tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22395062285471640722024-03-14T10:13:07.489+00:00Wild Thoughts From Wild PlacesKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-33348282557782045102016-05-04T15:45:00.001+00:002016-05-04T15:59:28.790+00:00The Cable GuyI'm under the impression that moving to a new post and setting up "home," no matter how many times we do it, is going to be a perplexing and complicated endeavor.<br />
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A few days after we arrived in Kathmandu I scheduled a visit from the cable man. Stuck at home with a jet-lagged toddler and no internet was the worst. I wanted to Skype my mom and get lost in the deep dark corners of Facebook for the few moments of baby nap time I was granted. The cable company assured me that a technician would be there around 10 am.<br />
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At 3 pm I got a call: "I am at the temple," the man on the other end told me. In Nepali.*<br />
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I walked to our neighborhood temple and started looking for a technician. There was a nice man in a polo shirt on a motorcycle. "Internet?" I asked him. "होइन," he responded. No. <br />
I stood and waited. Another man on a motorcycle pulled up. He was wearing normal clothes, but I figured I'd ask. "Internet?" He just stared at me. And then kept staring. I slowly backed away.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The neighborhood temple</td></tr>
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Suddenly I heard a rustling behind me and the shabbily dressed man who had been sleeping, curled in a ball at the base of the temple, amidst the tikka and the trash, jumped up: "I am internet!" Oh, God. <br />
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"But, where are all of your things?" I asked him. He assured me they were on their way.<br />
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As we slowly started to walk towards my house I thought of ways to test the theory that he was an actual cable man and not a bum who saw that I was looking for a cable man. I texted Mr. Kate and told him that if he came home and I was dead he needed to look for the sleepy bum under the temple.<br />
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Moments later, we were joined by another shabbily dressed man on a bike that had some black cord wrapped around the seat. They asked where I lived and as I indicated the way, the second guy set his bike down, grabbed an end of the cord, and climbed up the closest telephone pole.<br />
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As they wrapped the cord around each subsequent telephone pole, we got closer and closer to home. I was salivating. I could smell the Facebook in my immediate future. We got to the house. "Which room?" they asked. I pointed to a corner room, and the guy with the cable scaled the side of my house while the first cable guy followed me inside. When we got to the room, he got upset. "There is no hole! How will we get the cable inside?," he yelled at me.<br />
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I responded: "You are the cable man! You came with no tools! Don't you have this problem EVERY SINGLE TIME?!?!?!"<br />
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Except, since it was in Nepali, it probably sounded more like: "You cable man. You have no presents. Very, very EVERY PROBLEM, isn't it?!?!?"<br />
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After coming up with a reasonable solution that did not involve breaking a window (as they originally suggested), the internet cable was in the house. They spent a few minutes pressing buttons on the computer and determined that the internet would not work. They said they would come back the next day, with a new bike-cable and re-do everything. They also said I should give them $300 immediately. After I was done laughing, I walked them out. <br />
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The next day, they came and set up the rest of the internet. As I gave them the money for our cable bill, I asked for a receipt. It was their turn to laugh. "No" was all they said. So I told him to hold up the money and I snapped a picture while he was still laughing. Homie don't play that.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Xl08b5I3b6ObY5DltlfqwA9Kg0pR424-COykV-xR-u5dw-Jwn12AH2jCevdjK6sW8PYCUGSuNfVqz9RIao0vOuKjg96u8n-GgLmhyMJjN07kXfG4G5bouV6WxuKFJO1FPI73Z18tbffs/s1600/image1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Xl08b5I3b6ObY5DltlfqwA9Kg0pR424-COykV-xR-u5dw-Jwn12AH2jCevdjK6sW8PYCUGSuNfVqz9RIao0vOuKjg96u8n-GgLmhyMJjN07kXfG4G5bouV6WxuKFJO1FPI73Z18tbffs/s320/image1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just in case he's a modest cable man. <br />
Internet fame can be tough. </td></tr>
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*Huge shout out to FSI's language training program! Without you, I probably still wouldn't have internet! Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-89556859756134110982015-02-02T19:49:00.004+00:002015-02-02T19:49:49.345+00:00Safari in PendjariI know, I know, it's been awhile. For the next few weeks I'll finish and post all the blog posts I started but never finished. And at the end of this one you'll understand the delay...<br />
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Last November we went to Pendjari Wildlife Reserve in Benin with two of our very good friends. Although I didn't feel well, we went and had a wonderful time. It was the wet season, so it was hard to see a ton of animals through all the brush. Nevertheless, we saw 5 cheetahs relaxing in the sun-- amazing!<br />
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As we got home, Mr. Kate ran to the supermarket to get some food for dinner. I ran to the bedroom to do some investigations and upload our pictures. Here are the life changing, "best of" pictures I shared with Mr. Kate when he got back from the store...<br />
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So there it is: the reason I didn't have much time for blogging anymore. I needed a lot more time for morning sickness...<br />
<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-26630282282840262992014-01-21T22:14:00.003+00:002014-01-21T22:16:06.330+00:00You know you live in Togo when...A few weeks ago a friend of mine posted a comment on Facebook hilariously lamenting the things that are no longer strange to you after living in Togo. This sparked a comment frenzy which I followed intently, laughing as each member suggested something new and unique to our lives in West Africa. A few times I typed in an additional comment, but then wavered before hitting the send button with a lingering thought in the back of my head: What if nobody likes it? WHAT IF NOBODY THINKS I'M FUNNY? So, I remained silent. <br />
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Several weeks later, I finally found my contribution. But it would have been weird and kind of stalker-esque to dig through her profile and re-initiate the thread, so I decided to blog about it instead. I only Facebook stalk with subtlety, thank you.</div>
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A few weeks before Christmas we took a trip with a couple of our good friends to Ghana. Our itinerary was fairly lax, with plans to meet at the hotel around sunset on Friday and to visit a monkey sanctuary the next day.</div>
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Through a series of awesome events (leading a bar full of drunk Ghanaian men in a few cheers for Chelsea while searching for more milk stout supplies for the weekend, meeting a random guy on the side of the road who lived in Massachusetts, teaching him how to spotlight, and getting a tree frog tangled in my hair) we were a little late to the hotel. Lucky for us, we have good friends who like beer and frogs, so we started at a not-too-early hour the next morning.<br />
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We made it to the monkey sanctuary just before lunch. The guide handed us a few bananas and lead us into the forest. After walking a few kilometers, we heard a rustling in the trees and looked up to find ourselves surrounded by a large troop of Mona monkeys. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16ze79PQAaRXnjlcsUv2iiHfArSMKarVT0VPlkon3TP7gkV5GgHVFfVKnrnbCuKi9mBDJmJJ9JgLLVm2t-gx72uooVSuTDxA_sLUD2BYkoCQCYgpdQfY_F1c02lEvG5ZGeOQvTu4WGWlY/s1600/IMG_8492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEHAWmcLTtqtSLgj2HOH2ogucGsHYqnhustW33a3cYGZufoljo8thUU41Lf__LJCA5jlF-u3mbvbCUs1_1P5EBnlDgflE70Z6VVtvmVx1jBpitC2oNvEY42-M0SPIVTAkLVSJDstNNqlgE/s1600/IMG_8464.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEHAWmcLTtqtSLgj2HOH2ogucGsHYqnhustW33a3cYGZufoljo8thUU41Lf__LJCA5jlF-u3mbvbCUs1_1P5EBnlDgflE70Z6VVtvmVx1jBpitC2oNvEY42-M0SPIVTAkLVSJDstNNqlgE/s320/IMG_8464.JPG" height="148" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What's that?</td></tr>
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To facilitate their interest, Mr. Kate put a banana on top of his head and continued to walk, enticing the monkeys to come down from the higher branches, closer to us.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BANANA?</td></tr>
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In the moments that followed, we were suddenly inundated by monkeys. They surrounded us from each branch and descended to the forest floor, circling us. "Give us those bananas!" their beady little eyes screamed at us. In an instant, monkeys were jumping through the air, from branch to branch, trying to snag the bananas from our hands as we walked. Occasionally, one would land on our heads, arms, or shoulders, confidently take the fruit, and sit there and eat it, knowing the other monkeys were too scared to follow suit. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCMglVsznxSRFI5XaGtws-5a2ZLnpX7CgwS6bXGmV2LS8iPHMhESApMEAs5G8Akf0wouBpv36iu-0RDCyEWBEaj2Vbx1VjS7QPBCRGRw8VbS7IJrYOuglhJEPw-fRrzjNbqcJCuR2H0TIw/s1600/IMG_8485.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCMglVsznxSRFI5XaGtws-5a2ZLnpX7CgwS6bXGmV2LS8iPHMhESApMEAs5G8Akf0wouBpv36iu-0RDCyEWBEaj2Vbx1VjS7QPBCRGRw8VbS7IJrYOuglhJEPw-fRrzjNbqcJCuR2H0TIw/s320/IMG_8485.jpg" height="306" width="320" /></a><br />
Eventually we ran out of simian bait, and the monkeys quickly retreated back into the dense foliage, leaving us empty handed, flea ridden and stinky.<br />
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We walked back to the car and I got in the back seat. To avoid the lovely aroma of monkey permeating our car for the rest of our time here in Togo, we rode back with the windows open. I grabbed my hoodie and wrapped up for the ride back to our hotel, since it was starting to get cooler outside. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16ze79PQAaRXnjlcsUv2iiHfArSMKarVT0VPlkon3TP7gkV5GgHVFfVKnrnbCuKi9mBDJmJJ9JgLLVm2t-gx72uooVSuTDxA_sLUD2BYkoCQCYgpdQfY_F1c02lEvG5ZGeOQvTu4WGWlY/s1600/IMG_8492.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16ze79PQAaRXnjlcsUv2iiHfArSMKarVT0VPlkon3TP7gkV5GgHVFfVKnrnbCuKi9mBDJmJJ9JgLLVm2t-gx72uooVSuTDxA_sLUD2BYkoCQCYgpdQfY_F1c02lEvG5ZGeOQvTu4WGWlY/s320/IMG_8492.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stinky monkey</td></tr>
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When we returned home from our weekend trip, my nanny nicely gathered all of our dirty clothes and washed them. When she came across my sweater, she must have thought that it had accidentally fallen out of the closet-- there was no way I would need to wear a hoodie in West Africa! So she nicely hung it back up. </div>
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Several weeks later, on my way home to America for our R&R trip, I took my seat in the airplane, wrapped myself up in my sweater in preparation for the blazing air conditioners and greeted the man who sat next to me. As we spoke I thought "My god. This man smells like a monkey's ass. DISGUSTING." I cut our conversation short, turned my head as though I was incredibly interested in what was happening outside the window, as we were flying over the Indian Ocean. At night. <span style="font-size: x-small;">Seriously. Take a shower, dude. </span><br />
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Sitting in my seat waiting for the rest of the plane to board for my next flight, I was relieved to see a man in a suit heading towards the seat next to me. Usually people in suits don't tend to stink <i>quite</i> as bad. He sat down and we greeted each other. We busily put our things away, and I pulled out my sweater. As I wrapped it around myself I once again smelled an obscene odor. I looked at the man next to me, and as I tried to figure out how a homeless man got such a nice suit, the dots slowly connected in my head. It was not he who stunk, but me. It was the same sweater I had worn after letting the monkeys crawl all over me at the sanctuary. And it had not been washed. I ripped my sweater off, disgusted and distraught. I started itching-- how long do fleas live? I wrapped the sweater in a plastic bag and quickly got up to stow it in the overhead bin where, I swear, I still smelled it for the rest of the flight. <span style="font-size: x-small;">I also may have given fleas to several people's carry-on suitcases.</span><br />
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So here is my contribution: You know you live in West Africa when you can not only recognize the unique smell of a monkey's ass, but you can recognize that the smell is coming from you. </div>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-79633665540160819712013-11-17T15:16:00.000+00:002013-11-17T15:16:55.753+00:00Lessons from a Marine BallLast night we were excited to attend our first-ever Marine Ball! It was a beautiful event, held outside in downtown Lome, with streamers and lights covering the entire venue. Along with great food, good wine and fantastic company, the night was an appropriate time and setting to learn a few new lessons.<br />
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1. No matter how pretty you are when you leave the house, or how fancy the event is, when you arrive you will still be outside<i> in Africa</i>. The second you step from the safety and comfort of your air-conditioned car, the sweating starts, the buzzing begins and the bat guano starts falling from the trees. Mosquitoes, bats and humidity are apparently oblivious to glorious radiance, perfect hair, beautifully applied make-up and modesty. <br />
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2. The Marines actually cut the cake <i>with a sword</i>! And contrary to some widely-held beliefs, it's not an appropriate time to laugh. Or offer to lick the frosting off. Or turn to Mr. Kate, hold up your butter knife and challenge him to a duel.<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.</span></i>"<br />
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3. The table with the single place setting, sitting off by itself is not simply a table set for one. It is the table to commemorate MIA soldiers-- and therefore NOT an appropriate place to set down your wine glass and camera for just a moment while you run to the restroom to apply more bug spray. <span style="font-size: x-small;">Can we hang a sign or something next year?</span><br />
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4. Everyone knows how to do the Gangham Style Dance. EVERYONE. <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Except me.</i></span><br />
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So, now that I've discovered all the Marine Ball faux-pas (and potentially ruined Mr. Kate's career... <i>again</i>), I'm aware of certain behaviors I can work on for next year. I'll obviously start by locking myself in the house and finding a way to stream MTV so I can brush up on my mad dancing skills for the next time someone wants to dance to a mash-up of the Harlem Shake and Gangham Style.<br />
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Happy Birthday, Marines. Thank you for a great evening! <br />
<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-5790008633403679492013-11-01T12:20:00.000+00:002013-11-01T12:20:02.772+00:00Akateza FestivalA few weeks ago we were lucky enough to attend another local festival. This festival, Fete d'Akateza, began 10 years prior as an excuse for all the villages in the area to come together and celebrate their successes and rejoice in their brotherhood. During the festival there were speeches and performances, but what stood out in comparison to most other festivals we had attended was the recognition of the top students (both male and female) in all the villages.<br />
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It was nice to see a new tradition in the works-- one that encouraged brotherhood, community and education! <br />
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Here are a few pictures from the event:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbBqs4Lel7agUH_U6U8yU6YoWzOcNWlBre1naPQF4-i4nc4ks15LCIEQWOjDI96ZtRPygTd_MHx6R19AVc3-g5AGGIp6v_9qUWakv6oXo4YMXUpjorCbOa96nTeK1UjFWBja4tpYnOzwwQ/s1600/DSC_0021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbBqs4Lel7agUH_U6U8yU6YoWzOcNWlBre1naPQF4-i4nc4ks15LCIEQWOjDI96ZtRPygTd_MHx6R19AVc3-g5AGGIp6v_9qUWakv6oXo4YMXUpjorCbOa96nTeK1UjFWBja4tpYnOzwwQ/s320/DSC_0021.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A group of hunters from a local village chant over a water filled vase that has been filled by a priest.<br />
The vase and water represent the solidarity between their communities.<br />
"Nous sommes ensemble"</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7DIkELchB-uJ0TbsC81r9tkPQH3RA3Q79wqMlLlk6rdfG-NCd1doNpPuM7hqCyGCG4Un7ltIJctGoZ-o6-4rloNEkFCbw_6pOsjPi-T0s3MIuMc4XSZN-u3lg6Ix5IsZSA4oeRqGsv3I2/s1600/DSC_0018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7DIkELchB-uJ0TbsC81r9tkPQH3RA3Q79wqMlLlk6rdfG-NCd1doNpPuM7hqCyGCG4Un7ltIJctGoZ-o6-4rloNEkFCbw_6pOsjPi-T0s3MIuMc4XSZN-u3lg6Ix5IsZSA4oeRqGsv3I2/s320/DSC_0018.jpg" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another hunter, surveying the crowd. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqZ3dygnk3VD5U0lWfS-V74t-Nd8nPDkTyeNrlHX00d8Fwn1lgX3jjinZlAcw7_Yb_fXmbF5hFswugWM4ggNOTTzy-xDBuHG_KRs4RoZfPun8gXHkZwfGvT3g4yH4Upc0Dq2H6QZ19SJFl/s1600/DSC_0036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqZ3dygnk3VD5U0lWfS-V74t-Nd8nPDkTyeNrlHX00d8Fwn1lgX3jjinZlAcw7_Yb_fXmbF5hFswugWM4ggNOTTzy-xDBuHG_KRs4RoZfPun8gXHkZwfGvT3g4yH4Upc0Dq2H6QZ19SJFl/s640/DSC_0036.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A group of women, adorned in paints and flowers, dance for the crowd. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtlHnXrdPJKfTh9XV74hgmf6xa8-CuzMt5ioCAZEoSxx5SzBIG0Dhxe5Zk-U9TwMyswZA64MGjDMSlQV3CWQlQds-rPQWTH5cxui9TMUbA8SgDWh4EyfE-U9ANVM1BpnU3VgtXW7W0siri/s1600/DSC_0082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtlHnXrdPJKfTh9XV74hgmf6xa8-CuzMt5ioCAZEoSxx5SzBIG0Dhxe5Zk-U9TwMyswZA64MGjDMSlQV3CWQlQds-rPQWTH5cxui9TMUbA8SgDWh4EyfE-U9ANVM1BpnU3VgtXW7W0siri/s320/DSC_0082.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An enthusiastic onlooker. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6nFihyLR7t2NOviFPBtX6jYqR9R4NXQ2dEw0pzovwMbmdc5Hu7Z3lNfZE4o97FiyMjxE38g2_BZPVb8ZCUi7n-8DAYQebib5E00-CRnizpEK-E8a1p9OMOEzEg2aV9CyIokKHst9eETn4/s1600/DSC_0087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6nFihyLR7t2NOviFPBtX6jYqR9R4NXQ2dEw0pzovwMbmdc5Hu7Z3lNfZE4o97FiyMjxE38g2_BZPVb8ZCUi7n-8DAYQebib5E00-CRnizpEK-E8a1p9OMOEzEg2aV9CyIokKHst9eETn4/s320/DSC_0087.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Babies dancing. It never stops being cute. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihM52qfB3qXdG0_jqVM4gx5qbeX-jF1fg86WpNTt4lirAp1zJ9KQVFaO9A6NUtbDksQNwi1MQ5gqRbPqb32uossSMoJXfYDDd7cORlrCUhNCEBnakaRWnYf7WRC16SAdo90kqyaTaVrFV7/s1600/DSC_0125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihM52qfB3qXdG0_jqVM4gx5qbeX-jF1fg86WpNTt4lirAp1zJ9KQVFaO9A6NUtbDksQNwi1MQ5gqRbPqb32uossSMoJXfYDDd7cORlrCUhNCEBnakaRWnYf7WRC16SAdo90kqyaTaVrFV7/s400/DSC_0125.jpg" width="310" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This kid took over the entire village performance.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNoODTHbeDc3ZX89C3fAs6jJ5vpUVuRj_XDFTnRvJ2w2szNeSIbF-410ejJ1qcTo-osTU9LWEZ1zKsZw9kuJl3pG4EZKIUPYJZUzN0PB9p4B5dhp7ldf-8osVxJNHTX6fphr9goS3fYe6/s1600/DSC_0159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNoODTHbeDc3ZX89C3fAs6jJ5vpUVuRj_XDFTnRvJ2w2szNeSIbF-410ejJ1qcTo-osTU9LWEZ1zKsZw9kuJl3pG4EZKIUPYJZUzN0PB9p4B5dhp7ldf-8osVxJNHTX6fphr9goS3fYe6/s320/DSC_0159.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So many beads. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA8fpAr2_RZUxrPRsZ-kHiDraejO9gF5zkCraSFAbYk7zqXgxgYyn_RIbUEqxNS5hk-_bQdd969GcG22L9TM6zRE9iA1p5V6fDq1oR5eV8mqbvZ0iNNxXNLgijLek9uPbj1EQ2yNSkuXTv/s1600/DSC_0168.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA8fpAr2_RZUxrPRsZ-kHiDraejO9gF5zkCraSFAbYk7zqXgxgYyn_RIbUEqxNS5hk-_bQdd969GcG22L9TM6zRE9iA1p5V6fDq1oR5eV8mqbvZ0iNNxXNLgijLek9uPbj1EQ2yNSkuXTv/s640/DSC_0168.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting to dance.</td></tr>
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<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-66250809302788213992013-10-25T11:08:00.003+00:002013-10-25T11:31:31.849+00:00Cockroach KarmaLast month I was looking through my large desk calendar, counting down the days until Christmas, making lists of things my siblings should buy me and wondering how I could get Satan* to leave me the Christmas Tree dishes in her will, when I had a rare moment of clarity. <i>Next month is Halloween. Amazon is going to have all sorts of awesomely gross stuff!! </i><br />
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My joyous, unclouded moment was quickly followed by a fugue state and a lost afternoon that ultimately resulted in multiple packages showing up in the mail room full of face paints, mohawk headbands, doggy costumes, zombie-arm candle holders, and of course, a package of plastic cockroaches... the perfect revenge for my cockroach-hating, <a href="http://wildthoughtsfromwildplaces.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-mask.html" target="_blank">mask-scaring</a> husband.<br />
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For <i>weeks</i> I carried the package of plastic cockroaches around in my purse, waiting for <i>exactly</i> the right moment to scare Mr. Kate in front of everyone. Several times, I had a cockroach in hand, ready to strike when I would realize-- <i>No, now is not the time. Soon, it will come.</i><br />
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Last night we went to a new restaurant in town. Surrounded by about 15 of our friends, I knew-- this was the moment I had been waiting for. Halfway through dinner a friend called down the table to Mr. Kate. "Bla bla bla, something about work," he said. I didn't really care. All I knew was that in this moment, I had my chance.<br />
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I pulled the cockroach out of my back pocket, slipped it over his arm and under the rim of his plate, with just the antennae sticking out.<br />
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He saw me leaning over. "What are you doing?" he asked me.<br />
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"Just stealing a bite of your food!" I quickly responded as I jumped back, looking away quickly so he wouldn't see the gleeful, evil laugh forming in my throat.<br />
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Mr. Kate never noticed the cockroach that hid under his plate during dinner.<br />
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After dinner, as soon as his plate was lifted and the cockroach reared it's ugly head, both Mr. Kate and the server jumped and let out small gasps. It was so subtle, no one noticed.<br />
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I was devastated. <br />
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Worse, the server was mortified. He looked like he was about to cry and quickly scooped up the cockroach. "No!" I called out. "It's just a toy!" I quickly grabbed the cockroach back from him, held it up to my mouth, bit down on it and pretended to gnaw on it's head, to prove my point. "Look!" I exclaimed as I pulled the unharmed plastic cockroach out of my mouth and presented it to him."C'est plastique!"<br />
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I realize that while I was trying to assure the staff that the bug was actually a safe, fun non-disease carrying toy, all they saw was a foreigner with a potentially incomprehensible accent ("<i>what</i> is she trying to say?"), eating a cockroach and trying to convince everyone it was delicious.<br />
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In retrospect, it might not have been the best way to get my point across. The server turned and ran away, almost taking out one of our friends in the process. He never came back.<br />
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That night, as we were sleeping, I was awakened by Mr. Kate. "No. NO. NONONO!" he screamed.<br />
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I immediately woke up and panicked. "WHAT!?" I yelled.<br />
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"Right there! Get it! Right next to your head!!" He kept yelling over and over again and motioning to the headboard on my side of the bed. <br />
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Since it was dark in the room, I clearly thought one of the guards I had victimized by wearing the mask and jumping in front of the peep-holes had finally snapped, or that my neighbor had finally found out who was terrorizing his turkeys by chasing them up and down the street gobbling. I started screaming. "I'M SO SORRY!" <br />
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Mr. Kate jumped out of bed, ran to the door, flipped on the lights and then ran back to the bed, pulling all the sheets and covers off the bed, searching frantically for something. "Get it! It was right here, next to you!" <br />
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I sat in the middle of the bed, screaming and crying, covers piled around me, still searching the room for my assassin, when Mr. Kate found what he was looking for-- my iPhone. He proceeded to frantically bat at it, sending it flying. Next he chased and, finally, trapped my phone. <br />
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As the fluorescent lights in our room became brighter and Mr. Kate became more coherent, I was able to piece together the dream he was currently having-- one in which I had been hiding a giant West African scorpion behind my pillow that I was going to drop on him in the middle of the night.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi93auy-2FD5POm1UD1ZnmOPE9nq7Lg7I1IABn5Io8HHTiZBiqrgQsFm903FbP-jjil7Tnb4Tviz2mPmShf1TUZib-zXKtFMan2kLt4pCnIIV3e9InmRZU6kYBD4FOhPORQUVspZT1LkIp4/s1600/AsianForestScorpion2WHSp_AP7I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi93auy-2FD5POm1UD1ZnmOPE9nq7Lg7I1IABn5Io8HHTiZBiqrgQsFm903FbP-jjil7Tnb4Tviz2mPmShf1TUZib-zXKtFMan2kLt4pCnIIV3e9InmRZU6kYBD4FOhPORQUVspZT1LkIp4/s320/AsianForestScorpion2WHSp_AP7I.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet dreams are made of these.</td></tr>
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Moments later, Mr. Kate was back asleep and I lay awake, wondering if I had won this round of scare-war since I had so obviously gotten into his head with my prank. But as the night drew on and I couldn't sleep for fear of giant insects<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> </i><span style="font-size: small;">and retributive neighbors, I began to doubt it. </span></span><br />
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*I've assured my mother not to worry and that I'm actually pronouncing it Sah-Tahn. It's a cute nickname that has nothing to do with the fact that she makes babies cry for fun.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-51795503382835087582013-10-16T16:46:00.000+00:002013-10-16T17:55:39.294+00:00West African Beauty TipsAs a way to keep our spirits up given the uncertainty of our jobs (and paychecks), the men in our embassy have banded together and decided not to shave until the budget has passed. I've affectionately termed the effort "Beards for Budget."<br />
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A few times I've joked that I, too, will contribute to the facial hair morale booster, by not waxing my mustache. In response, I received mostly half-hearted laughs and a quick change of subject. After my third offer, when the recipient of the joke squinted his eyes and zoomed in on my upper lip, I realized why people weren't laughing. <b>You can't laugh if it's true</b>.<br />
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Living in Africa isn't great for beauty maintenance and let's be honest--it's not like I put much effort into it even before moving to Togo, back when it was <i>easy</i> to go over and see my friend Joni who would wax anything and everything. <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>My God. There's hair there?</i></span><br />
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After my encounter with a nail salon in Guinea, I decided that while in Africa, it would be better to stick to simple things I was capable of doing, like cutting my toenails and shaving my legs. Everything else could wait until I made it back to the US.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijt0a_3Z6knD_JIuTui9ygRs8Ml0vXEXc5DhXUaZeD7l12P0jlX1kN5tcNkWnqOQqhAdS0BiDavo1cNifH4cN5iOs3TVhOSVfNl3v7Jzb1M56Z2XxyaObtm1jQn1-v-gPqZsncYupoOO5U/s1600/P1000767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijt0a_3Z6knD_JIuTui9ygRs8Ml0vXEXc5DhXUaZeD7l12P0jlX1kN5tcNkWnqOQqhAdS0BiDavo1cNifH4cN5iOs3TVhOSVfNl3v7Jzb1M56Z2XxyaObtm1jQn1-v-gPqZsncYupoOO5U/s320/P1000767.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Guinean Pedicure.</td></tr>
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However, after my realization that people were actually considering buying me a mustache grooming kit and a membership to The Handlebar Club for Christmas, I came to the conclusion that maybe I should make an effort. Just this once.<br />
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I gathered nail files, nail polish and wax strips. I was ready to have a day full of manicures, pedicures and hair removal. I started with my nails. I cut them down, did the cuticle thing (ouch!) and then rubbed the square-sponge-file thing on them, not because it does anything, but because I've seen them do it before. <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>What is that thing, really? </i></span><br />
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Next, I went for the wax strips. I warmed one up, shmeared it on my upper lip and asked Mr. Kate to pull it off as fast as possible. After I realized the gross excess of pleasure he derived from ripping hair off my face I decided that even though it would be incredibly difficult and painful, I would bear through the pain and do it my self next time, for my own best interest. I would basically be like that guy who had to cut his arm off to get out from under the rock, except I'd be a chick with a mustache. <br />
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Then, since I was at it, I moved on to my eyebrows. I cut the strips so they would fit under my eyebrows. I looked up and used both eyes as I was pasting them on my face to be sure I was doing it correctly-- if you think I'm bad at beauty maintenance, you should see me with make-up. There is no chance at me surviving in a world where I need to draw on eyebrows. <br />
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After I was sure the strips were on correctly, I looked in the mirror and braced myself. <i>Ready, set, RIP! </i>I looked down at the wax strip. Wow. I had a lot of straggler hairs floating around under my eyebrows! Where did those come from? My eyebrows don't look <i>that</i> different! I stared at my eyebrows for a moment, trying to understand.<br />
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Suddenly, I felt a throbbing on my eye. I shifted my focus downward. Most of the eyelashes on my right eye were gone. A lone, hairless eyelid remained. <br />
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So, here I am, two days later, hoping that eyelashes grow back quickly and that nobody notices my perpetual downward stare, which I hope makes my bald eyelid stand out less. <br />
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My West African beauty tips you ask? Simple. Embrace hairiness. Stay away from wax-your-own-anything kits. IT'S NOT WORTH THE RISK. <br />
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That Handlebar Club membership is actually starting to sound like a great Christmas present... <br />
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<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-54962082099264893962013-09-25T13:52:00.002+00:002013-09-25T13:52:28.831+00:00Camp EspoirLast month we were honored to be invited to Camp Espoir, a yearly camp offered by Peace Corps Togo for HIV-infected or -affected youth. All of the children are HIV-positive, orphans due to HIV/AIDS or somehow significantly affected by the virus.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg35q3BZzqYXwpWteZxncOxCGw1NZQ2pz8tCZUCyfs3z1IB1EHeK61RfCzdFvwL2rSq5rHAcKXCVpQfBthvAd2f11BgPzgfnBWUkTa_r5suXanhea_RDy7ktJ-Tn3JGySfMGcN1VJV6FQjW/s1600/IMG_8230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg35q3BZzqYXwpWteZxncOxCGw1NZQ2pz8tCZUCyfs3z1IB1EHeK61RfCzdFvwL2rSq5rHAcKXCVpQfBthvAd2f11BgPzgfnBWUkTa_r5suXanhea_RDy7ktJ-Tn3JGySfMGcN1VJV6FQjW/s320/IMG_8230.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The organizers, a group of awesome Peace Corps Volunteers, modeled the camp after a their real-life experiences at camp as children, while tying in important lessons for this specific group of kids. During the week they were there, the kids took classes and workshops but perhaps most importantly, these children interacted with peers who were just like them-- kids who had lost their parents or were struggling in one way or another due to repercussions of the virus. This interaction was a rare and priceless experience for them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUZHcT1txMK_iOqnWSM6ya-CMs7C6I5I5LyIkqxVfRWeUxYDauqsVtTk5S8fUYuQbMLScSuh7TjmPL2qpZJDBtjBHxCLd6wxNtADrdW8OZaL_S-fx_c3G9OVeAqe9KZcNRAbLsGobWJFhq/s1600/IMG_8280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUZHcT1txMK_iOqnWSM6ya-CMs7C6I5I5LyIkqxVfRWeUxYDauqsVtTk5S8fUYuQbMLScSuh7TjmPL2qpZJDBtjBHxCLd6wxNtADrdW8OZaL_S-fx_c3G9OVeAqe9KZcNRAbLsGobWJFhq/s320/IMG_8280.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stretching and singing!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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Each morning the kids woke up, had a</div>
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delicious, healthy breakfast and went to play. </div>
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After a short amount of playtime to get their </div>
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adrenaline pumping, they gathered in the </div>
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meeting area where they talked for a few </div>
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minutes, sang a few songs, introduced guests, </div>
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announced the morning schedule and then led </div>
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the children out to the soccer field.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">London Bridge -ou- Le Pont de Londres</td></tr>
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Once at the soccer field, the games began. When they originally arrived at camp the kids were divided into groups (and "dorms") based on age and gender. These kids became immediately connected, sharing rooms, stories and ideas. Now on the soccer field they happily played. Each team danced, moving with enthusiasm and celebrating the week, they cheered each other on as they played Simon Says, Flash Freeze (as well as many other camp games that I hadn't thought of in years-- good job guys!), and they embraced each other, coming together for a team cheer to start the day. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team Dance-off!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">London Bridge fell down!</td></tr>
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After the games the kids went with their groups to different classes. These classes included life skills, leadership, nutrition and reproductive health, among others. During certain, less imperative, classes kids who needed to talk to counselors were given the opportunity--one that is rarely afforded for children in rural villages.<br />
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Several students who had participated in the camp in prior years were paired with a famous Togolese puppet master, <a href="http://www.tvfrance-intl.com/en/programmes/presentation/fiche/marionnettes-du-monde-togo-le-maitre-de-marionnettes-et-ses-enfants.html" target="_blank">Mr. Danaye</a>, who volunteered his time to help the students make puppets and create an informative, uplifting puppet show for their peers. They were incredible!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The puppeteers!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making Toffee</td></tr>
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On second to last day of the camp, the kids had a "market" in which each group sold their "speciality." All week the kids worked hard on a project to sell and were rewarded with "coins" for good, thoughtful and responsible behaviors, with which they would barter, sell and buy other items. The goods included toffees, lemonade, peanut brittle, brooms, neem lotion and popcorn. The market was a good way to teach kids how to make little things that might be useful to contribute to their families economic success and to teach them the importance of saving and budgeting their "money."<br />
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On our last morning the kids played a few games with us and sent us off with a sweet song. It was a touching, informative experience and we hope to be a part of it again next year. We are happy and reassured knowing these kids learned some new, helpful things and will be followed by regional NGOs for the next year, providing them with follow-up information and resources, but perhaps, most importantly, these kids had a week-long experience away from community stigma, family stress and the effects of economic hardship, where they could just be what they are: kids. <br />
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If you are interested in more information or ways to help fund this project or others like this, please contact <a href="http://www.friendsoftogo.org/" target="_blank">Friends of Togo</a>, a group of current and returned Peace Corps volunteers from Togo.<br />
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-79396116392004991882013-09-18T17:46:00.000+00:002013-09-18T17:52:22.430+00:00Shopping in TogoLast week we went on a shopping adventure around Lomé. When I offhandedly mentioned to one of my girlfriends that I had found a couple cute things, she was thoroughly confused. "What is there to buy over there?" she demanded to know (probably because she's snoopy and wants to know what her Christmas present is).<br />
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So, here they are, a few cool things you can buy in Togo:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQBWmfkOjantpcNhKY-JSdEzL0lzgWLtlnk8EMdNX0BYZ-Yl2MGvcbF5XFz7xOojZ4whLJd-s1xRHU-uBH5ClR6BzxN-v1uFQTGkBEf4bBdImW_5KNg_68i5DEbNWqnhyphenhyphentYMStywNUJ4Q/s1600/DSC_1247.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQBWmfkOjantpcNhKY-JSdEzL0lzgWLtlnk8EMdNX0BYZ-Yl2MGvcbF5XFz7xOojZ4whLJd-s1xRHU-uBH5ClR6BzxN-v1uFQTGkBEf4bBdImW_5KNg_68i5DEbNWqnhyphenhyphentYMStywNUJ4Q/s400/DSC_1247.jpg" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7AfbzFa_RBsldyHF61PzJ16haGdW8qwodGAhIHqtFnI_HMAOOnErmRxgHO2Y89JhHkBUUgG01WpVmUMOgm3bAoeRg1Q7UTNvaSGG78-9P3HJKKHMy35XgK6LjbRgqd0HPP5BLMbyn_B9/s1600/DSC_1241.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
You can buy beautiful and overpriced necklaces that you think you might wear a few times but you'll never actually be ballsy enough to wear. Starting materials include beef bones and horns, traditional beads, thread, probably some puppy and leather.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCK5Yvv6lxdUZgCYb64dEN74wAED25OipkcTt02vkBM1-fDbpubYl1iRyGwSKTPxr0t4vK24hcQ72a9_MpGoFBgVmPyDdh1JzAnmIQ_34poiqp1RB4bZ7bbiiqjdwjyRFjQOCH-yFWoI6_/s1600/DSC_1250.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCK5Yvv6lxdUZgCYb64dEN74wAED25OipkcTt02vkBM1-fDbpubYl1iRyGwSKTPxr0t4vK24hcQ72a9_MpGoFBgVmPyDdh1JzAnmIQ_34poiqp1RB4bZ7bbiiqjdwjyRFjQOCH-yFWoI6_/s400/DSC_1250.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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Beautiful Bronze statues are easily found in many sizes. Depending on the store, some are "made" by the person sitting behind the counter and others are selling "ancient tribal statues from hundreds of years ago." </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVklBWX52jNZPlwY87UI1V0JL9y6AOzTnJxX61zpwmSUR7GjQ0r0HtGc-cJx5F6t-bRF1-zuA9aaspCyNDrApEsf0lBDoCNNoth644lkS0Bz9gX1aJJjsyibJLGvxVLA0oGLjr-Mq0e0T/s1600/DSC_1254.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVklBWX52jNZPlwY87UI1V0JL9y6AOzTnJxX61zpwmSUR7GjQ0r0HtGc-cJx5F6t-bRF1-zuA9aaspCyNDrApEsf0lBDoCNNoth644lkS0Bz9gX1aJJjsyibJLGvxVLA0oGLjr-Mq0e0T/s400/DSC_1254.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Handmade purses and shoes made from local fabric are fun and colorful.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBXjNrNIbtAzTU8VAmm18XULzVmzKSKaHVbvKOjw54TmywkCLHmJjiFLVBxJyYvd7OSBoco1LSLgFnp8LyjBKjACmNK-EWZ_PdtdbfIVD8XgTg-XrGCaCyqe3At47SOWuROLJ-tE-pcunJ/s1600/DSC_1257.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBXjNrNIbtAzTU8VAmm18XULzVmzKSKaHVbvKOjw54TmywkCLHmJjiFLVBxJyYvd7OSBoco1LSLgFnp8LyjBKjACmNK-EWZ_PdtdbfIVD8XgTg-XrGCaCyqe3At47SOWuROLJ-tE-pcunJ/s320/DSC_1257.jpg" width="211" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZT8L-89fNwEG4Kn6jdpR-QeN5KMzm8fViMJ6Fd36RosuWW9KfoJPviaV7igCkTxRPFYUj0aqLUA8HYyn_LxYG5YbiLqVsfJ12RqdbRhuqRR6BAODxHMpZHZF53aNQlvAvc1KiJ_8k_D1q/s1600/DSC_1245.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZT8L-89fNwEG4Kn6jdpR-QeN5KMzm8fViMJ6Fd36RosuWW9KfoJPviaV7igCkTxRPFYUj0aqLUA8HYyn_LxYG5YbiLqVsfJ12RqdbRhuqRR6BAODxHMpZHZF53aNQlvAvc1KiJ_8k_D1q/s320/DSC_1245.jpg" width="269" /></a><br />
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Handmade pottery, whether it be a pot you see spun on the wheel right in front of you and the guy will give you a <i>really, really</i> good price if only you'll agree to be his third wife, or a scary-faced, phallic fisherman talisman, is always a good gift idea!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVtJ-01YVbb8DL1H2SfUOfY4QjsGPjil6LQCgAuGHNgNx091AR8LfjHWdesjHNO00XkiQ0w-5NuPW2KuqwXHeuA0hQgi7nGOheV-D7HXr6wZEJAO8F3pmygS4qBfvSemTDOJsz6EjBBdd/s1600/DSC_1252.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVtJ-01YVbb8DL1H2SfUOfY4QjsGPjil6LQCgAuGHNgNx091AR8LfjHWdesjHNO00XkiQ0w-5NuPW2KuqwXHeuA0hQgi7nGOheV-D7HXr6wZEJAO8F3pmygS4qBfvSemTDOJsz6EjBBdd/s320/DSC_1252.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Gourmet Sodabe is all the rage right now.</div>
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This is particularly hilarious if you've ever tried Sodabe, the local, home-brewed,<br />
reminiscent-of-rubbing-alcohol beverage of choice here in Togo. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-2MI2IetrnU9OCGrAmI5LJMmzG7CW12mQEyhOC4tSEW4TOf9mru_lY6Dpn0ecSBKZMbDkcdK98_frfqyVS7AUathuP3GjESrV45rz0gZv216-yR5-ld18swBgekqi5ulTlY_F0LEZbLP/s1600/DSC_1239.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-2MI2IetrnU9OCGrAmI5LJMmzG7CW12mQEyhOC4tSEW4TOf9mru_lY6Dpn0ecSBKZMbDkcdK98_frfqyVS7AUathuP3GjESrV45rz0gZv216-yR5-ld18swBgekqi5ulTlY_F0LEZbLP/s640/DSC_1239.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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If you have a good friend who you'd <i>really</i> like to treat, go to the traditional pharmacy and get some herbs to help them out. You can find pictures of ailments painted on the wall. For a quick diagnosis, point to your picture and they will supply you with the neccesary herbal remedy. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGUQq7wp8bUpV4p5qOYXfX8YeehFkHYQRmI4LkMCOczuTxGbeNujCm435W_PUAdTPSgoiscSS790zDpEAOmUHR-gQxHYGuugrCgIX8L0zpH_oIVT9KGM4Dj780tja8VH2roYFzCM_bMVxn/s1600/DSC_1242.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGUQq7wp8bUpV4p5qOYXfX8YeehFkHYQRmI4LkMCOczuTxGbeNujCm435W_PUAdTPSgoiscSS790zDpEAOmUHR-gQxHYGuugrCgIX8L0zpH_oIVT9KGM4Dj780tja8VH2roYFzCM_bMVxn/s320/DSC_1242.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
For example:<br />
You: "Help! There is a snake with an angry man head following me!"<br />
Traditional Pharmacy Guy: "Probably because he is a hipster snake and extremely jealous of your sweet, salmon-colored pants. Make some obscure tea that he hasn't heard of out of this (hands over package of leaves) and you'll feel better."<br />
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--OR--<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02aswcqc010qHVc-HGQfcoPLgvq-og0Pb_LmbuGh7Y0496hldnwEG8rVVTX7v8G6kOQrDWkWTsTUb4wcER26U9JnOMQOzTTvijtbnqXmwxDpsPTq10pRqsg38tGTCu7-Z-rPZ6AnEtTW4/s1600/DSC_1238.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02aswcqc010qHVc-HGQfcoPLgvq-og0Pb_LmbuGh7Y0496hldnwEG8rVVTX7v8G6kOQrDWkWTsTUb4wcER26U9JnOMQOzTTvijtbnqXmwxDpsPTq10pRqsg38tGTCu7-Z-rPZ6AnEtTW4/s320/DSC_1238.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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You: "Help! A brigade of giant, big-bottomed, topless women is attacking my disproportionately over-sized man toy while I do the naked Macarena!"<br />
Traditional Pharmacy Guy: "Get out."<br />
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PS. All of my friends are getting traditional pharmacy paintings for Christmas. I just went to the other stores to show my normal friends where to get stuff. <br />
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-62563609918917826292013-09-08T17:04:00.001+00:002013-09-08T17:57:19.117+00:00The Sacred Stone Festival<div style="text-align: left;">
Last week we were invited to the annual Sacred Stone Festival, a ceremony that takes place in the heart of Togo's voodoo region. The highlight comes when the high priests of the voodoo religion interpret the stone's message to forecast the next year's events. <span style="font-size: x-small;">My nanny forbade me from talking to anyone while I was there, lest they curse me. </span></div>
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A quick description of the event:</div>
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Every year in the village of Glidji, 30 miles from Togo's capital
city, members of the Guen tribe gather together for the Epe Ekpe festival--a lively community celebration dripping with West African song, style, and color. A celebration of the Guen new year, the festival draws families from around the region to gather together in anticipation of the highlight: the presentation of the sacred stone. High priests collect the stone from a sacred forest and present it to the community as a harbinger of the coming year's fortunes. Although it is for the high priests to interpret and communicate the details of the message, for the sacred stone, color tells all: </div>
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<li>Blue: abundant harvests and rain</li>
<li>Red: impending conflict and war</li>
<li>Black: famine, disease, and devastating rain</li>
<li>White: peace, good luck, and abundance<i></i></li>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbyEqRdKfGuFsUZ32zVc-NShHqebz8lK7Y18x-qvP6HL-QQmHbYD3j_f-cHQAaBXlyUz-IgBGqJFZA8eCoPK1SsNVgPOXJkY3n74HWscWY91zJnxJcQX7TzCe4uDCmuiBwcmhgdy88OQG/s1600/DSC_1244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbyEqRdKfGuFsUZ32zVc-NShHqebz8lK7Y18x-qvP6HL-QQmHbYD3j_f-cHQAaBXlyUz-IgBGqJFZA8eCoPK1SsNVgPOXJkY3n74HWscWY91zJnxJcQX7TzCe4uDCmuiBwcmhgdy88OQG/s200/DSC_1244.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Traditional voodoo beads. </td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHB6pPL42odNUgq38kze-cTA-08OyTO_owbGuI7mEC62Az9vpOZDzTwF5Mk1sN9JM8reKsOwQYqG_SIWKlxW9z2qm8rX4PzsoAEZYcNSpB4ahl7HFH3Y3ynm5nTZhLGkYoYd80HO2-62jz/s1600/DSC_1318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHB6pPL42odNUgq38kze-cTA-08OyTO_owbGuI7mEC62Az9vpOZDzTwF5Mk1sN9JM8reKsOwQYqG_SIWKlxW9z2qm8rX4PzsoAEZYcNSpB4ahl7HFH3Y3ynm5nTZhLGkYoYd80HO2-62jz/s320/DSC_1318.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Body painting with mud, clay and plants. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The festival is marked by a dancing kaleidoscope of colors and a cacophony of chants and songs. The voodoo
priestesses are bare-breasted, dressed in white skirts, and ordained with natural dyes, beads and embellishments. <br />
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Among all of the sights and sounds, certain images emerged as truly unforgettable:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZI5LDHWOVBCNIANn5TPkc7omB2ja4I_7ckU96z-W-nreBtcrIBGUYK0cEaUmr9hxT8qrVnhzRAN9X-xkwui5pTOSoePW9JcmSUnjBsSAR8hGdqO7j3Hn_1Ko_ZEunhqgGYW2h6obJlLh/s1600/DSC_1301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyZI5LDHWOVBCNIANn5TPkc7omB2ja4I_7ckU96z-W-nreBtcrIBGUYK0cEaUmr9hxT8qrVnhzRAN9X-xkwui5pTOSoePW9JcmSUnjBsSAR8hGdqO7j3Hn_1Ko_ZEunhqgGYW2h6obJlLh/s400/DSC_1301.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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At the beginning of the spectacle, the priestesses stood on the margins of the arena while waiting for the priests to summon them. They chanted and swayed with focused gazes, creating a beautiful, yet sometimes eerie, scene. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9R6s76JsYQKKpN8lk00oiQFqL5GghrBifRFSPdwX3UdMnfyU6MR6EMCEAOQ8tmuhIq_PiKRNX2-wYi91d1lmmPWA97CpaALm7msqvGmNHZs6D9_IbEJEU4IT9dGbtoQ5xrAnzzxI8mXd9/s1600/DSC_1257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9R6s76JsYQKKpN8lk00oiQFqL5GghrBifRFSPdwX3UdMnfyU6MR6EMCEAOQ8tmuhIq_PiKRNX2-wYi91d1lmmPWA97CpaALm7msqvGmNHZs6D9_IbEJEU4IT9dGbtoQ5xrAnzzxI8mXd9/s320/DSC_1257.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
After a few rounds of dancing, the speeches began. Elders and priests delivered a warm welcome, evoking the traditions of their forefathers and building the
crowd's anticipation for the presentation of the stone. At the height of their soliloquies, one official interrupted with an urgent announcement: "The
sacred stone has left the forest!"<br />
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It was heading our way.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_KGJ-62E6KE8lIXur3E_A9_iL1W7pIZNXhDkkeRCmMiTCeIIihftTdZ74vd5-MszjltSa4Nc6s384vmJVCrssIS66ji4dSE98A4wLv1WpNyn9N8Shs2bWkgVtOofWNZzdyPhDFk9k5Jkr/s1600/DSC_1296.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_KGJ-62E6KE8lIXur3E_A9_iL1W7pIZNXhDkkeRCmMiTCeIIihftTdZ74vd5-MszjltSa4Nc6s384vmJVCrssIS66ji4dSE98A4wLv1WpNyn9N8Shs2bWkgVtOofWNZzdyPhDFk9k5Jkr/s320/DSC_1296.jpg" width="320" /></a> <br />
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Since the journey from the forest would still take some time, we were treated to several more rounds of dancing, singing and speeches. As the anticipation mounted, the man on the microphone screamed louder, the crowd elevated the volume of their cheers and chants, and the women danced with such vigor that several of them danced themselves into a trance and had to be escorted out of the arena, big-eyed and wailing. <br />
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All covered women who attained the "trance stage" were relieved of their beads and tops, baring their breasts as the music climbed to a fever pitch.<br />
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After the priestesses came out of their trances, they returned to the arena topless, but wearing their beads, and looking just as focused as they did during the height of their trance.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqkMfs0QW2UZtnV4rbk52osrQi75SD1AAACaHNw9J1eGAek5vR03W3BCniPH7qJ07XoXcmh5HdvUGwlT41kCwvzspqsMe3VfBDAony-qVuyG_W3KETPAWG62knKH8d9hpGp-cXmiOVMqsB/s1600/DSC_1393.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqkMfs0QW2UZtnV4rbk52osrQi75SD1AAACaHNw9J1eGAek5vR03W3BCniPH7qJ07XoXcmh5HdvUGwlT41kCwvzspqsMe3VfBDAony-qVuyG_W3KETPAWG62knKH8d9hpGp-cXmiOVMqsB/s400/DSC_1393.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8d6qZbu06Q0qdRPykpRhI_p8h4zmbXDXERw8bC8HFtbb8XQD8gzhKaj2CtaG5-VRjYE3AemfsWaMjXpwJzVJm0AF3bn6Lw9cx3Rl1sCdxwEeCRGzLkKGT8mLImqE8hLGWAPVmmFU77Pn7/s1600/DSC_1406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8d6qZbu06Q0qdRPykpRhI_p8h4zmbXDXERw8bC8HFtbb8XQD8gzhKaj2CtaG5-VRjYE3AemfsWaMjXpwJzVJm0AF3bn6Lw9cx3Rl1sCdxwEeCRGzLkKGT8mLImqE8hLGWAPVmmFU77Pn7/s320/DSC_1406.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Finally, the announcement was made. "The stone is entering the arena!" The crowd erupted into cheers as we waited for the stone to enter. Then, just as suddenly as the cheering began, it stopped. A handful of priests reverently carried the stone into the arena. The crowd fell silent. Everyone wanted to see it. The gendarmes, dressed in riot gear, accompanied and protected the voodoo priests who carried the stone in, since everyone was pushing and pulling to catch a glimpse. <br />
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While they walked around the arena, showing everyone the stone, they chanted and sang, thanking the voodoo gods for blessing the community with a white stone, which ensured a year of peace, good fortune, and bountiful harvest. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5d3kFceyUjvr7J4DySHDWRsqiSDYq8i3ZT3BbLwWY-lYZkmtLN5v0eYDQfUDdXRDfhlD2lZtC45PUWssHHHjnbIe6eSv-gBybCvyEaleIHqvihCPvJvYecoFnohTE5-EwisU3B6m7P-n/s1600/DSC_1417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5d3kFceyUjvr7J4DySHDWRsqiSDYq8i3ZT3BbLwWY-lYZkmtLN5v0eYDQfUDdXRDfhlD2lZtC45PUWssHHHjnbIe6eSv-gBybCvyEaleIHqvihCPvJvYecoFnohTE5-EwisU3B6m7P-n/s320/DSC_1417.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The showing of the sacred stone. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtR4Q8op9e-avvAQ5M2ND6i_A8cQapo0wnqJQEqaBuBSTskXPewIcJ5TDgtUY_E0CO1KErbk5MNGmGQn6ePl2ts2MR002sdlfopoef-g24a4tqb2YSsiesfv6X2Ys6fCQRCE3xe1thfuw/s1600/DSC_1429.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtR4Q8op9e-avvAQ5M2ND6i_A8cQapo0wnqJQEqaBuBSTskXPewIcJ5TDgtUY_E0CO1KErbk5MNGmGQn6ePl2ts2MR002sdlfopoef-g24a4tqb2YSsiesfv6X2Ys6fCQRCE3xe1thfuw/s320/DSC_1429.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sacred stone.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRRCaPzXIOoXGpV1f3_hWWmRUX1HSyW80U8sAG0fB2zljEYSTjYCDWF1Ot-fpF8McfaY0-5XILRqWbGVI0SGhZZl6JP5gB30anB0EQ7QPiIoxqjybNtFpyr__BX-SbP0-UDssbGjDnSzXL/s1600/DSC_1431.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRRCaPzXIOoXGpV1f3_hWWmRUX1HSyW80U8sAG0fB2zljEYSTjYCDWF1Ot-fpF8McfaY0-5XILRqWbGVI0SGhZZl6JP5gB30anB0EQ7QPiIoxqjybNtFpyr__BX-SbP0-UDssbGjDnSzXL/s320/DSC_1431.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The priests.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-74540172017169220042013-09-06T13:25:00.001+00:002013-09-06T13:25:27.480+00:00The GameWhen we first got to Togo, Mr. Kate had one goal*, he wanted to play soccer. In between moving, A-100 and moving again, he hadn't played soccer in nearly 6 months, which was basically his worst nightmare.<br />
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Eventually he joined forces with a few friends and formed an embassy soccer team. The first few weeks were hard-- it was difficult finding places to practice and times that would work for everyone, but eventually they fell into a rhythm and started playing. <br />
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Word of the US Embassy team got out around town and was quickly followed by an invitation from the Minister of Foreign Affairs to have a "match amical."</div>
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Early one Saturday morning, we all headed out to the national field, where some of us played and others stayed in the stands, drinking mimosas, waving flags and loudly cheering our awesome team on! </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmXcLXQ_YWcAlzD8Fesy1gAk9xSXOtnjRggJBz5V3Qk75HTe4eHiv3hPHgOXdFgdvALJIia6klwSfB4zJKiCul215S4kNyw9t92Z2NioHVRZiDMjP3Oy-ASE3tJcG_iN94Y1zXIbQtO2C9/s1600/IMG_8396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img bba="true" border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmXcLXQ_YWcAlzD8Fesy1gAk9xSXOtnjRggJBz5V3Qk75HTe4eHiv3hPHgOXdFgdvALJIia6klwSfB4zJKiCul215S4kNyw9t92Z2NioHVRZiDMjP3Oy-ASE3tJcG_iN94Y1zXIbQtO2C9/s320/IMG_8396.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best cheerleaders EVER! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUwKhr9G853luB43InTY90OHF3Pv5YHS7g5URTYehg46dyPPVDy5jqHSBn4QKuB3AAMMJDS-O74ff59GsylnQTzEHfyDF2o_xlUHfRr5RSyrn68rYYq3nWaPAlPE001drJughfSKvSQqQ/s1600/IMG_8239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="83" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUwKhr9G853luB43InTY90OHF3Pv5YHS7g5URTYehg46dyPPVDy5jqHSBn4QKuB3AAMMJDS-O74ff59GsylnQTzEHfyDF2o_xlUHfRr5RSyrn68rYYq3nWaPAlPE001drJughfSKvSQqQ/s320/IMG_8239.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warming up. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwJcLH39rh6SaG-bBojk1VZ45cz_xjnqkSHbRoRjRVhRtiXPhmMiI59gpQZQu0Xh6CkIRe6OL1Om7eZYCf7QMOu4u2x9HEnbIjOqjHo1In159DdAnrHsO5DwM9os1pJhx4x4Gf2gu_BrkS/s1600/IMG_8409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img bba="true" border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwJcLH39rh6SaG-bBojk1VZ45cz_xjnqkSHbRoRjRVhRtiXPhmMiI59gpQZQu0Xh6CkIRe6OL1Om7eZYCf7QMOu4u2x9HEnbIjOqjHo1In159DdAnrHsO5DwM9os1pJhx4x4Gf2gu_BrkS/s320/IMG_8409.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Ambassador and Mr. Kate, ready for the kick-off!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBbqaHj6VH3WksD8bRnJexUbojsZQbQC2mdqDddlm4PKfYVIW6ezdSxXymRUZOiv34EY9GwshYPsuQZuXev_gYzqcypy2el3TJzUpO4v-9MiPiuXtRT6ze-4lqFvRSUvlOswX11gh53yi/s1600/IMG_8748.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBbqaHj6VH3WksD8bRnJexUbojsZQbQC2mdqDddlm4PKfYVIW6ezdSxXymRUZOiv34EY9GwshYPsuQZuXev_gYzqcypy2el3TJzUpO4v-9MiPiuXtRT6ze-4lqFvRSUvlOswX11gh53yi/s200/IMG_8748.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my nanny, bein' awesome. </td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf1NWaqDI8pyZEgqkRyv8zanNhaWYFT4e65jWyaPtM-E7ou_DO7J3OPzFVATvs0EwQEZ6RDNcpcoOQWU_qMp8j_YW8n-CkI1gxNsAafVC1a3dS2UC2PpmR42iIDFX7T7mBgAOryQgztzwq/s1600/IMG_8449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bba="true" border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf1NWaqDI8pyZEgqkRyv8zanNhaWYFT4e65jWyaPtM-E7ou_DO7J3OPzFVATvs0EwQEZ6RDNcpcoOQWU_qMp8j_YW8n-CkI1gxNsAafVC1a3dS2UC2PpmR42iIDFX7T7mBgAOryQgztzwq/s320/IMG_8449.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fofo, rockin it! </td></tr>
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It was a great game and we had a ton of fun, but in the end, the embassy lost. The teams shook hands, planned another fun game for next year and then we found some breakfast. We were all content with the day's events until suddenly, a few days later, one of our colleagues found this in the paper:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFW2LOzlKq5HYNRXKuJrMW8ZAao40v7OmZrm5Oeur-uDwokK52Z5jj8Ly7RscyE5-DX6EjibjNx3eSKeeS86_Y2QEJrRInKcFytFaxurBxQUHpCqzll9FxmuADVuX4wfCfgx_T9nb9ESC/s1600/IMG_4496.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFW2LOzlKq5HYNRXKuJrMW8ZAao40v7OmZrm5Oeur-uDwokK52Z5jj8Ly7RscyE5-DX6EjibjNx3eSKeeS86_Y2QEJrRInKcFytFaxurBxQUHpCqzll9FxmuADVuX4wfCfgx_T9nb9ESC/s400/IMG_4496.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Ministry of Foreign Affairs dominates the American Embassy!</i></td></tr>
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And now we know, next year, we have to win! We will dominate! <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Maybe I should take up soccer?</span><br />
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*He also wanted to learn how to knit, scrapbook, make cake-pops and properly braise a pork chop, but this was also important.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-75220799708422302122013-08-26T17:49:00.001+00:002013-08-26T17:51:15.404+00:00The Typo<span style="font-family: inherit;">Recently, I had an interview for the Community Liaison Officer (CLO) position at the embassy. While it wasn't what I was expecting to do while I was here in Togo, it seemed to be a fun job, it would look better on my resume than my current job, and since it was part-time, it would allow me the flexibility to take short-term contract jobs with an international organization here in Lome (more on that later-- cross your fingers for me!). I dressed up fancy for the day, donning slacks and a button-down shirt, a slight deviation from the khakis I wear to move stuff around in the mailroom, and feigned ignorance when grilled by my co-workers about my "professional" appearance. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Me? Never!</span></span><br />
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After the interview, which went quite well, I returned to my desk, where I got busy designing an invitation for a surprise going-away party for one of our friends. I got busy cutting and pasting and eventually sent out a pretty invitation to inform people that we were gonna <i>get our party on!!</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Moments after hitting the send button, Mr. Kate called me. There was a big, fat typo right in the middle of my invitation! I had misspelled <i>surprise</i>, a fourth grade spelling word, in the invitation. The invitation that had gone out to <i>multiple</i> members of the international expat community, including people who interviewed me, just hours after I had met with them to prove that I was good with community outreach and came across as professional. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">NAILED IT! </span></span><br />
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A few days later, we had the party and it was great. During the party my supervisor came over to me, complimented me on my mustache and informed me that he was <i>so impressed</i> by my ability to make lip and word-bubble cut-outs, that he was going to hire me again, this time as the CLO. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">He must not have seen the typo. </span><br />
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We celebrated into the wee hours. By Monday morning, word had gotten out about my new job and as I walked past the CLO office I found this taped to the door:<br />
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2 things:<br />
1) I'm really happy that someone else is as excited as I am!<br />
2) Do I need to be self conscious about my jowls?<br />
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<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-63002241203244749692013-08-19T19:06:00.002+00:002013-08-23T10:30:53.968+00:00Festival du SinkaringI was going through my pictures the other day and came across some that we took at a festival shortly after we arrived in the Togo that I never got the chance to blog about!<br />
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The week we arrived in Togo we were invited to the Festival du Sinkaring in the north of the country. It was a 8-9 hour drive so we set out early one Friday and stayed the night in Kara. At the festival, which began the following morning, we were introduced to the community leaders and invited for breakfast chez eux. When we arrived, around 8 am, we were astonished to find what breakfast consisted of:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bean beignets, champagne & scotch. <br />
Breakfast of champions.</td></tr>
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After eating (and, ahem, drinking), we toured the nearby village, notably meeting the 12 (!) mothers of our host, and visiting the animal sacrifice corner.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5fUJgf_p21hJtOpJDZHjO74p5zpt7wHiFxcyML-KoalPfw08yhzbRjq7uEYvKanflbkwfkFCz1QQtd_c4C9MxukmVVM_9za66yTyl6NGSZTnY_mB7CBKcQNIJ4E9W-801APa2SRwqJCrs/s1600/IMG_4250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5fUJgf_p21hJtOpJDZHjO74p5zpt7wHiFxcyML-KoalPfw08yhzbRjq7uEYvKanflbkwfkFCz1QQtd_c4C9MxukmVVM_9za66yTyl6NGSZTnY_mB7CBKcQNIJ4E9W-801APa2SRwqJCrs/s320/IMG_4250.jpg" width="240" /> </a></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When you wish upon a skull...</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
From there we went towards the festival grounds where we prepared to watch the big event. The festival takes place every year right as the local harvest begins. Each village brings their local specialties to share with the other villages, and the warriors of the village dance and perform, often surrounded or followed by the women and the children. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBilToxTWGTGMaLPb03zty-7Bh6A8g1UkLf9U5wY4AzHhn3svE4QysdbeIdhnMfacS9NyRRzUWFwqwh1IuOdMvzrSXuzDCAq3n2qRVaOb70Ao9EPlzTDEb8fcvFTAwPjK_8QPYPRjZkX9Z/s1600/IMG_4529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBilToxTWGTGMaLPb03zty-7Bh6A8g1UkLf9U5wY4AzHhn3svE4QysdbeIdhnMfacS9NyRRzUWFwqwh1IuOdMvzrSXuzDCAq3n2qRVaOb70Ao9EPlzTDEb8fcvFTAwPjK_8QPYPRjZkX9Z/s320/IMG_4529.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8oVfPNBiY1gKHhwLZWEW1csb4bPGNX7owifyq9Z1TUNyTh3ZZWQWTXsakQvtJ7jPlEDeOrrRLwD7s8foU0teCctKrgA6hjYdae6UU92wGL-nHSlT5mBm-9ZABgRSdsZwhtG0XjxldCC7/s1600/IMG_4274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8oVfPNBiY1gKHhwLZWEW1csb4bPGNX7owifyq9Z1TUNyTh3ZZWQWTXsakQvtJ7jPlEDeOrrRLwD7s8foU0teCctKrgA6hjYdae6UU92wGL-nHSlT5mBm-9ZABgRSdsZwhtG0XjxldCC7/s320/IMG_4274.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvdick7Hu_XVs9hEm5O1Z1ecVi1rOvT5W4SUjNDuHJMp3IYLHKwnZW79Rsunlk_wVmIO75qPjwaZ3S33rwaaUcs56UCxoiCaGKs-YSwz5lYvSSnVm9cObEW1N5vIi8n28k8nxY1LyiREEr/s1600/IMG_4298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvdick7Hu_XVs9hEm5O1Z1ecVi1rOvT5W4SUjNDuHJMp3IYLHKwnZW79Rsunlk_wVmIO75qPjwaZ3S33rwaaUcs56UCxoiCaGKs-YSwz5lYvSSnVm9cObEW1N5vIi8n28k8nxY1LyiREEr/s320/IMG_4298.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notice the line of stuff laid across the field to be sacrificed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQIvSYfWV-pvhlCaLiHvZl1lAvEz_W6Yt0jhXSZI9tNK0CDyE9SRz9xYJtGFhixdo_VNRzY6ApdgpVYfnJRgJNXuYC5b-8gGVHN97XllpeCV-v4il7N6G8_a05na4sJDx-XzAoUprkDCql/s1600/IMG_4353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQIvSYfWV-pvhlCaLiHvZl1lAvEz_W6Yt0jhXSZI9tNK0CDyE9SRz9xYJtGFhixdo_VNRzY6ApdgpVYfnJRgJNXuYC5b-8gGVHN97XllpeCV-v4il7N6G8_a05na4sJDx-XzAoUprkDCql/s320/IMG_4353.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCYWbFDRIng7Fkbpb2sCpMGmwyBjkzF3aJpsQaVNmPKNVuPKoCnE-0WICN_VcGiljMnPH0pbFWTOQC1IJ-FMzDQErG1J0YHWbR4qGw-zK10-FaxqwiJukrmvEmiv1NtI1LKuzgijygJkgY/s1600/IMG_4378.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCYWbFDRIng7Fkbpb2sCpMGmwyBjkzF3aJpsQaVNmPKNVuPKoCnE-0WICN_VcGiljMnPH0pbFWTOQC1IJ-FMzDQErG1J0YHWbR4qGw-zK10-FaxqwiJukrmvEmiv1NtI1LKuzgijygJkgY/s320/IMG_4378.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1pK-vtaTc5pJP22l5-V5sLUKuYoXdvwIVZEPK_wMajoE5spUWP_-5Jek2eoWgmyUNyRnc_HnbqbZm7O9e6JdszbVez-HMgy43NyCr-khGpf1kbrLm3aItXd0QP1-P53MLA8SAyINEn7eW/s1600/IMG_4338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1pK-vtaTc5pJP22l5-V5sLUKuYoXdvwIVZEPK_wMajoE5spUWP_-5Jek2eoWgmyUNyRnc_HnbqbZm7O9e6JdszbVez-HMgy43NyCr-khGpf1kbrLm3aItXd0QP1-P53MLA8SAyINEn7eW/s320/IMG_4338.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our gourds of millet beer, coupled with more bean beignets, kept us full and happy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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At the end of the day, we went for a late lunch with a few of the local leaders and organizers, but everyone had been through so many beignets and gourds of millet beer that lunch didn't last long. It was a wonderful experience and I wish I hadn't forgotten to blog about it until now, because I know I'm not doing it justice! We'll just have to go again next year... Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-20492642261581947042013-08-14T12:54:00.000+00:002013-08-17T16:42:14.797+00:00The MaskLike every normal couple, every few months Mr. Kate and I engage in a full-on Prank War. Our goal is to scare or prank the other so badly that the offended partner will call a truce for fear of additional retribution. Often these tricks include buckets of water being dumped on each other, Saran wrap over door frames or toilet bowls and scaring each other in the shower.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg04dJeZgpjGBQ4XPHvSfnbXHLaeMci4wa7I6rw3MawJGkPdrRRwUEua0185GA7QyGUqYYFgakq10kBgEcEzIxS8wd-AzASMjnyvU_MNK6hcSXmT25NKD-D3OxaUuAXMSxAl9S4gE4vpFHK/s1600/shower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg04dJeZgpjGBQ4XPHvSfnbXHLaeMci4wa7I6rw3MawJGkPdrRRwUEua0185GA7QyGUqYYFgakq10kBgEcEzIxS8wd-AzASMjnyvU_MNK6hcSXmT25NKD-D3OxaUuAXMSxAl9S4gE4vpFHK/s1600/shower.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A normal, healthy relationship. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After a good job scaring Mr. Kate in the gym several weeks ago, I knew I was doomed and needed to start planning for an appropriate scare comeback. But it was time to up the ante...<br />
<div>
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<div>
Enter Amazon.com, where a girl can get almost anything her little, living-in-Africa heart desires. Even a scary old man face. With a few short clicks, and a refundable payment of 14.99, my pre-emptive revenge plot was underway. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuP7TFUxntSEWN2qInocNjDsZVK9HihpOST9U7-jR5KuhBIkDUdWhIQWk4i0QSeMWp4ZioQRzSAJA3N-bBCBA1oAZKaVGTiq1caHRi9hKjCRMHaeZ16qhF4BwmDQ2wKRUr5RMFdHieLwL/s1600/Mask.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuP7TFUxntSEWN2qInocNjDsZVK9HihpOST9U7-jR5KuhBIkDUdWhIQWk4i0QSeMWp4ZioQRzSAJA3N-bBCBA1oAZKaVGTiq1caHRi9hKjCRMHaeZ16qhF4BwmDQ2wKRUr5RMFdHieLwL/s200/Mask.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slightly more scary than my face.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In anticipation of the big scare, I wrapped the mask in a towel and packed it at the bottom of our suitcase for our trip to Ghana the following weekend. And while he still hadn't retaliated against my scare, I knew I had to act quickly, even if it meant making an early strike. So I plotted. We would meet our friends in Accra and I would plan my attack a few days later, at just the right time, leading Mr. Kate to embarrass himself in front of our friends with his girlish shrieks.<br />
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A few days into our trip, I woke up early and took a warm shower before our drive to the next destination. As I exited one of the shared shower-rooms, the corner of my eye caught something (or someone) huddled in the door frame next to mine. I looked down and screamed, waking the entire hotel. Mr. Kate had found the mask hidden in the suitcase and decided to beat me at my own game. <br />
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After sending our friends back to their rooms and reassuring the hotel staff that Mr. Kate was not trying to kill me, we finally got back to our room, where I scolded Mr. Kate profusely and proposed a truce. Now that he had the mask, I was never going to win.<br />
<br />
After the truce we had a scary mask and nothing to do with it, so naturally, we found a few good ways to put it to good use.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgPmfIZei3QYdBxdLhEKI4w3wty0Vc3zjaYT0Q0raWOLCsJ1CRtyjP8Ir2RwSSQFoLNY3t1C7Skswoqo6D6kO-IqAulJLwb5gqTBxTAGuST2V9fNXX4Zylh279ePN6yRokx_iKIgOjJmMn/s1600/IMG_7904.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgPmfIZei3QYdBxdLhEKI4w3wty0Vc3zjaYT0Q0raWOLCsJ1CRtyjP8Ir2RwSSQFoLNY3t1C7Skswoqo6D6kO-IqAulJLwb5gqTBxTAGuST2V9fNXX4Zylh279ePN6yRokx_iKIgOjJmMn/s320/IMG_7904.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We left a surprise for people who came into our hotel room during the day.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYyTc6tC3xdnTnAYvCv_UyRpCVWGgSlo-gAlGdzXf4ZP_oBkkLjkJxutpzc3DpOIT37jNI8-m2kfuHQhvFUi3OmIhX-qx6gIsCE6yaElo9lhouYuDKHMcozcBTUxzdDxfJ5Uy1eV9anxfO/s1600/IMG_4486.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYyTc6tC3xdnTnAYvCv_UyRpCVWGgSlo-gAlGdzXf4ZP_oBkkLjkJxutpzc3DpOIT37jNI8-m2kfuHQhvFUi3OmIhX-qx6gIsCE6yaElo9lhouYuDKHMcozcBTUxzdDxfJ5Uy1eV9anxfO/s320/IMG_4486.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We drove around wearing the mask.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPs3qCOjpTImAewhbtTwqZAyIIF-p7PIf5wf_hlQ83VflK9lFZ4T-YYVxPdnYEdYzztopNYbndCyh44T250F7LrWeD-YPPCgufURp0B4z407IRv4PmNqkqU2QhudTRwde6Gq-7De6QFM6Y/s1600/Huh.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPs3qCOjpTImAewhbtTwqZAyIIF-p7PIf5wf_hlQ83VflK9lFZ4T-YYVxPdnYEdYzztopNYbndCyh44T250F7LrWeD-YPPCgufURp0B4z407IRv4PmNqkqU2QhudTRwde6Gq-7De6QFM6Y/s400/Huh.tiff" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and photographed people's reactions. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When we arrived in small villages and our car was surrounded by children, we made sure someone wearing the mask exited first:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAL_Jr3CZKdSiPf8f3jctBG-H4sge_8KjeqHhFdySORX11I7eI-rinIpPfQn37aXwxEhzY20-iJ6lsnc3q_nPwkcZVtVdcWWRv95_oqyqhSgXSPnXQW3bv-Nl9L0qNYMJW24MxpnkfDjra/s1600/IMG_8070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAL_Jr3CZKdSiPf8f3jctBG-H4sge_8KjeqHhFdySORX11I7eI-rinIpPfQn37aXwxEhzY20-iJ6lsnc3q_nPwkcZVtVdcWWRv95_oqyqhSgXSPnXQW3bv-Nl9L0qNYMJW24MxpnkfDjra/s320/IMG_8070.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've never seen babies run so fast or mommas laugh so hard. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Definitely the best 14.99 I've ever spent. </div>
</div>
Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-44324167048407509702013-08-11T14:18:00.002+00:002013-08-11T14:18:49.415+00:00Oppan Ghana Style!<div>
Last week, we met up with our friends Jake, Corey, and Celina, who had flown in from Uganda and the US to have an awesome week filled with adventures and wine! Our poor friend Gavin was supposed to join us, but his dog literally ate his passport. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I'm sorry I made your wife take that dog home. </span><br />
<br />
We drove across the border and met up with our friends in Ghana. Ghana proved to be a bizarre country in which every cab was emblazoned with words of "enlightenment" (<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Lord is my Sherperd</i> </span>[sic], <i>My body is covered with the blood of Christ, I come with Jesus)</i>; every store had been named by a not-too-witty zealot (<i>God is Great All The Time Fashion Shop, The Dependable God Plumbing Shop, God-Power Fridge Doctors)</i>; and random conversations stared with "<i>Hi. I'm a good Christian. Give me 10 cedi</i>." <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Um, no.</span><br />
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During
our trip we visited the coffin makers, who will make you a custom
coffin (fish, okra, car, hammer, blow dryer, etc.) when it's your time: <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXoCy0hKjHGSmvrA-oOCKfaPYiX5yyMUG0oBIqhVtd8r1EgIlNQdpQeON3TNLj4YpO4Vqph91HkYo0eH37Jf63sixy4L2tLuvhdlM7zhackHrdCmcBdTv-rVkHi3jthhPqnTow0Gs9jQnM/s1600/Coffins.tiff" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXoCy0hKjHGSmvrA-oOCKfaPYiX5yyMUG0oBIqhVtd8r1EgIlNQdpQeON3TNLj4YpO4Vqph91HkYo0eH37Jf63sixy4L2tLuvhdlM7zhackHrdCmcBdTv-rVkHi3jthhPqnTow0Gs9jQnM/s640/Coffins.tiff" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They quickly ushered us out when I tried to get into the one shaped like a giant Hershey's bar.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We visited Cape Coast, where we saw the old castle built by the British for the slave trade:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzWHAv_Ip5WVRFeFFfhFIg7OUivsREGrB1fb2C7TCMR0SKUiLp02eHjN4GDJtHE3DFUeZrlJDuriT3rhtDr3ZlinQDIK1RBc70oL1IgmQF7Zfb8jtYnL1CMLneZHpb8TKd2qCaOfbFrYjZ/s1600/cape+coast.tiff" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzWHAv_Ip5WVRFeFFfhFIg7OUivsREGrB1fb2C7TCMR0SKUiLp02eHjN4GDJtHE3DFUeZrlJDuriT3rhtDr3ZlinQDIK1RBc70oL1IgmQF7Zfb8jtYnL1CMLneZHpb8TKd2qCaOfbFrYjZ/s640/cape+coast.tiff" width="640" /></a></div>
We
visited several National Parks, where we did canopy walks, saw birds & mammals, angrily tore down snares and animal traps put up by poachers,
and tirelessly sought out the last of a critically endangered monkey species known as the White-naped
Mangabey (which, sadly, we never saw).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEKQVvosAduTbOVHKWT0Rrj_1GKTN7Cp7xuxy3JgHqz-VTN2c2I8Fsw_2sHSfTOB7vmipVOkUDayFofLds8zVoZ_GihknWDAIE0fiW3B7Wz52eTphfI-04oM9KYCbC3tICucpDqHfqbrQp/s1600/hiking.tiff" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEKQVvosAduTbOVHKWT0Rrj_1GKTN7Cp7xuxy3JgHqz-VTN2c2I8Fsw_2sHSfTOB7vmipVOkUDayFofLds8zVoZ_GihknWDAIE0fiW3B7Wz52eTphfI-04oM9KYCbC3tICucpDqHfqbrQp/s640/hiking.tiff" width="640" /></a></div>
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We
stayed in hotels that neighbored Pentecostal Churches that woke you up
at 5 am with the screams of women and the strange sounds of men
speaking in tongues, yet still offered banana-flavored condoms "<i><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Anytime! Day or Night!</span></i>"
We stayed in a hotel that used to be a boat. And we stayed in a small
residence/hotel/cocoa farm called Frenchman's Farm on the the border of
Cote D'Ivoire, which was absolutely delightful.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYqrUeoBceXnLvLrqbJSrfid_u-WeckIM1YqCkchLvsuHx24jRxrYt_3lOjrHeyMXgOuoI8dZHqOce4a_oMbOOaR6NbqMFOp5dIfoAxjC4yf2FZsQGWKcP8WHMLvRBs-6DmGBW0jP8vLs/s1600/hotels.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYqrUeoBceXnLvLrqbJSrfid_u-WeckIM1YqCkchLvsuHx24jRxrYt_3lOjrHeyMXgOuoI8dZHqOce4a_oMbOOaR6NbqMFOp5dIfoAxjC4yf2FZsQGWKcP8WHMLvRBs-6DmGBW0jP8vLs/s640/hotels.tiff" width="640" /></a></div>
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We had an awesome trip and I am ecstatic to know that I, too, can one day be buried in a custom coffin shaped as a wine bottle, surrounded by banana condoms, and bid farewell by people speaking in tongues. What more could a girl want?</div>
<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-24455301862088318142013-08-05T15:41:00.000+00:002013-08-05T16:56:56.747+00:00Gained in TranslationAlthough there may be other upcoming (and awesome!) things on the horizon job-wise, I am currently still working with my good friends Fofo and Kossi in the mailroom-- and we are having a great time!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtqlmMKNUL46PTPJE100D3j0cVsA-84ZW_1VIussgKbh6-vnW79MGMpapQ2_qw2nVLGNun_hSFqoFVpQ1S5pVESE3nKhVcYxrxkK22XdhVpAYYRnMN9f8NaF3J2sTfmUyULZhA82Fhyfp/s1600/IMG_8141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" iya="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtqlmMKNUL46PTPJE100D3j0cVsA-84ZW_1VIussgKbh6-vnW79MGMpapQ2_qw2nVLGNun_hSFqoFVpQ1S5pVESE3nKhVcYxrxkK22XdhVpAYYRnMN9f8NaF3J2sTfmUyULZhA82Fhyfp/s320/IMG_8141.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Us, having a great time. </td></tr>
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Recently, an email was sent out offering classes for anyone who would like to improve their English skills, which is very useful for anyone who wants to get ahead in the embassy. Since there were only 10 spots available, and they are super-motivated, both guys jumped on the opportunity and <i>immediately</i> signed up. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">We're talking 30 seconds-- the HR guy called me, impressed. </span><br />
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Since then, the mailroom has been a center of English learning-- much to the chagrin of it's only non-fluent, trying-to-improve-her-French speaker. Lessons such as "what you are saying is not a word" and "shit is not the same as sheet" are all too common. <br />
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In order to make it even more fun, I've been introducing sayings, rhymes and songs. When Fofo was having a hard time remembering the word "roof" I taught him the words to "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8XsZwtmYik" target="_blank">The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire.</a>" <span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Don't judge, it's catchy.</span> </span><span style="font-size: small;">It worked well! Although I did have a hard time explaining why to avoid the words after the chorus, and coming up with a logical response to why no one wanted to put the "roof fire" out. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>When I was nervous before an interview the other day I mentioned that I had butterflies in my belly. After getting past the word belly, they asked me if I was still a vegetarian, since it didn't seem too vegetarian-like to be eating butterflies. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">How else would they get in there?</span><br />
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And my favorite additions to the mailroom repertoire so far have been: "See you later, Alligator!" & "After a while, Crocodile!" When I first introduced this saying I had to reiterate a few times that you can't just yell these phrases at everybody, all the time. This was in response to the several times I came across Kossi yelling: "After a while, Crocodile!" to everyone he passed in the hallway.<br />
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<a href="http://www.ukulelerocks.co.uk/lateralligator.htm" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipQ9DxuVSqJpYLGaZuSiuTfBfDhKTVyNz7BCQmIL7dsCUhY5Nf2BDrA029aHOTW0IQYjMgjXtKsmgAdnmNpGeETqDaJE2MKvCV06AyUviaC4Uuy2hB9HAUB8o02j1mI-xeJue95ZH2cfF5/s200/croc.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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After that, we were good for a few days, until one day Fofo came to me with a very poignant question. "Madame, I know this response means I will see you in a little while, but who is Croco, and why does he die every time someone leaves?<br />
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Dashing every hope I ever had of being an English teacher (none) and potentially losing all credibility I had as a Public Health worker (not much), I told him Croco ate too much dog and got a horrible disease...<br />
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-82241076425974075372013-07-19T12:22:00.002+00:002013-08-08T11:29:10.374+00:00Cultural ExchangeWhen I got home from work yesterday my nanny was sweeping the floor. We greeted each other* and then I went in the next room to set down my bag. When I walked back into the living room I found her slamming the broom on the ground trying to kill something. <br />
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"What is that?" I asked, thinking it was a spider who had found his way inside the house. <br />
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"Un lezard" she responded as she again lifted her broom for another powerful blow against the small gecko that was writhing on the floor. "I must kill it" she told me, matter-of-factly. <br />
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"No! Please don't kill him!" I pleaded with her, grabbing the broom. They eat the insects, I explained. They are good! They can stay! <br />
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No, no, you don't understand, she explained to me. They are bad luck. They get into your room and make you sleep bad! They curse you! <i>Everyone knows this! </i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">DUH, Kate</span>. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg21FxrccUOelRjjt5hx7fFTogLVJmesYdpr36ucAI4sVbs2mhT7YZbfV4UUFnD-DHxHB8KuMTLAQNDmocdsJthYwqcP6VrApeL5UkafQ__SVkDH5D48HrmjQ7FhuwIOfWMM7NnN-q9seRU/s1600/Evil+gecko.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="147" iya="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg21FxrccUOelRjjt5hx7fFTogLVJmesYdpr36ucAI4sVbs2mhT7YZbfV4UUFnD-DHxHB8KuMTLAQNDmocdsJthYwqcP6VrApeL5UkafQ__SVkDH5D48HrmjQ7FhuwIOfWMM7NnN-q9seRU/s320/Evil+gecko.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evil Gecko</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"Please, next time, just let me know and I can at least take him outside and let him go!" I pleaded with her. She looked at me, horrified by the suggestion.<br />
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Eventually, she consented and we decided to be a non-"lezard" killing household, but during the course of our conversation, the small gecko had slipped away from the crazed, broom-killing nanny and disappeared. <br />
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"Now, look!" She yelled, exasperated. "It has disappeared! He will go into your room! Now you will have nightmares until he is dead! And it's not my fault!" With the final sentence she threw her hands up in the air and went into the next room, hunting for the injured gecko and distraught that I had let this happen. <br />
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It was a wonderful cultural exchange. Now I know. <br />
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*screams and hugs and happiness. Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-32165999949924964022013-07-14T22:40:00.000+00:002013-07-14T22:40:30.485+00:00Revenge of the Tsetse Fly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Since we left DC, we have been looking forward to a trip to Uganda to meet up with our wonderful Tucson friends, Jake and Corey. The last time we saw each other was a week before we left the US at a Thankschristmasgoingaway family and friend reunion. This was the end result: </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKQrByEKbJIGWmoQdkcvb2VEPVZXqnTYsv4e_QWfl09WcJdtQdgJu-2EKWdeFeIYdW_GE09pLVnxYkGyy_MRBi7ceCLqhgEELYCQJaMxAf1ADMvEcuW4tfNlwxkBQ4pLCJUwVXEcL8gqQu/s1600/MS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKQrByEKbJIGWmoQdkcvb2VEPVZXqnTYsv4e_QWfl09WcJdtQdgJu-2EKWdeFeIYdW_GE09pLVnxYkGyy_MRBi7ceCLqhgEELYCQJaMxAf1ADMvEcuW4tfNlwxkBQ4pLCJUwVXEcL8gqQu/s400/MS.jpg" width="400" yya="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hardcore mistletoe hunters. </td></tr>
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Jake and Corey left for Africa within weeks of us. Corey, who is the worlds most awesome primatologist, received a job offer to work for the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/coreyirene?ref=ts&fref=ts#!/SemlikiChimpanzeeProject" target="_blank">Simliki Chimpanzee Project</a> in the western part of Uganda. Jake came along to help out as her assistant. The camp/research station is set up on the Congo-Uganda border and aims to both gather genetic observational and behavioral data and materials (read: feces) to gain a better understanding of the Semliki chimps and in turn, a possible glimpse into the past.<br />
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Most chimps are found in closed canopy rainforests, but this particular group of chimps use a much drier mosiac of riverine forest, woodland and savanna habitats-- very much like that of our earliest homonid ancestors, Australopithecines. The behavior of these chimps, along with their anatomy and physiology, are influenced and shaped by this dry habitat and differ somewhat from "normal" chimps. These responses to their environment are presumably comparable to those of earlier humans under similar conditions, making Semilki chimps of particular interest to geneticists, paleontologists and primatologists, like Corey. <br />
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(Don't worry, those pangs of jealousy you feel when you read about Corey's awesomeness are normal and expected.) <br />
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The chimp camp is located 6 hours away from Uganda's capital, at the base of an escarpment which is surrounded by savanna, grasslands and multiple rivers and streams. Cape buffalo, baboons, Vervet monkeys and Kob accompanied by their large harems can be seen grazing and playing as you drive along the bumpy dirt road. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Uganda</td></tr>
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To get to the camp, you take a sudden right off the dirt road, unto an unmarked foot-path and into the shoulder-high grasses, at which point your entire body tenses, hoping you don't get stuck in the black sticky mud, break down or worst of all, come face to face with an angry buffalo. The week prior, during a rain storm Corey and Jake found a log in the middle of the path that had not been there before. As they descended from the car to try and move it from the path, they quickly realized it was a crocodile. They quickly got back in the car and waited for it to pass. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tsetse flies, trying to eat us.</td></tr>
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As we started into the grassland path, I heard an incessant tapping on the roof of the car. I looked at the windshield, sure that it was raining, and on the verge of losing it because I didn't want to get stuck in a big, muddy, crocodiley mess. There was no rain. I looked out my passenger window and saw instead a large swarm of <a href="http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/607699/tsetse-fly" target="_blank">tsetse</a> flies. They surrounded our car and repetitively slammed into us, hoping to get inside and have a nice tsetse fly dinner. <br />
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Finally we drove out of the grassland and up to the clearing of Similiki camp. Jake and Corey ran up to us and as Corey embraced us, Jake took a fly swatter to the car and killed as many tsetse flies as he could, saving us from the pending doom of the tsetse attack.<br />
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Finally, Jake successfully exterminated the majority of the flies and ran over to greet us, swatter in hand. After giving us a little love, he immediately broke several branches off the nearest tree and showed us how to use them as swatters to keep the tsetse flies off our backs. Our adventure had begun!<br />
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Every day we woke up early and hiked around, swatting the flies and looking for chimps or evidence of a recent chimp visit. At noon, we stopped under a fig tree to rest for awhile, quietly eat some lunch and hope that the chimps would get the urge to eat some figs at that particular tree and come hang out. We hiked up, down and along the escarpment, sludged through rivers, and the clumsiest one of us (me) slipped and fell in the mud multiple times. Along the way we encountered snakes, frogs, monkeys and unfortunately, on a daily basis, evidence of poachers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5a31QzTD7LvAY8euDVHYWCP8F1mR0T4xdHLcSxmOpy9Cl9DIrBRxVQLNqehJtLmsHr1N9q-kpXXEm4NoUE6_lIBZfuDXFhK_qGsQJYiSsi0Usw0cbws7NC6rjmf4646UNtYmVUPqcziak/s400/blogger-image-1534086882.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top left: Chimp print!; Bottom left: Corey and Mich chimp tracking;<br />
Right: Corey fighting some dung beetles for a sample.</td></tr>
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In the afternoons each couple took turns going to the open shower. Two-person, combined-effort showers were necessary at chimp camp-- one person showered while the other stood guard with a fly swatter, chasing the tsetse flies and their voracious appetites away.<br />
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In the evenings we hung out in the dining area, drinking from a large box of wine, playing cards and catching up. The boys stayed on edge all night, binoculars and spotlights close by, ready to run out into the tall grass to investigate each and every small noise. The girls were also on edge, knowing that in all likelyhood there were some hungry carnivores lurking in the grass nearby, just waiting for a noise to send the boys running toward them.<br />
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The last night of our trip, we sat down for dinner and discussed the day's events. Although we had not found any chimps, we found ourselves with several minor injuries. I had received a large thorn embedded in the side of my foot and multiple tsetse fly bites. Corey found herself with a few new mosquito bites and a close encounter with a night-adder. Jake had discovered a caterpillar on his face and was hoping the area wouldn't swell. Mr. Kate had no injuries. In fact, he bragged, he hadn't been bitten once by a tsetse fly-- or any other insect on this trip! <br />
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The next morning, we took our last shower. Unfortunately right as Mr. Kate soaped up his hair and face, a tsetse fly slipped by me and bit Mr. Kate right between the eyebrows, causing him to wail and jump around, violently thrashing and hoping to hit the offending tsetse fly. Everyone came running towards the shower, worried Mr. Kate had found a snake. When they got near, they heard my laughter and knew immediately what had happened.<br />
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They stood outside the shower and as we exited, I got a round of high fives and pats on the back. Although I accepted them, I still swear it was an accident. A wonderful, lovely, karmic accident.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See you guys soon!! </td></tr>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-72798357104355825372013-07-06T17:09:00.001+00:002013-07-06T17:09:16.666+00:004th of July! Since coming to Togo we've had some good days and we've had some great days, but we just had our first 4th of July Embassy party, and it might be the BEST day I've had since arriving.<br />
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We started planning this party about 2 months ago, thinking there would be about 100 people, since only 50 people showed up last year. I recruited my partners in the mail room and, along with several of the Americans, we personally approached and invited every embassy employee and their families.<br />
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By last week, we were worried. Not only had we hit 100 people, we had <i>far</i> exceeded it. Our list total was 450 people-- and we are a small embassy. We were about to have a BIG PARTY.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUktmy7ueSqCCHdOQINjH44d5WOsTdldK5C2UQC59xMcq2fP_e8cCe7znaT9Tf1zD2pZJwO8a0B484rw5j4ftk3jUcG6iFhyb7iA9o3B_AnTmS_AUWMz3b2oDPbJebj3il1gwiQTzbtaYN/s1600/IMG_7520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUktmy7ueSqCCHdOQINjH44d5WOsTdldK5C2UQC59xMcq2fP_e8cCe7znaT9Tf1zD2pZJwO8a0B484rw5j4ftk3jUcG6iFhyb7iA9o3B_AnTmS_AUWMz3b2oDPbJebj3il1gwiQTzbtaYN/s320/IMG_7520.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before the Party...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The line-up</td></tr>
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We partnered with the Marines who acted as our bartenders for the night, we put the FMO, IMO, Pol, & Econ officers on the grill and asked the Peace Corps kids to help set-up, we had a "dunk tank' commissioned and we had everyone else leading traditional 4th-of-July games like tug-of-war (tire-le-cord), cake walks, sack races, volleyball and basketball.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Setting up and trying out the dunk tank. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Potato sack races </td></tr>
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In the end, 430 people came and partied. Both the Ambassador and the DCM were soaked from the dunk tank. The party ended at 7 with sparklers and Whitney Huston's rendition of the Star-spangled Banner.* Moments later it started to sprinkle. As we were driving around in the golf cart handing out a few leftover sodas to the local guard staff who had worked all night, each one of them stopped to tell us that, in Togo, if it rains at the end of your party, it means it was awesome. I'll take it. :)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy 4th of July everyone! </td></tr>
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*It had to be Whitney. There was no discussion. Togolese LOVE Whitney. I've never seen anyone tear up and belt out "AND IIIIiiiiiIIIII will ALWAYS love YoooouuuuuOOOOUUUUOoouuu" the way Togolese men can. <br />
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<br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-67913719143407674342013-07-02T16:58:00.001+00:002013-07-02T19:25:02.293+00:00Dog Days of Summer, Literally. <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
Yesterday Mr. Kate approached me with some terrifying news: this week is the week that everyone eats dogs. </div>
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Yes, dogs. Cute little puppies.</div>
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Please don't eat us!</div>
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Every year, there is a Kabiye coming-of-age ceremony, Evala, during the first week of July. During Evala, all boys between the ages of 15 and 18 must kill a dog. After killing the dog, these boys, surrounded by their families, go to a big field where they meet up with boys from surrounding villages. These boys, representing their villages, fight each other until one village is declared the winner. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brick, where did you get a hand grenade?</td></tr>
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After the fight everyone is exhausted and hungry, so they all go to the boy warriors' houses and eat the dog stew that has been simmering for hours during the fight. I have been told that it is delicious. The person telling me this obviously did not know his audience. </div>
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This tradition, when recounted to me, was accompanied by several horrifying stories of Peace Corps volunteers and other expats who, after leaving their pets with neighbors during the week of Evala, came home to a "lost dog" and a delightful stew. </div>
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Needless to say, these fat, delicious-looking dogs will be locked in the house this week. </div>
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Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-48490206072149618002013-05-18T10:43:00.000+00:002013-05-18T16:04:46.024+00:00A "Chier" SituationYesterday I arrived at work as I have every other day for the past few months: greeting people as I walk down the corridor towards the front door of the embassy; telling the gardener I like her hat; getting trapped between the front doors of the embassy by the guards playing pranks; asking about everyone's weekend while simultaneously shooting the guards a menacing look that implores them to stop prank-locking me out, but while wearing a slight smile because it <i>is</i> kind of funny; stopping by the kitchen to grab a cup of tea and ask what's for lunch (and more importantly: is it vegetarian?); turning the corner into my cozy, cave-like area, finding my lovely co-workers sitting at their desks, surrounded by goodies shipped in from all over the world (well, mostly from Amazon) and plopping down at my mess-covered desk with my broken chair and post-it covered computer monitor.<br />
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Except yesterday was slightly different. I still asked about my favorite guard's family, complemented the gardener's chosen hat of the day (a white beach hat with big red flowers) and managed to convince the cook to make me some veggie pasta. But yesterday, when I walked into the mail room cave, only one of my co-workers was at his desk.<br />
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"Kossi, where is Fofo?" I asked, immediately hoping out loud that he wasn't sick-- for reasons both unselfish and, admittedly, selfish. I had a record to keep. People who arrived the same time as us had been sick multiple times, and even Mr. Kate had been on the receiving end of a brief <i>E. coli</i> infection. But not me. I didn't want the flu. I wasn't gonna get sick until it was something good-- Giardia, Amoebas, Ebola. Something worth being sick with and being able to brag about! I have epidemiologists to impress!<br />
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I heard the doorknob turn behind me "Madame, I am here!" Fofo sang as he walked through the door.<br />
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In the beginning I pleaded with my co-workers for weeks to just call me Kate, but then realized it was a losing battle. "Kate" in French with a Togolese accent is apparently very hard to spit out. So, Madame, I am destined to be-- although now I feel like my angry high school French teacher who threatened to run over her students with her station wagon if they misbehaved... <br />
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I digress.<br />
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Fofo went to his desk, and I to mine. As our computers warmed up and our inboxes started to chime, I noticed Fofo and Kossi intensely discussing something in Ewe, the local language. After a few minutes I realized that, while debating, they were passing a small packet back and forth between themselves and getting more and more heated.<br />
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My inner drama queen was getting agitated. If there was something entertaining happening, I certainly wanted in on it. It was very rude of them to exclude me from what was possibly the only exciting thing to happen in the mail room all week. I wished I was either 4 years old or drunk-- the only appropriate times to stand up, climb on the table and scream "Hey! I don't know what you're talking about! Pay attention to me!"<br />
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I decided to go for it anyways, "Guys, why are you arguing?!" <br />
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"Madame! Fofo is trying to give me woman tea!" Kossi exclaimed, while Fofo stood defiantly beside him, waiting to explain himself. "My wife says it's just normal tea-- I ran out of Lipton so I had some last night! It is fine!"<br />
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"Why do you think it's woman tea?" I asked, with a smile, as I had just reaffirmed that butting in to other peoples conversations is ALWAYS the right choice.<br />
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"There is a picture of a woman on the wrapper!" Kossi pointed out, exasperated. "I can't drink that!"<br />
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"I'm pretty sure that they put a picture of a pretty woman there so men will buy it-- and besides there's no such thing as woman tea!" I confidently explained to Kossi. <i>Who would make woman tea?</i><br />
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Moments later, as Fofo was in the middle of his "I told you so speech," he quickly excused himself and left Kossi, tea bag in hand, to process this wealth of tea-bag interpretation information.<br />
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Kossi looked at me. He looked at the bag. He grabbed his mug and lifted it in the air to signal to me he was going to get some hot water. He had made his decision. <br />
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When Fofo returned, he apologized for his quick departure. His stomach was upset, and he wasn't sure why... he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary the day before. <br />
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Suddenly, clarity. The light bulb went off above my head. I struck gold. Eureka, and all that. "Fofo, can I see that tea bag again?" I asked, since Kossi had left it on the table.<br />
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Like a prettier, more awesome, 21st century, <i>slightly-older-but-who-is-really-counting-because-lifespans-sucked-back-then-anyways</i>, Nancy Drew, I solved the mystery. The tea was made of Senna root. After my wonderful encounters with Africa and its many illnesses and parasites the first time, I quickly came to rely on the presence of Senna root tea, or as Mr. Kate likes to call it "Poop tea." Or as I like to call it, <i>Oh-my-god-I'm-going-to-feel-so-much-better-tomorrow-morning.</i><br />
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"Fofo, your wife thinks you're fat," I informed him. "This tea, um, makes all of your food.... exit." Is there a diplomatic way to tell someone that his wife has intentionally given him diarrhea? "Also, I'm really sorry I bring in cookies for us to eat everyday."<br />
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He looked my way, with his face full of confusion and panic. Then, slowly, his face broke into a smile. "Is this why I have been<i> "chier"</i> all morning?", he laughed. "I thought there was something wrong! My wife is very tricky!!" He applauded her hilarity. "I had no idea!"<br />
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As we sat laughing, Kossi walked in. He had been privy to the fact that Fofo's stomach had been upset all morning. "Why are you laughing?" he asked. "Do you need to stop and run to the bathroom again?" Kossi erupted in satisfied laughter, glad he had finally been able to work in a jab towards his friend's extreme gastric misfortune. "Or did you finally <i>chier</i> your pants???"<br />
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"No, not yet," Fofo responded with a smile, while unwrapping and handing him the tea bag. "But don't worry about me! Enjoy your tea!" <br />
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Several hours later the sweet taste (yet not-so-sweet smell) of revenge was Fofo's. I spent my afternoon watching a carousel of my colleagues entering and exiting the room without warning, leaving me healthy and alone at my desk.<br />
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*chier- it means what you think it means.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-70035800947219759582013-04-08T19:14:00.003+00:002013-04-08T19:14:39.938+00:00Going PostalWhen we arrived in Togo I was excited to get to work. I imagined myself using my newly acquired degrees and working on a project that would allow me to learn more. I imagined being part of something big: malaria prevention, vaccination campaigns, HIV/AIDS sensibilisations, nutritional counseling for women in rural villages, or NTD research with a university. Or maybe I could work in science education and outreach as I had for the past several years? Maybe I could even start my own non-profit working with the Togolese Ministry of Education to better Science and Health education and comprehension within the country?<br />
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But it turns out that Togo doesn't have much in terms of NGOs. Sure, the few directors that were here would love to meet with me, but they are fully staffed and not needing anyone at the moment. It also turns out I have no idea about how to start an NGO. <br />
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So, a few weeks ago when the embassy had an urgent need for a US citizen, they called me. "Can you come work in the mail room tomorrow? <i>Please?"</i><br />
For lack of anything better to do and to be helpful, I agreed to go work.<br />
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As disappointed as I am that this is what I am doing in Togo (at least for a little while), in lieu of what I had so excitedly anticipated, I am grateful to have a job and to be having a good time.<br />
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So, here are the top reasons why working in the mail room is awesome.<br />
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4. My French is awesome. I spend all day talking in French with my co-workers, whom I have instructed to correct me every time I make a mistake. As a result, I have become more courageous and excited about French. The other day while speaking, I reflexively used the subjunctive. It just slipped out! Everyone looked at me, and in one fine moment we simultaneously raised our hands above our heads and yelled "SUBJUNCTIVE!" Then my wonderful coworkers offered to buy me lunch to celebrate, but it was fermented cows' feet that day, so I politely declined. <br />
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3. I am super popular. I'm regarded by the embassy the way most children think of Santa Claus. Everyone loves me. People seek me out in the lunch room to ask me how I am and how my weekend was, in the hopes that I'll stop mid-sentence and say- "Oh, hey! By the way, you have a big package of presents just waiting for you in the mail room!" Every day I get multiple people who send me little messages or come down to my little window just hoping that they got lucky and received something. When they do, they love me! And if they have nothing I offer a laugh or a bon-bon to soften the blow (if I haven't already eaten them all). <br />
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2. I KNOW EVERYTHING. <br />
Hey. <i>You</i>. I know you read People. I know you know what's going on with Britney. And Brangelina. And Honey Boo Boo. Share the wealth. <br />
Hey. <i>You.</i> I know how you voted in the last election. The political fliers you receive tell all. I'll try to look past it. <br />
Hey. <i>You</i>. I see that big box of cake mix and taco kits you just received. If you want me to keep my mouth shut so no one else knows you have it, I expect a dinner invitation, stat.<br />
Hey. <i>You</i>. Sure I'll mail this stool sample, please tell me you wrapped it really tight. And let's never talk of it again. <br />
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1. My posse. <br />
I work with two awesome guys. We practice French and have our own little cultural-exchange meetings everyday. I answer questions such as: "Why do Americans here only use the vous (formal) tense," <i>Because that's what they teach us at FSI. </i>"How come American women don't take their husbands' last names?," <i>Because we're awesome.</i> "Why don't you have children?" <i>Because I'm awesome.</i>"Are you sure you don't want fermented cows' feet?" <i>Yes.</i> "Dog is delicious." <i>What.</i><br />
I have also introduced them to fabulous things such as the Saved by the Bell round-house high five, high-fructose corn syrup, and the macarena. Things I'm sure they ask themselves how they've lived without for so long. <br />
<br />
And the best part about working in the mail room?<br />
I get to have lunch with Mr. Kate every day. Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-15317158849223577642013-03-06T18:07:00.001+00:002013-03-06T19:13:08.840+00:00Adventures in SpanishAround the time Mr. Kate and I were preparing to leave for Togo, my
beautiful, newly-engaged sister was preparing her trip to drive her VW
Bus from the US down through South America with her fiance. Along the
way, she decided, she would stop and get married in Costa Rica, and we
would all meet her there. The whole family was thrilled! For several
weeks before the trip Mr. Kate asked me if I would like to borrow a
Spanish grammar book, or even go over the basics with him. "No, no, I've
got it," I reassured him.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnIDKBxsC4OOWm4Xvjw1JcckdzKsK8UW-eHcdTFRzNUVnMqxHKcNEhGPMRxJyJUXLJ9t_IIb8wg_KkonbglqcvY0Hcd-n-ijg_kx5JVMsSShTwLiocgGENQ9Ho2IgKC44ujSgiYszz78E1/s1600/van.tiff" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnIDKBxsC4OOWm4Xvjw1JcckdzKsK8UW-eHcdTFRzNUVnMqxHKcNEhGPMRxJyJUXLJ9t_IIb8wg_KkonbglqcvY0Hcd-n-ijg_kx5JVMsSShTwLiocgGENQ9Ho2IgKC44ujSgiYszz78E1/s320/van.tiff" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how my sister rolls. </td></tr>
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I
grew up in Arizona, learning occasional Spanish words in school. My
first job was in a restaurant, where the cooks spoke limited English, so
we communicated through gestures, the few words I had learned in high
school and the vulgar words they had taught me. As a teenager, I was
able to fine tune my Spanish abilities by listening to my stepmothers'
conversations with her family--which were inevitably in Spanish-- and
about us kids. Nothing promotes learning quite as well as piqued interest...
And during college I took 2 semesters of Spanish, thankful for the easy A
when faced with a heavy course-load of molecular biology courses. With all that experience I assured myself I would be
fine-- of course I knew enough Spanish!<br />
<br />
My self delusion was quickly extinguished after my first interactions in Spanish.<br />
<br />
At the airport, upon realizing my seat was a middle seat, I approached the gate desk to ask about alternatives.<br />
<span lang="es">"¿Habla usted espanol?"</span> The gate attendant asked me.<br />
"Oui," I responded.<br />
He looked at me.<br />
"OH! Oh oh! Si! I mean Si!" I quickly recovered.<br />
"<span lang="es">¿A donde vas?" </span><br />
<span lang="es">"Je vais au.... er.... Yo... can we just do this in English?" I pleaded. </span><br />
<span lang="es">I
realized, in that moment, that any Spanish that had ever been in my
head had been fully replaced by French. And that, maybe, in this one
instance, Mr. Kate had been a little right to suggest a Spanish review. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="es">As
I prepared to board the plane I gave myself a pep talk. "It's okay, we
just need to think before we talk," I consoled myself, while also
referring to myself in the the plural. <span style="font-size: x-small;">It's fancier that way.</span> </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;">My next task would not be so easy. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;">On the plane a small girl sat behind me. Halfway through the flight (which was<span style="font-size: small;">, by the way, my 6th flight<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">), the small girl started kicking<span style="font-size: small;"> the back of my seat. At first I ignored it. Then, as the kicking continued, <span style="font-size: small;">I <span style="font-size: small;">turned around and tried to make eye contact with her mother, hoping<span style="font-size: small;"> to avoid the awkwardness of dealing with this myself. Her mother was a<span style="font-size: small;">sleep. <span style="font-size: small;">"Okay,<span style="font-size: small;">" I prepped myself, "what S<span style="font-size: small;">panish</span> do we know to deal with this situation?"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is what <span style="font-size: small;">flashed through my mind:</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYwG5KnrjYRDg1ViM01_rvCRuHyY4q0Xk6jI1zDikSgdzqIVMzk6jzw0ATTFZq_cYXg8XHR-FC91RaVW59iwDasws8JfI_rZGWw1o6SPlwQc5EfMEU78ZVriX7yxz8-ywSCu_tmq-8P76d/s1600/blog.tiff" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="109" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYwG5KnrjYRDg1ViM01_rvCRuHyY4q0Xk6jI1zDikSgdzqIVMzk6jzw0ATTFZq_cYXg8XHR-FC91RaVW59iwDasws8JfI_rZGWw1o6SPlwQc5EfMEU78ZVriX7yxz8-ywSCu_tmq-8P76d/s320/blog.tiff" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">After gathering my thoughts and preparing my statement. I rose up in my seat<span style="font-size: small;">, turned around and looked down at the child sitting behind me. S<span style="font-size: small;">he slu<span style="font-size: small;">mped</span> down in her seat and star<span style="font-size: small;">ed up at in me in horror<span style="font-size: small;">. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;">"Alto<span style="font-size: small;"> con zapatos aqui!<span style="font-size: small;">" I said, pointing at the back of my seat. "No bueno!<span style="font-size: small;">" I added for <span style="font-size: small;">good measure. </span></span></span></span></span></span><span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> I'<span style="font-size: small;">ve since learned that what I said was a bunch of gibbe<span style="font-size: small;">rish<span style="font-size: small;"> and there is no way the kid understoo<span style="font-size: small;">d what I was saying</span></span>, but the kicking stopped. Possibly due to the <span style="font-size: small;">scary, <span style="font-size: small;">c<span style="font-size: small;">razy<span style="font-size: small;">, haggard look in my</span></span></span> eyes, but either way, I accomplished my goal. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">And this is how it went. </span>The first <span style="font-size: small;">few days in Costa Rica </span>I communicated<span style="font-size: small;"> with people through simple words and gestures. I <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">used <span style="font-size: small;">Google translate a l<span style="font-size: small;">ot to find my way around. T<span style="font-size: small;">his involved driving for hours in the (<span style="font-size: small;">semi) correct direction, finding an internet cafe (o soda)<span style="font-size: small;">, <span style="font-size: small;">G</span>oogle translating, and screaming the translation at every<span style="font-size: small;"> pa<span style="font-size: small;">sserby un<span style="font-size: small;">til <span style="font-size: small;">someone </span>stopped to help. <span style="font-size: x-small;">Totally works.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>M<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">y crowning moment of communication achievement<span style="font-size: small;"> came 3 days into my trip. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I <span style="font-size: small;">stopped a taxi, s<span style="font-size: small;">tate</span>d my destination<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> and </span>exchanged a few numbers until we came to an agreed<span style="font-size: small;">-</span>upon price<span style="font-size: small;">. I <span style="font-size: small;">took my <span style="font-size: small;">place in the passenger seat</span></span> and the taxi driver asked how I was<span style="font-size: small;">. Good<span style="font-size: small;">, I responded<span style="font-size: small;">, <span style="font-size: small;">and testing the outermost boundaries of my Sp<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">anish</span>, I returned the question. Muy<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">bi<span style="font-size: small;">en!</span></span></span>, he said, <span style="font-size: small;">followed by a whole bunch of words I didn't understand. "<span style="font-size: small;">Oh no," I said, "E<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">nglish</span>?" I asked, hopefully<span style="font-size: small;">.</span> Nope, no English. "Francais?" I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask, although I <span style="font-size: small;">already knew the answer. <span style="font-size: small;">N</span></span>o, no <span style="font-size: small;">F</span>rancais. We tried several more minutes to use simple words to communicate<span style="font-size: small;"> salutations and niceties and then fell silent. Then he<span style="font-size: small;"> yelled <span style="font-size: small;">a few words which I understood to <span style="font-size: small;">b<span style="font-size: small;">e angry about the traffic, given my p<span style="font-size: small;">ropensity</span> to remember swear words in other languages <span style="font-size: small;">(a skill which gets <span style="font-size: small;">more useful <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">with every passing year</span>)</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>.<span style="font-size: small;"> After<span style="font-size: small;"> that, the </span></span>silence was awkward, <span style="font-size: small;">we were obviously both<span style="font-size: small;"> born<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>chatterers. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Suddenly<span style="font-size: small;">, he turned the radio up<span style="font-size: small;">. We both got excited. I<span style="font-size: small;">t was MICHAEL! We started dancing. We jammed. We got to the cho<span style="font-size: small;">rus</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">: "I'm starting<span style="font-size: small;"> with the man<span style="font-size: small;"> in the <span style="font-size: small;">mirror<span style="font-size: small;">," we both sang simultaneously. <span style="font-size: small;">We<span style="font-size: small;"> looked at each other and grinned. "I'm asking him to chaaaange his waaaays<span style="font-size: small;">!"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> Oh my god! Communication! We were <span style="font-size: small;">BOTH starting with the man in the mirror<span style="font-size: small;">!! </span></span><span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">We were both asking him<span style="font-size: small;"> to<span style="font-size: small;"> chaaaange</span><span style="font-size: small;"> his waaaaays!</span></span></span> <span style="font-size: small;">T<span style="font-size: small;">hen</span> both hung our heads <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">and jammed in silence<span style="font-size: small;"> for the next verse <span style="font-size: small;">beca<span style="font-size: small;">use</span> </span>it was incomprehensible and neither of us knew the words, which <span style="font-size: small;">made us laugh even harder. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">For the<span style="font-size: small;"> grande</span> finale<span style="font-size: small;">, we both looked up<span style="font-size: small;">, out the windshield and <span style="font-size: small;">then back at each other: " and no<span style="font-size: small;"> mat<span style="font-size: small;">t<span style="font-size: small;">er blab <span style="font-size: small;">b<span style="font-size: small;">la bla bla bla bla bla b<span style="font-size: small;">lah</span><span style="font-size: small;">,<span style="font-size: small;">" we <span style="font-size: small;">l<span style="font-size: small;">ip-s<span style="font-size: small;">yn<span style="font-size: small;">c<span style="font-size: small;">ed, </span></span>bui<span style="font-size: small;">lding</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>up confidence</span>,</span> "if you want to make <span style="font-size: small;">the world a better place<span style="font-size: small;">, take a look a<span style="font-size: small;">t <span style="font-size: small;">your</span> self and make a<span style="font-size: small;">.... CHAAAAAANGE!!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">We erupted in laughter<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">! We hooted, high-fived each other and yelle<span style="font-size: small;">d <span style="font-size: small;">song lyrics out the window </span></span>the rest of the way to <span style="font-size: small;">my</span> destination. <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">As I exited </span>the car I poked my head back i<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">n </span>an<span style="font-size: small;">d <span style="font-size: small;">invited him and his wife to come visit me in America sometime<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> and h</span>e invited me to dinner the next night<span style="font-size: small;"> (or at least <span style="font-size: small;">that<span style="font-size: small;">'s what I <span style="font-size: small;">understood</span></span></span>). </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was then that I<span style="font-size: small;"> realized<span style="font-size: small;">, as I was <span style="font-size: small;">walking awa<span style="font-size: small;">y</span></span>: it doesn't <span style="font-size: small;">matter what language you speak-- as long as you are fluent in Michael Jackson. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br />
<br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="es"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-76027021899782622272013-01-21T22:42:00.000+00:002013-05-27T00:27:11.063+00:00Confessions of a Charge<!--[if !mso]>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Between my time in the Peace Corps and traveling, I've spent some time
in West Africa, so I feel pretty comfortable saying I can "do" the
region-- for the most part. I can haggle down from the <span style="font-size: small;">tourist</span> price to
the local price, I can find almost any obscure thing I need, I can verbally
beat the crap outta any jerk who demands a bribe in order to do his job, and I
can make any child (read: person) laugh by doing my funny white lady dance (it’s
basically <span style="font-size: small;">t</span>he Carlton mixed with <span style="font-size: small;">River<span style="font-size: small;"> D</span></span>ancing, and it’s awesome, although Mr.
Kate assures me <span style="font-size: small;">people just think I'm having a seizure</span>). </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkpxll-cw5u1IwQJRq6sqYmxvbcKgeDLKHH-13veVHCfpDuRppldlXY9MwbTjBd0epGeZsQA8MfPpgCAaTcHwpFiwcYXMAZUy4k_qCD__hfLV0SXFEwWBMopYlC9an_Um6SnEAEYl0JjOF/s1600/Katedancer.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkpxll-cw5u1IwQJRq6sqYmxvbcKgeDLKHH-13veVHCfpDuRppldlXY9MwbTjBd0epGeZsQA8MfPpgCAaTcHwpFiwcYXMAZUy4k_qCD__hfLV0SXFEwWBMopYlC9an_Um6SnEAEYl0JjOF/s320/Katedancer.tiff" width="130" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Before we arrived I was determined to keep certain things minimal. I
would not remain in <span style="font-size: small;">a</span> little American bubble, as it seems so many expats had
the opportunity to do-- I would experience the wonderful (and sometimes not so
wonderful) things that made this country what it was. I would live by
incorporating myself into the world around me. I would not hire a
chauffeur or a housekeeper or a cook. I know how to take a taxi, I know how to
clean (well, perhaps Mr. Kate knows better than I), and I know how to buy
vegetables and cook them! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">And then we got here. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
And as I continued with my job search, finished up some work from home, took French
classes, started an online certificate program, walked to the market, cleaned
the house (sometimes), walked the dogs, cooked dinner and received crate after
crate of stuff to be cleaned, organized and unpacked, things became somewhat
chaotic. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">One day Mr. Kate received a call from our <span style="font-size: small;">predecessor</span>s' nanny. Since our <span style="font-size: small;">predecessor</span>s had left she had been out of a job and was wondering if we might
consider hiring her? Even though she was a nanny before, she also did the
cleaning, shopping and she could cook, too! Mr. Kate hired her immediately (I
think he was sick of doing the dishes) and she started the next week. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">When Pierrette arrived, life
got better. My clothes were clean. My dishes were clean. Even Mr. Kate seemed
clean(er). I had someone to speak French with, and a buddy to help me
haggle. My ADD no longer had an excuse to exist—I now had plenty of time to complete endeavore<span style="font-size: small;">d</span>
tasks. Like the addition of Michael to the Jackson<span style="font-size: small;"> fami<span style="font-size: small;">ly</span></span>, life became awesome with
Pierrette, and incomplete without her. <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2239506228547164072" name="_GoBack"></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Last week, we received our final shipment of unnecessary things from the
US. As we were putting the last of the boxes away, I pulled out our B<span style="font-size: small;">o</span>cci ball
set. I love B<span style="font-size: small;">o</span>cci ball, so naturally, Pierrette and I went outside and played.
Later that night, as I was telling Mr. Kate all about the B<span style="font-size: small;">o</span>cci ball champion
I had trained Pierrette to be, he started cracking up. “Good thing we hired a
nanny!” he teased. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">That night as I was going to sleep, my mind started racing. “My god, we <i>have</i> hired a nanny,” I thought, <span style="font-size: small;">"</span>and I am
certainly her charge."* There was no doubt. The sequence of the past few weeks
played through my mind. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">My days all begin by being aw<span style="font-size: small;">a</span>kened by my sweet Pierrette, with a cup of
tea in hand. After we chat about what we did the night before, we discuss what
we will do that day. Then I go to my computer and work for a few hours. Around <span style="font-size: small;">11:00</span>, lovely Pierrette interrupts me and asks me what I want to eat for
lunch. I insist that a croissant or leftovers are fine, as she demands I eat a
large meal and bien grossir (this is a very real possibility, as anyone who
knew me in the Peace Corps can tell you. I readily succumb to “Il faut manger”).
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">After my large lunch, I am praised for all the hard work (or <span style="font-size: small;">F</span>acebook, or
blogging) I’ve done throughout the course of the morning and sent to my room to
take a nap. Resting is good for your health, my angel reassures me. After I
wake up, we hang out together, unpacking boxes, going to the store, chasing
down the ice cream man or playing B<span style="font-size: small;">o</span>cci ball. Then, as I take my afternoon
shower, she makes dinner, making sure to exclude any meat products, and cut<span style="font-size: small;">s</span> our
fruit into pretty shapes so we’ll be more inclined to finish our plates. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">When she leaves for the weekend, she makes meals for the next 2 days,
lest we starve to death. When I’m sick, she makes me mint and lemon grass tea
and brings me medicine. When I forget to brush my hair she gently pats me on
the head to remind me. When I try to walk outside without shoes, she squeals
and pulls me back in. She never gets mad, but if they spoke the same language <span style="font-size: small;">she</span> and my mother could start an <i>I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed
</i>club.</span> <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>How does this girl keep forgetting shoes??</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">As I worried, I found solace in the fact that there <i>must</i> be someone else in the world like me: an adult who is perfectly normal, but likes having an "adult nanny," and I had just the tools to find out: <i>the INTERNETS</i></span><i><span style="font-size: small;">. </span></i><span style="font-size: small;">As my friend Disco says, "When placing bets, check the <span style="font-size: small;">I</span>nternets."**</span><i><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">So I <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">g</span>oogle<span style="font-size: small;">d <span style="font-size: small;">"adult nann<span style="font-size: small;">ies</span>" expecting a<span style="font-size: small;"> statistic from the <span style="font-size: small;">Bureau of <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">S</span>ome<span style="font-size: small;">thing Important </span> that told me yes, <span style="font-size: small;">in fact, one out of ten people have adult <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">n</span>ann<span style="font-size: small;">ies, confirming my normalcy. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>And it turn<span style="font-size: small;">s out, there aren't many people with my problem. Except this guy:</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjClyw0QpJ6olQ1Wx87zYmy4vh-PdYG0gTTrNk-SSMPigYZNZX9jrVdf1F4ifgictNDC76PaXUezNYk-N0OdVtZ7f05i-Yy6PZ_p-qozIMc4Xl1BXd-bhYJyoFTfMXDm3sOQugwbdn_J9MM/s1600/big+baby.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjClyw0QpJ6olQ1Wx87zYmy4vh-PdYG0gTTrNk-SSMPigYZNZX9jrVdf1F4ifgictNDC76PaXUezNYk-N0OdVtZ7f05i-Yy6PZ_p-qozIMc4Xl1BXd-bhYJyoFTfMXDm3sOQugwbdn_J9MM/s1600/big+baby.tiff" /></a></div>
...And he got a reality TV show on TLC out of it. This, in turn, game me an excuse to sit and watch several episodes, for "research purposes." Reality TV, like heroin, can be terribly addictive, making the viewer lethargic, unmotivated and defensive of both the characters and herself. As I fell deeper and deeper into reality TV land, I came to understand and relate to Stanley. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
The next night, as I was explaining the benefits of an adult nanny to Mr. Kate, I mentioned Mr. Stanley Thornton Jr. and how it's possible that we are kindred spirits. As I explained his life story, Mr. Kate interrupted me, "Have you been watching reality TV again?" </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
"No, of course not!" I lied, "It was on NPR. Diane Rehm found him fascinating!"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
He didn't believe me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I start a new (temporary) job next week, and I am already distraught
thinking about how much I will miss my wonderful Pierrette. What will I eat?
What i<span style="font-size: small;">f I work too hard? </span>Who will remind me to rest? How will I attain my daily intake of tea? But,
these are all concerns for another time because, right now, Pierrette assures me
I have worked WAY too hard this morning<span style="font-size: small;">, a</span>nd it’s time for a nap. </span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">*Email between me and my mother:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Kate: What does a nanny call the children she nannies? Her <span style="font-size: small;">charges?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Satan: Yes. You were often also refer<span style="font-size: small;">red to as <span style="font-size: small;">"little shits."</span></span> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">**She has actually never, ever said that, but it'd be cool if she did. </span></div>
Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2239506228547164072.post-91282650448594054292013-01-17T16:21:00.001+00:002013-01-17T18:15:12.763+00:00Kpalime -or- La Crise d'EssenceOur second week in Lome, I was lucky enough to get a surprise visit from my friend Ian (otherwise known by his more appropriate nickname: Fâché). Fâché and I met in the Peace Corps, so our first few days together again in West Africa were spent rejoicing in the glory that is ex-pat living. We lay by the pool, we went to the grocery store and bought CHEESE, we savored the air conditioning, we played on, and downloaded things with, our computers and fancy internet, we relished being in a West African country that had beer (and bars!) and we lamented our lack of these glorious novelties during our time as PCVs. This took a solid week of our time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We are drinking beer! And eating cheese sandwiches! And being happy! </td></tr>
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The second week of Fâché's visit Mr. Kate suggested we try to go outside a little, while glancing at our growing beer bellies. After pretending to be offended for another day, Fâché and I got out, played around town and planned a weekend excursion to Kpalime. Mr. Kate was ecstatic-- Kpalime was a birder's paradise. We were also thrilled-- we had heard rumors of waterfalls and ruins --and a little Belgian lady who ran an amazing restuarant with imported beers. <br />
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The day our trip was to begin, as I was picking up the rental car, I recieved a text from Fâché: "Demonstrations and gas shortages expected for this weekend."<br />
"So, what you're saying is, we're in Africa?" I responded.<br />
"Basically. Pas de problemes."<br />
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Soon after, we loaded up our stuff and the dogs and went on our way. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The happiest dog ever. </td></tr>
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Most of our weekend was spent climbing, hiking, swimming and eating at
Le Bon Vivant-- the small, miraculous, hidden-away, mirage-like restaurant
that actually <i>does</i> exist! Mr. Kate even woke up early and got some good, quality bird-watching time! We were able to take the dogs almost
everywhere with us-- on the hikes, to the waterfalls, to the restuarant
and through small villages. They were "well" recieved by most everyone (from a very far
distance), until Loki took it upon himself to take a refreshing dip in
the hotel's swimming pool. No one was really thrilled about that.<br />
<br />
So far, traveling with dogs in West Africa has been relativley easy and oddly helpful. Do you want to escape your car for a few minute break on the side of the road, but have concerns about being overwhelmed by gateaux ladies? Let the dogs out! Do you need to use a toilet (aka. side of the road), but you don't want anyone else to stop to see whats going on? Have Mr. Kate stand by the car with the dogs! The gendarmes want a bribe? Perfect time for a doggy pit stop! In fact, I may never again travel without dogs.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXuaIn1tr4vWD9V8BRKKf50bly3LZ3_hsGo7UKdtBU1j7S0iZ_Vxgx3_BM5Wq-ML-Z2nxcfTgowpu1P0UzGaOI5nhfnmqZupP0AT_wwrjKk0XA0vNUhFjqYro1xCRbHeFTqhq5M94GnSje/s1600/IMG_5025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXuaIn1tr4vWD9V8BRKKf50bly3LZ3_hsGo7UKdtBU1j7S0iZ_Vxgx3_BM5Wq-ML-Z2nxcfTgowpu1P0UzGaOI5nhfnmqZupP0AT_wwrjKk0XA0vNUhFjqYro1xCRbHeFTqhq5M94GnSje/s320/IMG_5025.JPG" width="320" /></a> Because upon seeing our two large dogs exit the car, most Togolese in the immediate proximity run away screaming and flailing. And that's just the men. Next the children scream and cry hysterically, and usually the mamas stand their ground, grab their babies and laugh at the men, while maintaining an appropriate distance from the dogs. But the level of overall fear exhibited in response to the dogs is only equaled by the level of astonishment shown in response to dog "tricks."<br />
<br />
Our dogs can sit on command. That's it. One can sometimes do another thing called a "prarie dog." But that's it. They sit. And yet the enthusiasm is endless. Anytime you make the dogs sit, everyone gathers around as though you have been touched by the hand of God-- or at least the hand of the Dog Whisperer. And then they get up, you make them sit again, and voila!! The magic never ends!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">These girls were literally running <i>from</i> us- until I made the dogs sit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Then they ran back <i>towards</i> us and wanted a picture taken with Loki, the magic sitting dog. </span></div>
<br />
We had an amazing weekend and we made some great friends (mostly through dog tricks), but Sunday afternoon, it was time to go. As we were leaving town, we noticed the gas gauge was a little low. We were slightly perplexed. "How did the gas tank get so low?"<br />
It turns out that, during Mr. Kate's early morning bird pursuits, he had driven far and wide to find as many birds as possible-- leaving us with no gas.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a blatant plea for Mr. Kate's birding buddies to come visit.</td></tr>
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This normally wouldn't be a problem, but we were stuck in the middle of a "Crise d'Essence!" There <i>actually was</i> <b>no</b> gas in the entire country. At that point, we did what any normal person would do. <br />
We found a gare full of taxi men and asked them to buy the gas in their tanks.<br />
The transfer of gas was going smoothly until one of the taxi men looked in the back window, saw the dogs looking back and screamed. At that point, all the men dropped their funnels, their filters and their bottles of siphoned gas (they came prepared), and stepped back. One man jumped back about 10 feet and wouldn't stop screaming "Whoop! Whoop!" while running back and forth between the other cars, keeping as many vehicles and as many people as he could between himself and our car at all times.<br />
Eventually, Mr. Kate and Fâché pulled the dogs out, made them do the sit trick, and voila! Everything was right with the world again. The guy even stopped Whoop-ing. <br />
<br />
The taxi-men resumed pouring the gas, all while complimenting our glorious beasts, at which point Mr. Kate jokingly told them the reason we were keeping them was to take them home and make some great brochettes (meat-kebabs).* He expected a chorus of "No! No! Why would you eat magic dogs that do everything you say!?" But instead he recieved a cacophony of excited mumurs, head nodding and doggy fat pinching-- all acknowledging the promise of a fine meal. One man offered to let Mr. Kate give him the smaller dog (Kima) in exchange for the gas. They were <i>really</i> ripping us off with that gas, so we thought about it for a minute. But in the end, we got the magic dogs back into the car with a half tank of gas and empty wallets and made it home.** <br />
<br />
It was a great weekend. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*Sarcasm is not a language spoken in West Africa. Ever. <br />
** Upon returning home Loki dug a hole in the yard and we are currently re-evaluating the brochette decision. Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09126469123044810031noreply@blogger.com3