a small bag, returned to his village, and within two hours of arrival collapsed in a small piece of land a few feet in front of his home, and passed away.

The student and I stood silently for a few minutes. I had no words of encouragement, no words of condolence. The student told me that all of Tama’s students wanted to attend the funeral, but only some could afford the trip. The $2.00 fee did not stop students from attending the funeral the next morning in Niamtougou. During the taxi ride, I sat awkwardly with 20 or more middle school students. During the 30 kilometer ride, we passed countless students from Kante walking, jogging, and biking towards Niamtougou, to go to Tama’s funeral.

Attending Tama’s funeral was the most difficult thing I have done since arriving in Togo if not my entire life. I share this story only to give more people a chance to know Tama. Not one person mentioned he died of AIDS during his very well attended funeral. No one admitted that it had been AIDS that took his life in Kanté, where he spent the last part of his life educating children.

This is the story of someone that will more than likely never even have the honor of being counted as a statistic.

Photos

Some photos for your viewing pleasure:

Host family in Govie (Training village)

Atetou - Village 7 km west of Kante

Atetou cont.

Hospital beds in Nadoba

Tata in Tamberma Valley

Crazies


Mountains just south of Kante


Area near Govie

Ok more to come with an update.

Meat Whip

Air Kante


A twisted piece of animal hide swings from Air Kante’s rearview mirror. Imagine an enlarged wishbone made of stiff, furry animal skin. The top forms a handle out of which two slinky strands of goat hide emerge like the “accent” on the bangs of your prom date in 1993. Cute. The odd ornament is not unique to this bush taxi and I am not inspired to actually ask any questions about the object. Please see artist rendition to the left.

The street of Togo is home to bush taxis, motos, and most importantly trucks. Besides your everyday traffic on your everyday two lane national street, there are animals, people biking, walking with serious tonnage on their heads, and potholes. The traffic is not so intense in Togo that people are compelled to look when crossing. If you are not in one of the towns that hugs the street (Kanté, Sotouboua, Niamtougou), there is a high probability that you can cross without looking and not get hit. Of course crossing any street without looking is a gamble and most people are aware enough to look before crossing. Left, right, left.

Flying south in Air Kante, the greatest bush taxi in all of Togo, an older man on a bike decides to float across the street of Togo. Lucky for him, the chauffeur for Air Kante is highly skilled in dodging the numerous obstacles that present themselves on a journey through Togo. Much like colleagues from Air France, safety is Air Kante’s number one priority. Bike man had a brush with death and probably did not even realize how close he was to the end. The driver is not happy. End of story? I think not my dear human rights loving friends.

Instead of just driving forth and high-five-ing to the fact that we did not kill another human being, the driver immediately swerves right to the side of the road and pulls down the meaty rope from the rearview mirror and hands it to his co-pilot in the passenger seat. Driving 20 kilometers an hour, the co-pilot hangs out of the window and whips the old man on the bike. It is a meat whip hanging from the rearview.

Stunned, I struggle to look back to see if the old man is still pedaling along. Slowly but surely the old man pedals. For the next hour of the car ride conversation does not stray from the man on the bike. The last word on the subject: “That man is lucky to be alive”.

Visitors Overwhelmingly Dismiss Kante and Togo

Travel Guides Used to be Hatazzzzz

Peace Corps Togo maintains four transit houses, one in each of the four regional capitals: Atakpamé, Sokodé, Kara, and Dapaong. Each house maintains a library (varying degrees of worth, measured by the number of Nora Roberts books). The Kara maison has a number of older West African travel guidebooks with short sections outlining the generally underwhelming tourist attractions in Togo. In the 80’s Lomé was a place some French people came to enjoy the beach (I am guessing here). In the early 90’s that all changed (look it up). Lomé lost its beach charm. Now Lomé has become one of the larger border towns, port cities, and truck stops in the world. Rarely is a capital city also a border town. While Lomé is praised in the older guidebooks, the rest of Togo has lacked something, oh how do you say…to be desired?

After hearing the writer tasked with updating the Togo section of the Rough Guide would visit Kanté, I leisurely leafed through an old Rough Guide to research what had already been discovered and written about Kanté. Kanté is slowly becoming my new home and there is a certain amount of pride associated with the idea of home. People from Brooklyn know what I mean. So, when I read the Rough Guide passage about Kanté, a little piece of me died.

The following passage about Kanté can be found in The Rough Guide – West Africa edited by Jim Hudgens and Richard Trillo.

Kandé and the Tamberma country
“KANDÉ (also spelled Kanté) would surely have faded into obscurity had it not been on the nation’s main route nationale. There’s not much of anything in this tiny town of Lamba people, where the surrounding countryside is hardly conducive to cultivating more than the bare staples of millet and yams. There’s a small gare routiere in the middle of town, with vehicles mostly to Kara and one or two women selling food in the vicinity…Kandé would be easily overlooked if it weren’t the starting point for excursions into the Tamberma country”

Ouch. Don’t get me wrong; Kanté is not honeymoon, it is more Sahelian dust. Armed with descriptive adjectives and a list (meager) of places to visit, I met with the “Rough Guide Lady” (let’s call her Kate).

Kate in Kanté
Oh Kate, I knew you would like Kanté. Look at your name, only one lonely consonant and accent removed from spelling home. We met at Auberge la Cloche, the “Rooftop bar”. This is my favorite place in all of Kanté, and was also the first place Ishmael took me during my weeklong post visit. The rooftop faces west where you can watch the sun set over the African savannah. Very Africa. Apparently visitors to Kanté, writers and non-writers alike, rarely venture off the main road. Big mistake folks; There is greatness within! The Auberge is run by a friendly family that will run a table, chairs, and two realtively cold beers to the small roof as soon as they smell the tourists coming (tourists have a scent that permeates through harmattan dust and dry season heat). The roof also has views of midtown, the water tower, and after the sun disappears, one can see small brush fires in the distance.

Kate’s visit turned out to be a lot of fun. Besides schmoozing with a travel writer, I had the opportunity to visit hidden Kanté gems. We had lunch at my favorite cafeteria on the main road. This turned out to be a bit embarrassing as Kate told me during lunch she used to write about Food for various publications. Kate is absolutely the only food writer to ever dine at “le Cafeteria”. She seemed to stomach the fare without the faintest complaint.

We discussed all sorts of things that naturally evolve during a discussion between two people sharing the same language: Borat, The Daily Show, and The Colbert Report.
Kate walked away with an appreciation for Kanté, and even went so far as to say she thinks Kanté is a fine place to spend a day. Lucky me, I have about 700 more to come…

Hey, Remember When I Had Some Stuff?

The Things He Carried:

$47 US
2GB USB Flashdrive
60GB Video Ipod (Black)
70,000 CFA
All Work Related Notebooks
Canon SD600 Digital Camera with Charger and Computer Wires
Cell Phone Charger
Clothing
Letter Received from Lizzie and Reply Letter to be Sent
NorthFace Bag
Passport
Peace Corps ID Card
Revo Sunglasses
Togolese Bank Account Card
Togolese Laisser Passer
Toothbrush/Shampoo/Razor/Beard Trimmer/other Toiletries
Travel Belt
Wachovia Visa Debit Card


Lists are Sometimes Fun!

Above could be understood as a list of items any potential Peace Corps volunteer should bring from the U.S. Or it could be a list of some young professional who just had to clear out his cubicle and has one bag to pack everything. Perhaps it could even be a “time to cross international borders because of an emergency, and this is an inventory of the contents of my only luggage” list.

Instead, this is a list of things that should never be kept in one bag unless you are in a bunker waiting for radiation to dissipate. It is a list of things once owned but are now floating around Kara, Ouagadougou, or some port in Central America. The list is mine, and it constitutes everything that was robbed from me on Wednesday (and almost everything i brought with me from the U.S.).

Wednesday

The day began innocently enough. I was headed to Kara with some friends to discuss plans for Club Espoir (monthly club for AIDS orphans at AED Kara). We met in Kanté and the car was “ready” to go. To be fair to the driver, I did not see any smoke coming into the car when we started down the street. 200 meters into the trip we overheated, and lazily rolled into a gas station parking. The driver opened the hood, sucked liquid out of one part of the engine and spat it into another. 15 minutes later we are on the road again.

For the first 2 kilometers of the trip to Kara the road is flat. The there is fairly gigantic obstacle after kilometer 2, Mt. Defali (let us call it Mt. Deathali). A few weeks ago an oil truck went off the unpaved road where there are no guardrails, and plunged to the bottom of the mountain killing the driver. Amazingly (or not, I don’t know the new technology in gasoline truck safety) the truck did not blow up, and people came from many kilometers away to siphon off some free petrol.

Unfortunately this is one of many stories of disasters on this mountain. Interestingly enough, this is not even the most dangerous mountain pass in the country.

Anyway, the car made it about a third of the way up the mountain before the driver could not ignore the cloud of smoke suffocating everyone. He tinkered with the engine for another few minutes, and then he did something spectacular.

Rolling down an incline in neutral while pumping the clutch can start manual transmission engines. Usually the front of the car is pointing towards the bottom of the hill while executing this technique. This driver decided he could start this car while rolling down the mountain in reverse. Miraculously (I never believed in miracles), after failing to start the car and continuing to roll and roll and roll, the driver finally and painfully completed the maneuver. He jerked the car into first gear and tried to get up that mountain. Nope. Of course it just overheated within 15 seconds, leaving us stranded on the side of this mountain. I had an opportunity to take some wonderful pictures that I hope some random Togolese thief is enjoying.

A car came not long after the break down and it was actually an uneventful remainder of the trip. The only thing worth noting was the baby sitting behind me that had smelled as if she had defecated in her pants three days prior.

Liberation?

After a night of shooting pool in Chateau, we decided to continue the night at a place called Bar La Jet Set. The man working there was extremely nice and wished us all a happy new year. We sat down, and about 5 minutes later, I wanted to get my Ipod out of my bag (which was between my legs under my chair). The rest of the story kind of writes itself. When I asked the guy working at the bar if he had seen my bag he told me he had just seen a guy running out of his bar with my bag. I guess he forgot to tell us while it was happening. The robber was drinking in the bar when we got there. 1:30am on a Wednesday night. He was the only drinker. I am pretty sure he is a local, a townie if you will. Of course no one knew him!!! OF COURSE!

The rest of the night included trips around the neighborhood and the police station, where I was asked to give my report to the police officer, who documented the report in a giant notebook. The report filed before mine was titled “Vol de Football”. Frustrated, I went to bed. The following days included more trips to the bar and the police station. I think everyone in Kara knows about the bag, and I have offered all kinds of rewards to find the stupid thing.

It is now Sunday and of course there are no developments. The bag is gone with all my music, pictures, work, money, and style. No one was hurt, and that is about the only good thing that has come of this event. Perhaps this can be viewed as one of those liberating events in ones life where they cut themselves off from the material luxuries that are so insignificant in the long run. Music would be nice though. I hope my Ipod makes a nice $300 paperweight.

I had planned this entry to be about my day touring Kanté with the writer for the Rough Guide, and it was going to be one of those, “it is nice to be here” entries. Next time!

Never knew I hated cockroaches until today

Cockroaches have never really been my favorite, actually I used to be indifferent to them. How often do you really see cockroaches. Even if your apartment is filthy (which all of them in D.C. were), you never really see them. And they are SMALL.

Not in Kante. Since I arrived, I do not use the latrine at night because there are usually around 15 lurking in and around the latrine. So I did what any american would do. I bombed the place. I bought the most expensive western roach bait Lome had to offer. Then I bought the most expensive roach spray imported to Togo. The spray even has a special cloaking device that makes it smell like febreeze. Now when you deplete the ozone, and murder your innocent brain cells, you can smell good doin' it.

Well after spraying and baiting, the problem was solved.

Until this morning.

I am not kidding when I tell you I killed over 100 cockroaches. I have pictures to prove it. I will post them.

For now I must go. Surprising the internet works here in kante.

pictures to follow. A little vomit just came up.

Ode to Voltic Spoons and Couscous in Water Sauce.

After ditching the scarlet T (trainee) for the exclusive V (vende…volunteer), the new stage hit the sandy roads of Lomé with the consumerist zeal rarely found since Tickle-me Elmo debuted. Before we could shop, we had to take an oath of allegiance to the United States Constitution. The swear-in ceremony felt similar to a graduation, or perhaps Bar Mitzvah, or any other right of passage. I even gave a speech in Lamba. The next day local radio stations broadcast segments from the ceremony, including my speech. WRGW anyone? Apologies to all Lamba speaking communities for butchering your language.

So after the swear- in ceremony we had four days in Lomé to buy everything we needed for our new homes. Plates, bowls, buckets, soap, forks, spoons, knives. This is a list of essential items to be purchased before moving into your new home. Also, this is a list of items that I left/never made it onto my car/never made it out of the store where I purchased everything. Long story short, I had to eat couscous in water sauce with a voltic water bottle cut into a shovel/spoon contraption. Eating with my hands was eliminated because there was no soap to wash with. I am a health volunteer.

Ishmael, the volunteer in Kante before me, introduced me to one of his friends Akanto from Kante. Akanto came down to Lome to say goodbye to Ishmael. After the swear in ceremony Akanto and his brother Roland invited me to eat fufu at their home in Lome. Having a friend in Kante will definitely make my transition easier!

Happy New Year

I am in Kara, the regional capital, and will return to Kanté on Sunday. Work opportunities should start picking up now that the holiday season is ending. On December 23rd I participated in my first Club Espoir, a monthly club for AIDS orphans and other children affected by HIV/AIDS. The club is held at Association Espoir Pour Demain Kara (AED), an organization I will be working with throughout my service. The children spent the morning making cards, decorating the AED building, and building the Togolese equivalent to gingerbread houses. Pictures to follow.

Did they have to put an overcoat on Saddam?

That wool fabric looks like it walked right out of Brooks Brothers.

While eating at la douceur, quite possibly the nicest restaurant in Kara, TV5 was broadcasting some fine French footage of sharks eating small animals (several varieties of seagull, and more urgently, a deer/ram type creature). Conversation ceased in the restaurant, attention moved from food to shark fury in seconds. The point is the restaurant was so nice it had TV5…I digress. The footage ended and the evening news began. French newscasters have really nice ties. Top story: Saddam hung. Really? Iraqi justice works in remarkably fast ways. My French is not yet refined enough to fully appreciate TV5 evening news, but luckily for me, camera phone video of an execution by gallows translates effortlessly from French, to Arabic, to Kabyé, to English.

This brings me back to Saddam’s coat. Maybe if he had sported a US issued prisoner uniform fully equipped with shackles and crazy beard attachment, this whole thing would have been more digestible. Instead, we get a frail looking old man wearing your grandfather’s hand pressed overcoat. And so the tyrant is dead. My only hope is that there will be less death now that he is gone. Maybe we can start focusing some needed attention on the ignored abuses committed across the African continent.

Harmattan makes northern volunteers cooler (literally)

The harmattan winds arrived about a month ago and there is a layer of dust and sand on everything. I wake up with a sore throat most mornings. I do not know if this is because of the dust or because of the drastic temperature fluctuations between the day and the night. The powers in the weather world are predicting the hottest year on record. I guess Al Gore was right all along. I cannot wait for the dust to settle.