Oppan Ghana Style!

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. I'm sorry I made your wife take that dog home.

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" (The Lord is my Sherperd [sic], My body is covered with the blood of Christ, I come with Jesus); every store had been named by a not-too-witty zealot (God is Great All The Time Fashion Shop, The Dependable God Plumbing Shop, God-Power Fridge Doctors); and random conversations stared with "Hi. I'm a good Christian. Give me 10 cedi." Um, no.

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:

They quickly ushered us out when I tried to get into the one shaped like a giant Hershey's bar.

We visited Cape Coast, where we saw the old castle built by the British for the slave trade:

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).

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 "Anytime! Day or Night!" 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.

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?

Gained in Translation

Although 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!

Us, having a great time.

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 immediately signed up. We're talking 30 seconds-- the HR guy called me, impressed.

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.

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 "The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire." Don't judge, it's catchy. 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. 

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. How else would they get in there?

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.

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?

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...

Cultural Exchange

When 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.

"What is that?" I asked, thinking it was a spider who had found his way inside the house.

"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.

"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!

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! Everyone knows this! DUH, Kate.

Evil Gecko

"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.

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.

"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.

It was a wonderful cultural exchange. Now I know.

*screams and hugs and happiness.

Revenge of the Tsetse Fly

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:

Hardcore mistletoe hunters.

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 Simliki Chimpanzee Project 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.

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.

(Don't worry, those pangs of jealousy you feel when you read about Corey's awesomeness are normal and expected.)

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. 

Uganda

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.

Tsetse flies, trying to eat us.

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 tsetse flies. They surrounded our car and repetitively slammed into us, hoping to get inside and have a nice tsetse fly dinner.



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.

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!

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.

Top left: Chimp print!; Bottom left: Corey and Mich chimp tracking;
Right: Corey fighting some dung beetles for a sample.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

See you guys soon!!

4th 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.

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.

By last week, we were worried. Not only had we hit 100 people, we had far exceeded it. Our list total was 450 people-- and we are a small embassy. We were about to have a BIG PARTY.

Before the Party...

The line-up

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.

Setting up and trying out the dunk tank.

Potato sack races

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. :)

Happy 4th of July everyone!

*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. 

Dog Days of Summer, Literally.

Yesterday Mr. Kate approached me with some terrifying news: this week is the week that everyone eats dogs.

Yes, dogs. Cute little puppies.

Please don't eat us!

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.

Brick, where did you get a hand grenade?

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.

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.

Needless to say, these fat, delicious-looking dogs will be locked in the house this week.

Who, us?

A "Chier" Situation

Yesterday 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 is 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.

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.

"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 E. coli 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!

I heard the doorknob turn behind me "Madame, I am here!" Fofo sang as he walked through the door.

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...

I digress.

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.

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!"

I decided to go for it anyways, "Guys, why are you arguing?!"

"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!"

"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.

"There is a picture of a woman on the wrapper!" Kossi pointed out, exasperated. "I can't drink that!"

"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. Who would make woman tea?

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.

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.

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.

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.

Like a prettier, more awesome, 21st century, slightly-older-but-who-is-really-counting-because-lifespans-sucked-back-then-anyways, 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, Oh-my-god-I'm-going-to-feel-so-much-better-tomorrow-morning.

"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."

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 "chier" all morning?", he laughed. "I thought there was something wrong! My wife is very tricky!!" He applauded her hilarity. "I had no idea!"

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 chier your pants???"

"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!"

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.



*chier- it means what you think it means.