September 6: Pot, heads
The seminars went better today, as I focused more on practical points of teaching content and less on theory or technique. We had an especially interesting discussion on the media in Togo. I wasn’t surprised to hear that the newspapers were biased, but I was extremely surprised to hear two groups of teachers say that they felt drums were the most reliable form of transmitting information. Of course that’s in the villages, not Lome. I saw increasingly how difficult it is to keep teachers there on a time limit. Many teachers kept asking for more time for activities. Jean told me that some teachers, if they have the class before lunch or the end of the day, keep going for 15-30 minutes beyond the end of class time.
Trying pot for the first time
For lunch I headed with Jacques and Jean to the same café as before. This time I tried pot. No, I’m not talking about marijuana. I’m talking about a dish similar to fou-fou, but made from corn. I didn’t like it as much as fou-fou; it tasted like an uncooked tortilla. The chicken I had with it was okay. It came in a sauce with green leafy vegetables that may have been the same kind I had in the gboma. I’m personally convinced it’s the ancestor (or as my dad would say, Kunta Kinte) of collard greens and hot sauce in African American cuisine.
Why is it always fish heads?
Dinner was far more adventurous. I went out to dinner with Jean, Jacques, and Jacques’ friend Joe, who is a regional manager of the Flag brewery in Kara. He knows all of the places in Kara that are or should be selling his beer. He offered to guide us to a place for poisson (fish).
We drove on a dirt road with no lights, at one point through a corn field, to a restaurant. For a second I felt like James Earl Jones in “Field of Dreams”. We sat down at the table outside with limited lighting. On one side was the corn field, and on the other side was a small shack with a grill. One woman fired up the grill and fanned the flames while the other took frozen, whole fish out of a plastic bucket so we could choose our fish. I saw a flat one (maybe flounder?) that didn’t look bad.
While we were waiting, the waitress brought two plastic bowls: one filled with soapy water to wash our hands, and the other filled with clean water to rinse. We all used the same bowl for rinsing.
The fish was served whole, which wasn’t anything new for me. It was seasoned with the same spices I’d had on the chicken in Lome, and topped with chopped onions and tomatoes. I’ve noticed that onions and tomatoes are the main vegetables used with all haute meat dishes here. The plate was finished with four sauces: 1) tomato sauce (like ketchup), 2) mayonnaise, 3) Dijon mustard, and 4) hot sauce. It was also served with a plate of fermented pot, which was cut in medium-sized white chunks and had the taste of vinegar.
It was at this table watching everyone eat that I realized all week I had forgotten about the rule in Togo: You only eat with your right hand. The left hand, as one teacher said, is saved for “special activities” (of the bathroom kind). I must say eating fish that hasn’t been deboned using only one hand is quite challenging. But it was easy compared to looking at Jacques’ plate and realizing he had eaten everything on the fish, including the head. Jacques said I should start by taking out the eyes, but that thought horrified me.
I tried to work up the nerve to do that by eating around the edges of the head, but I had to close my eyes as I pulled the meat away. Finally, Jacques and Joe agreed to split it. Jacques asked me to put my hand inside the empty, open space of the head and pull. I completely balked. I handed Jacques the plate and washed my hands, not looking back until the food was gone. Christine from DIFOP later told me that in her tribe, offering somebody the fish head is a sign you hate the person. So at least I wasn’t the only one in Togo who doesn’t think much of
fish heads.
I followed Jacques to the car. That’s when he told me that there were “bad herbs” on the path and he wanted to pull the car over so we’d avoid walking in them. I hadn’t seen or felt any, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t get touched by them. I was starting to believe that while Ukraine had utility roulette (which one are you going to lose?), Togo has disease roulette. If malaria, yellow fever, dengue fever, and intestinal problems don’t get you, African poison ivy just might.
Tags: Africa, drums, fish, Kara, Togo, Travel
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