They Put Spaghetti in Everthing - by Charles

I eat watchie pretty much ever morning for breakfast. A combination of rice, spaghetti, dried and ground yin yam, spicy pepper sauce and a dash of oil; it is the cornflakes of Togo. And for about forty cents one could easily satisfy the largest appetite.

I am in Dapong, my regional capital, enjoying some very tasty watchie with my closest neighbor and friend Christian who just happens to look a lot like Jesus. Because of his resemblance to our savior conversation between Christian and Togolese are often religiously themed. Not to break with the pattern a fellow watchie-eater began to

tell us that Jesus had had a wife and children. “Oh really!” my interest was peeked. Our brother in rice continued to elaborate that he had seen a film in Lome, a very secret film that you cannot buy and only certain people can see that definitively explained that Jesus had gotten wit Mary M. and had kids. At this point I started to realize

that our new friend was talking about the very popular novel/movie “The DaVinci Code.” Christian and I explained in detail that this wasn’t a secret film and that it is available for purchase. Erroneous, our new friend protested and continued to explain the film only to solidify our belief that he was talking about the afore mentioned film. At that point we had finished our mixture meal and were ready to go enjoy the air-conditioned goodness that one can only experience in Togo at the bank. So we said good-bye to our confused friend.

Later that same day, same adventure different time after getting my monopoly money, Togolese money is red for the one mille bills, blue for the two, green for the three and purple for the ten it really is like monopoly money, I was walking back to the transit house with Christian when we ran into a couple women from my village. We chatted for a couple minutes. I asked them why they had come into Dapong, what they where doing, and they in return asked me when I was coming back to village and how my dog was doing. We parted ways and continued down the street in opposite directions. It was then that Christian turned to me and told me that I had just had an entire conversation with those women in Moba, our local language in these parts. Initially I was like oh no I didn’t and then I remembered that those women don’t know or speak any French so I guess he was right.

To rap this up nicely, in one day I had an entire conversation in a language that I had only heard of three months ago. But even more amazing to me was the fact that I had understood and argued about “The DiVinci Code” in French while eating watchie. It is that odd mixture of things that really makes Togo interesting sometimes.

Beekeeping fun - by Charles

I want you to bike over here a couple kilometers right before dark. Wear jeans and shoes, oh and socks too. When you get here I am going make you change your shoes into the pig pen tenders boots that he wears without socks everyday for the past ten years because your shoes aren’t strong enough. Now put on this bee suit and elbow high rubber gloves. Now you really have no clue what is going on because everything is in French and at this time it is night. This what makes Africa fun and also really scary to you. They are building a fire, the two African guys you are with, everyone is suited up and ready to go. The smokers are a smoken and you all are off into the night. You have no clue where you are going and then you are there at the beehive. You can hear it before you actually get there and you also know that these are the Africa Killer Bees and Twenty-Twenty has warned you about. The type of bees that make you turnout like the boy in the last scene of the film “My Girl” so you check your back pocket for the Epi pin that the med unit gave you and get started. The two African guys are going at it and you are smoken those bees like your life depends on it. You might think man this suit is thick and then you realize you are covered in bees. Your legs are tired so you crouch down and all of a sudden three stings. Way to forget that bees are actually stinging you through all your clothing. Your comrades and you return with your harvest to base camp it is about ten at night and you get to taste the sweetness of your success. Heart racing a little bit you realize that this might be the best honey you have ever tasted.

And then you it dawns on you that the adventure isn’t over because you now have bike home in the dark.

Charles' Updated Contact Information

A couple of logistical updates:

I have a phone!

I keep it on pretty much all the time. Keep in mind that I am on GMT
that is four to five hours ahead of the US. My number is 986-1772 and
the country code for Togo is 228, so to call me just dial
011-228-986-1772.

It can be kind of expensive to call overseas however there are a lot
of international phones cards available at Walgreens, Target, Walmart,
etc. Skype is also another option which you can use to text, a very
cheap and easy option. Other internet options that might be better
than Skype are
1. nobelcom.com
2. jajah.com (click on "pricing")

A small change to my address, instead of "PCT" after my name it now
should be "PCV."

The full address is:
Address:

Charles Kienzle, PCV

Peace Corps
B.P.3194
Lome
Togo

- Charles

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.