The Road Less Traveled

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.

It was a beautiful sunny morning when the rooster started crowing at 6:30. Mary said that didn’t wake her up, but the morning call to prayer at the local mosque did.

We hit the road at 8:00 am for SIL. The first seminar went okay, but the second one proved time consuming and challenging. Half an hour into the lunch break some teachers were still working on the task I needed to check.

First fou-fou

Jacques, Jean and I went to the restaurant where Jacques had waited while Jean and I walked around the market. Jacques had enjoyed the fou fou there, and wanted some more. I of course had never had fou fou, but was interested in learning what it was. It turned out to be mashed cassava, but pounded to a thicker consistency than mashed potatoes. I was instructed to pull a piece of it off with my hands and dip it in a delicious tomato-and-hot pepper sauce. There was also goat meat served in the sauce. I’d never seen goat skin, but it was so dark and rubbery looking I didn’t eat it.

Before we ate, we poured water over our hands over a plastic bowl on the middle of the table. After we ate, we did this again. I noticed on the table there was also a small blue square that looked like chalk for a pool stick. Jean told me it was soap. I used it and have to say it felt like chalk for a pool stick, too. But it did the job.

As we ate, many children came around the tables selling cheap odds and ends—Q-tips (cotton swabs), shoe polish, flashlights, etc. We ignored them, or Jean told them to go away. One kid with bundles of short, thick sticks caught my eye. I asked John if they were firestarters. However, he replied that villagers use the sticks to clean their teeth. I was stunned. Jacques said, “I told you at the airport you would see some strange things here.”

I decided I had to buy these sticks, just to remember the story. I asked the young boy, “how much”? I heard, “cinquante cent francs”. I knew “cinq” meant “five” and “cent” meant “hundred”. So I concluded that this must have meant “500 francs” ($1). I gave him 500 hundred and he gave me many bundles of sticks. When Jean saw my bundle of bundles, he said, “How much did you give the kid? $250?” I said, “no, I gave him 500. He said cinquante cent francs.” Jean then told me I misunderstood. The kid had pointed to the smaller bundle and said “50” (cinquante) and to the larger bundle and said “100” (cent). Moreover, each stick can be split into 2-3 thinner pieces for cleaning one’s teeth. Which means I bought enough for 5 families. And some of you are getting some very weird stocking stuffers at Christmas. 😉

Learning about life in Togo

Too soon it was back to work. As we were heading back, it started to rain. Hard. In the middle of one seminar, we lost power. I asked the teachers what they do when they lose power in their classes. They said they continue working; it’s not a big deal. However, some complained about trying to listen to me talk while the rain was pounding the windows; they suggested in the future that I stop class until the rain lets up. It was the first of many signs that Togolese culture is the exact opposite of American culture. In the last seminar, for example, I learned that not only do Togolese not value space or privacy as Americans do, they find such values literally laughable. I also learned that in at least one group of teachers, weddings and funerals are considered “informal” activities for which being on time is not important. Only a school exam was considered a formal activity for which being on time is required. It is also so serious that students are instructed to bring their own candle and a match in case the exam building loses power.

Strange dinner at the hotel

By the time we finished the seminars and the debriefing with the DIFOP trainers, it was well after 7. We went back to the hotel and agreed to give the hotel restaurant a try. I was a little skeptical at how good the food would be, but Jean assured me it would be fine. Feeling game (pun intended), I decided to try the “pintade”, a guinea fowl. It was served with couscous and vegetables in a tomato sauce. The fowl was tougher than chicken; I would not order it again. The vegetable sauce was okay but not exciting. Meanwhile, Jacques had found a friend up the road and had been allowed to bring a similar dish from this friend into the same dining room. It was very strange that the restaurant would allow outside food.

The road to Kara Another program driver, Alex, picked me up at the Hotel Ibis around 8:00 in the morning. He was a little late because of the rain. We then drove through the city to pick up Mary at her ... [Continue reading this entry]

Early start

I woke up at 6:30 in the morning. Not because of jet lag, but because on the beach I heard music again. Drums and bells. It sounded like the final lap of a race. When I opened ... [Continue reading this entry]

Arrival and immigration

When the plane arrived from Paris at Eyadema airport in Lome at 6:30 p.m, it was already dark. Nevertheless, I could make out palm trees around the airport. My UCR colleague Carol, who spent 3 years as ... [Continue reading this entry]

I got back on American soil on September 22 after
nearly 3 weeks as an English Language Specialist in Togo (
West Africa). It was absolutely fantastic. I took
nearly 300 pictures which I’ve whittled down to 4
albums, ... [Continue reading this entry]