Books and Broken Bikes (by Charles)

Post visit week, a little joke or even a test that the Peace Corps plays on trainees. After ten or so weeks of training they drive you up to your post with your homologue and tell you to make it back to the training sight by next Sunday. They do give you money to get a bush taxi back, a kerosene stove, and a food box of rice, pasta, sugar, and some powdered milk. All that plus a hey mattress where all that was in my home for that week. My French was pretty poor at that point and I had a lot of down time that week. I took time to catch up on two books I wanted to read: Deep Survival and Village of Waiting. Deep Survival chronicles survivors and non-survivors stories about getting lost in the woods or in other extreme situations. The moral of most the stories were that people held on too tightly to their plans and that is how things went wrong. The other book Village of Waiting is a chronicle of on PCVs service in Togo and it is pretty negative and covers some dangers that exist in Togo. These two books where stewing around in my head when I left on my bicycle with my over sized bag. I only had to go 9 kilometers to Dapong transit house. Right when I go onto the road my tire popped. I would pass people and they would say
things to me in Moba or French both incomprehensible to me. I thought of the line that they would right about me, "Charles held to rigidly to walking his bike and would not allow anyone to help him and then…"

Well as I got into Dapong I took a look at the map that was much more figurative than literal and did not even have the transit house on it. I walked down this street that I hoped was the right one. Then it happened a kid came running out after me, grabbed my bike and made off with it. I am done this kid just took my bike and all my stuff. I ran after him and grabbed him right then he said "Chez Paul." Chez Paul? Oh! Chez Paul, Paul the bike guy who fixes all the Peace Corps bikes. Paul and I had cookies together while his apprentice fixed my flat tire.

I ended up making it back safe and sound to my host Mother's house that Sunday and by the next Monday and told my got to tell everyone this story in French.

Ain't No Party like a Funeral Party (by Charles)

Last night, the night of January 6th I got very little sleep because music was blaring a couple kilometers away from me from 7pm till when I left on my bike for Dapong at 8am the next morning. The silver lining for this was that Gibson, my new puppy could not be heard crying even thought he did very well last night in his kenel, aka my shower, aka a walled of corner in between my house and latrine. This party was a funeral party that is two days of music, dancing,
food, and Damm (Chakaba).

I went to my first funeral party during post visit week as only and observer of bunch a people around a traditional house with a neon green light and tinny music blaring out preventing any attempt I sought for explanation about the party from my homologue. Once I got to post as an official volunteer, we hit up two funerals back to back and I got a real taste for how the Moba party.

The party from what I experienced goes a little like this:

Everyone, everyone, I mean the entry village goes to the house of the family of the guy who died. Everyone sits in circles drinking Chakaba, a warm millet beer drank out of calabashes. After a couple of calabashes people might move to another circle for more Chakaba or for a round of SoDaBe, a local gin that is distilled from palm wine and can and is used to degrease bycycle chains. A women will come out and offer some type of food: rice balls, pate (corn, mush, jello) with some type of sauce with a lot of oil and some type of meat. This is the exciting part for me because I have shook so many and of course we are sans a fork. On top of that there is the add mystery of eating in the dark and not really knowing what you are eating. Questions I often
find myself asking myself are: Is this skin or intestine? What meat is this? Is that a bone or a rock and if so can I swallow it? After thoroughly gorged on drink and food I might dance or talk a little and then it is off to bed.

This is the case normally with funerals but New Years was the biggest party of the year. I had my first calabash at 7:30am and my last at 8:30pm in between I ate so much food that I could literal see my stomach bloated with food. My last meal I was eating around the meat on my plate when my friend looks to me and says "Charles, eat the meat."

Almost Brushed My Teeth with My Own Urine (by Charles)

First I am sorry to any of Kate's friends and loved ones who read this post but this is a wonderful snapshot of life in Togo. Please read on to discover how I came to this end.

Note: For this entry "Voltic" refers to a bottle that gets its name from the company that originally produced the water and bottle.

I had two Voltics on my night table I grabbed one and almost poured it on my tooth brush when right before the liquid spilled onto my only American toothbrush I noticed it was my pee bottle and not my water bottle. Now you might be wondering how I got this point of bottling my
urine.

It all started on my first day in Togo while me and my thirty other potential volunteers showed up at Mama's, a Togolese hotel which means its third floor is made completely of plywood. Like good Westerns in a foreign country we started to pound bottled water, Voltics. After our third day before we left for post the Voltics began to stack up, a current volunteer shared with us the many uses of a Voltic to hold all types of liquids from filtered water, honey, palm oil, kerosene and yes, even urine. I met my host mother, Elizabeth and my twin host
brother and sister, Carlos and Karren with five Voltics in tow. In French with panta-mime I got a tour of my home of the next three months. I understood the bucket flush toilet and how to get water from the well and where the shower was. I had been pounding water all that day and at the end of the tour I really had to go number one. I thought it would be a waste to pee in toilet and then bucket flush it and it would have been really hard to panta-mime my belief in if it is
yellow let it mellow. The other option, the shower would have drawn too much attention and I already was alien enough to them. So I went to my room and filled up a bottle. Now that my water was in another bladder I still need a place to put it. Luckly there was a little alley between my house and my Drunkle's (Drunk + Uncle). This wasn't a problem until one morning I went to pour out my pee and poured it almost on top of the deaf, mute that lived with us and had been
storing palm fences that he made in my urinal. Luckly, he did not tell anyone about this and then I knew that I had to start peeing elsewhere like the Togolese. The Togolese actually have no qualms about peeing anywhere and even do it in what we, Americans would call public places
like streets and so on. So I took a little cup of water and went to the shower. Elizabeth stopped me. I used the five French verbs that I knew and my expert panta-mime skills, which I picked up in 2005 when my jaw was wired shut for a couple of weeks, to tell her that I was going to pee in the shower. She misunderstood and thought that I was going to drink my pee. So afterwards I had to show her that the cup was free of urine and my intention was not to drink my pee even though I had bottle of it in my room.

So old habits die hard and during the night sometimes I do not want to get up and the pee bottle is there so I use it. I keep it on my night stand next to my other water bottle. And that is how I almost poured urine on my tooth brush. I think that after this I will no longer have a pee bottle. It is too much of a risk.

- Charles

Update about Charles from Charles' dad

December 2, 2008

Charles passed his French language test today and will officially become a Peace Corp Volunteer (PCV) at a ceremony in Lome on Friday along with about 2 dozen other trainees. He will leave a few days later to go to his permanent assignment in Nanergou. He will be lone volunteer in the town which is about 6km northwest of the regional capital of Dapaong.

Update on Charles!

10/26/2008

Charles is currently still in training in Agou Tomegbe which is about 50 kilometers north to northeast of the capital. He is living with a family in 2 rooms both of which have electricity, a hanging light bulb. The water well is close by and his latrine is working. The “father” at the airport in Lome and his wife Elizabeth is Charles’ current “mother”. She has a set of twins who are 12, one boy and one girl.

Each day consists of classes, about 50% French language traing and 50% technical skills. After training his assignment will be in a town of less than 1000, which is about 5 kilometers from the regional capital of Dapaong the northernmost city in the very northwest of Togo (638 kilometers from the capital of Lome on the coast). They are in the process of finishing his living quarters there (actually repairing) and he will go there for a few days next week. He then returns to training in Agou and if all goes according to plan he will complete the training in early December.

Charles' first entry

This is my first entry in this blog. I leave for training the 17th of September. I am a little stressed about packing. There is no way I can take everything I need for two years and I cannot even fathom what I might come in hand in Togo. I am also a little worried about my poor french skills. However as with all things it will work out. Below included a little information of Togo and how to contact me.

Situated between Ghana and Benin at 8 degrees North by 1 degree and 10 minutes East is the epic African state of Togo. Shaped like a pogo stick this state of 5,858,673 that official speaks French and many unofficial indigenous languages will be my home for the next 27 months. If you do the math that means I will return December 10th, 2010, start counting down for Christmas and New Years 2010 they will be the best yet.

My first three months in Togo will be spent training in a little town 55km outside the capital city of Lome. Once I am done, I will serve as a natural resources management agent which involves a myriad of skills from well building to teaching sustainable agriculture techniques in rural villages.

I know my absence will drastically alter your lives as you currently know them. But do not worry the transition will not be that harsh. This blog will be where I will post updates and tales of my fantastic adventures.

I will also be sad because I will not see any of my dear friends and family for two years so please keep in touch. I will be desperate to hear about anything from updates about eating McDonald's to photos of you and the new addition to sticker collection. There are a couple ways in which you can contact me. One way is through the new electronic mail (this fad seems to be staying around) my address is below. Or through traditional mail, all you need is an 98 cent stamp that you can get any post office, the address is also below. If you really want to make someone's day write me a letter, every letter I get while I am over there will be very special to me and I thank you ahead of time.

Note: if you letter is really great or something big happens in your life I might buy a goat or a smaller animal and sacrifice it in your honor, feel free to start writing now.

Address in Togo:

Charles Kienzle, PCT

Peace Corps
B.P.3194
Lome
Togo

Email:
ckienzle(at)gmail(dot)com

Puddles, Winter Coats, and Giraffes

In America, I always loved the rain. But in Niger, not so much. It is currently rainy season- and that means that the rains come every other day or so (when I first got here it was about once every three days) Rain in Niger means that I have to sleep in my hut (thatch is not quite waterproof), that I am either damp or soaked all day long (like in New Orleans-umbrellas are completely useless) , that my laundry never gets dry (and then it starts to smell bad), that there are more mosquitoes (if that is even possible), that there are frogs everywhere (you have never heard frogs croak as loud as they do in the middle of the dead silence of nighttime in Niger). After the rains come there are giant puddles and rainy season rivers throughout the fields and if you are not careful you are likely to fall in one and perhaps even lose a shoe. But the rains have some perks too. A good rainy season means a great harvest (that means more fruits and vegetables). The rain makes the desert soil grow grass and the landscape is surprisingly green. The rain brings a few hours of respite from the heat and humidity. Most importantly, the rain also brings a winter jackets. Upon arriving home, I am greeted with the usual slew of greetings (mate gaham, mate Peace Corps, mate farga, mate goyo, mate cawyan etc.). But rainy days bring a new greeting: How is the cold? On occasion I try to explain that at 70 + degrees, it isn't exactly cold, but to the Nigeriens who are proudly sporting winter jackets and sweaters, it's even too cold to sit outside.

On the way to my village this past week (we had a one week test run for living in our villages) I had my first encounter with African wildlife. Niger has quite the variety of wildlife, we have been told. But up until now the only wildlife I have seen includes a vast array of farm animals, lizards, bugs and camels. But on the bus from Niamey to Dosso at 6 am this past Sunday morning I got woken up from my open mouthed head bobbing sleep by the honking of the bus driver. Drivers in Niger think their horns are equivalent to their brakes so at first I tried to resist waking up. But luckily I opened my eyes just in time to see a herd of about 8 giraffes grazing right by the road. Niger proudly sustains the last wild herd of giraffes in Africa, and there they were just eating trees on the side of the road.

I spent one week alone in my village. And while I still don't have a latrine, a wall around my concession, or a shade hangar- I do have a three room square house with a metal roof. My house is really too big for someone whose belongings fit into two duffle bags but that means that I have tons of room to decorate. For the first time ever (probably in my entire life) I was completely alone (not even cell reception). And what I figured out was that I have plenty of time to try a variety of different hobbies. So on that note, I am open to suggestions from all of you on what I should try (send the necessary supplies via mail). So far my list of potential activities includes gardening, composting, yoga, meditation, art, training for a marathon, cooking, dancing alone in my house to my ipod, and GRE Prep.

And I have a new address, so start sending letters there (don't worry the ones you already sent will still get to me)

Kate Elizabeth Sheerin-PCV

Corps De La Paix

B.P. 144

Dosso, Niger

Don't forget to write airmail on whatever you send!