President's Get to Have All the Fun

Had the opportunity to sneak over to Accra and see President Obama Saturday. He spoke at the airport for about 15 minutes and then took off to be fresh and new in Washington on Sunday. Its not the first time that I've been to a speech of his, but this one was special because A) Im in Peace Corps, which gave us a special place we could stand right up front and B) Its freaking West Africa – All in all I can count about 8 hours of travel and waiting just to see this cat for a few minutes. I was at the border by 6am, greeted by a light drizzle and a street pastor screaming verses at us in Ewe. 10 minutes after 6 the wooden slats that the 'gate' consisted off were slid to the side and a shit-show ensued of people pushing, cussing, and running as quickly as they could to be the first to cheap transport on the Ghanaian side. I was about 15 people back, watching the guards dishing out 5-finger hooker slaps to young guys trying to sneak past them (I could hear the slaps...ouch). Now I've been here a while and I try as much as possible not to abuse the whiteness. I live cheaply, I say Im half Togolese – hell, I've been able to cross the border without doing paperwork just by showing my residence permit, which hardly any whitey has. However, with rain encroaching and my patience waning, I played my trump card - I held my passport straight up in the air and as soon as the guard saw that blue-bound-beauty he pulled me to the front and let me through.

America: 1 Africa: 0

I changed money, found a bus and was on my way in faster time than it normally takes me to fill out paperwork because I showed my passport to any guard blocking my way and looked like I had somewhere to be.

3 hours in the tro brought me to Accra where traffic was horrendous, nearly gridlocked the entire way from the outskirts to downtown. I met up with friends, got the embassy where I finagled a ticket for myself by insisting that Peace Corps volunteers, no matter their country, should be able to go (truthfully it was only for Ghanaian volunteers, but hell, I live closer to Accra than the majority of them). Taxis, buses, lines, waiting, security checks, metal detectors and more lines and I finally got to the tarmac. The tarmac where we waited for another 3 hours until he arrived. With all this time to pass, it was interesting to watch all the official-looking people running around fixing things and arranging everything perfectly for the speech - I watched, I swear to god, the two biggest, meanest looking mofos wearing black suits with guns strapped to their waists spend 20 minutes clipping a tag from on of the flags so it wouldn't show on camera – I expected them to like, drop kick something and bench press the podium - a bit surreal. It was a dramatic scene with Air Force One looming in the distance, more suits running in and out, letting us catch glimpses of the interior. Obama showed up by helicopter from Cape Coast, the old slave fort, said his bit, and then took off. He seemed exhausted, which, considering he'd been in something like 6 time zones in 3 days, is expected. He did praise the PCVs there for all their 'outstanding' work that we are doing. And you know what? He's right - we should be thanked. Im frigging incredible.

Was it worth it? If you've been sticking with me for a while, then you'll know that worth is quite the relative term – however, looking back, yeah, it was worth it – Im always appreciative of a good story. And you know, seeing all that organization and official scurrying-about of everyone almost made me envious of folks with titles and money and power and all that. Almost, you know. Sleeping late on weekdays is still nice, too.

Im a Badass

I am aware that possibly no one will have any idea what these are about, but Im putting 'em up anyway - from Street Fighter 3. Undeniable proof of my near deity-like power. And you guys thought my college education was going to waste!

Standards and Practices

How do you judge someone's worth? (and yes, I'm quite aware of the painful cliché that is starting a discourse with a nebulous, quasi-rhetorical question. eat me.) Is everyone worth the same as everyone else? If my five beans are black and your five beans are white are they equal to each other? (The black beans are bigger, the white beans look great in flannel, it cancels out) I'm sure all of you reading would say yes, one human life is just as valuable as another, but then again, most of you are white American Christians, so that needs to be taken with a large crunchy bit of sea-salt. Our WASP-y world view leaves room for plenty of conscience-free judgment. We have newer cars and larger houses, pristine lawns and ridiculous business cards. Even our ironically oft-trumpeted modesty more often than not just ends up being a sickening version of sycophantic vanity tailored for the religious crowd. Even those that never ended up with the women, money, or fame have their own hat tricks when it comes to self-evaluation (read: self-inflation) – we call em 'scruples' -

Scruples

they may not be rich, but by god, they always stayed true to themselves and a man's word is worth all the money in the world. (Actually, its not, thats stupid as hell, but some people need this kind of crap to sleep at night) Tied up in all of that are multitudinous ways to judge someones value. Now me, I come from the deep south - I like my tea sweet and my women sweeter. I have a cute accent and know how to say yes sir and yes ma'am. Down where I'm from we identify with the hard-working farm boy, the every-man, the Joe Plumbers out there. We even have a word for everyone that doesn't belong with us – 'elite'. If you are too rich, too educated, too worldly, or in general can in any fashion make us feel inadequate, you should go-back-to-where-you-came-from-right-the-fuck-now-and-
dont-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-way-out. We will in no way vote for someone smarter, more charismatic or better qualified than us for any position of power in what has to be one of the most brilliant failures of common sense, ever.

To get back on track, what do we use every day to silently judge someone's value in relation to us? Well, for starters there's money. Everyone loves money, right? Leaving the states over a year ago, lots of people balked at the idea of coming here because I could have just stayed in the states and made money. (As a quick aside, do you know what the US has? Answer: Everything.)

Exhibit A: Everything

And looked at from across the pond, we make absolute jack nill – what could you do with $250 a month? Not a lot, thats what. However, conversely, we live like gods here, being paid around 10 times what Kossi Q. Publique makes here in a month. Still with me? Lets look at education – the vast majority of us here have a simple bachelors degree, what has become in the states more a rite of passage than an accomplishment. Everyone goes to college, and it means absolutely nothing anymore – so, again, from the states, no big deal – we've proved we can fill in bubbles with #2 pencils in between hangovers and frisbee-golf. Yet here, we are looked at as 'professionals', 'experts', and 'consultants' – folks here fight their whole lives to get a degree from a university that would be laughed at on any other continent. What about the importance of your job? I've seen women who stalk lawyer bars and med-school libraries to try and find a rich man. We call that a 'pre-wed' degree. Viewed from the states it looks like we sit around and suck on the massive US taxpayer-teat, whereas here we all know the truth – were promoting cultural exchange and building capacity. Its almost like saving babies and being productive, just different.

Me, last Tuesday

Well, the whole point of my diatribe today is that I've hit another wall here. Peace Corps has plenty of people across the board who would like to see it disbanded – they argue its a bloated, unproductive, nigh-useless organization. Peace Corps, in beautiful shades of Darwinian self-preservation, argues the exact opposite – we A) have a major impact on a grass-roots level where other organizations don't reach and B) we promote better understanding of American peoples and culture throughout the world while enriching our own lives. Even though I'm a miserable curr 99% of the time, I have to agree that we do work in places where other groups don't go, and we have a much more lasting effect. However I'm starting to put some pieces into place in my head and some bits aren't adding up. And it all comes back to value and worth.

Now, hypothetically lets say my name is Marcus and I work for a completely fictitious organization called the Corps of Peace. I'm a surgeon working in a developing nation getting paid next to nothing, my opportunity cost just for being out of the US alone damn near able to pay off the country's external debt. Now I am contractually bound by CP to take medicines that will prevent various ailments found where I'm working. I have known that from the first day I set foot in the country that were I to ever not take the meds, I would be sent home. Fair enough, right? Well now lets say that I am very sick for two days and can keep no food or liquids down. Hey, it happens. The unfortunate corollary to this is that I can't take meds for two days until I can start to hold anything in my stomach. Then, lo and behold, hot damn, I get the sickness that the meds were there to prevent in that very two day window when my immune system was already beaten up. Where do you think this is going? Im going to get released because I didn't take my meds, right? Right?

Actually, no. What I'm doing in the country far outweighs the silly fact that I threw up two days of meds out of over a year's worth and then got sick. It's unfortunate, but it would be such a waste to send me home and leave all of my work here unfinished. And why would I be kept in country after I technically broke regs? Because I am worth more than the inconvenience of a bit of medical treatment and maybe a stern talking to about what to do the next time I'm losing the lining of my stomach to the rich African soil. Lesson learned, I go back to work doing what I came to do. But, that is the Corps of Peace and we are the Peace Corps, and let me tell you, its not just the name thats different – we're actually serious when we say we will kick you out. Whether intentional or not, you broke contract. We're bad ass, and we will punish you. Now go back to the land of cheesecake and bacon and think hard about what you did while you take a hot shower.

That'll teach em

Is it because we aren't worth forgiving a technicality? Or is it because what we do here really isn't worth as much as I'm making it out to be. Hmmm.... Maybe I should ask some of the PC big-dogs, the folks that have worked here for decades and have their retirements and 401ks coming soon, if they would pay me out of their own pocket for what I'm doing. Those dedicated people who, over the years, have seen what good PC can do and believes in it 100%, enough so to devote their lives working for the organization - I wonder if they would write me a personal check. I'm beginning to guess no. I wonder if any of us would be worth it...

Nothing of Interest

Matt likes poker. He may have a problem.

More than a month has passed, by far my longest spate of absenteeism since this little guy's inception. And for this month I have little by way of witty musings to show, but I do have some photos. Steven, my Monde-Touring Dutch compadre just finished up an 8 month journey through the outback, New Zealand, and Asia by flying into my humble abode, so for lack of something better, Ill throw up some witty captions underneath the photo narrative of his sejour here. Hey, no one hits homers every at-bat - cut me some slack.

Street race / bike show, Accra

We found a zoo. In Lome.

A Tiger Cat. Seriously, lookit that thing. BadAss.


Big Offshore made big waves in Aneho.

Come to think of it, we didn't really do too much... drinking, sleeping, eating. Maybe I can do some work now...

Yippee

Bush Existentialism

Language is the manifestation of a culture. Everyone has heard that language is 'alive', 'growing', or 'adapting' - an entity that is dynamic and evolving with the years. George Orwell understood this and made it a central theme in "1984" - ingsoc, doublethink and newspeak were invented to reduce the language to concise, specific words, limiting the ability to think about abstract concepts by erasing the means to express them. To find what a people hold dear, simply look at their most important adages or, maybe even more importantly, their most important curses. We've all heard how Inuits have '(insert-number-here)' words for 'snow' and then again just as many for 'ice'. When their lives depend on knowing the exact state of their environment, these are not just vital words, but extensions of their awareness they depend on for survival. For all of us coming from the Western world, its a bit harder to come up with ethno-centric terms, but they are there. I have searched through every other romance language plus Arabic and a few African tongues, and there is no direct translation for 'jilting'. Now what does it say about us as a people when we have a word for leaving someone at the altar when no one else does? Arabic has over 600 words for both 'sword' and 'god'. The Dutch have 'zwafflen', which I will not translate for the public, but, believe me, is absolutely side splitting and 'gezellig', the feeling of 'pigs in a pen' - cozy. The land of windmills and legal prostitution lacks, oddly enough, a word for 'sibling'. Portuguese, by far the winner of sexiest language on the face of the planet, has so many sex-based words I wish I had been born Brazilian - one of striking sweetness - 'Cafuné' - to run your hands tenderly through someones hair - and another of a special longing for something real or imagined - 'Saudade', a word that permeates the lives of Cape Verdeans. Think of the stolen words - 'siesta' and 'deja vu' - we know what they mean, but they both must be explained - a mid-day nap, for the Spaniards, and the feeling of having already lived through something, from the French. The Frenchies bring many fun ones to the table - 'tutoyer' - to eye someone scornfully, or (and this one is true for many countries) 'beeper' - to call someone and let it ring once then hang up so they call you back. Just to let you know, I LOATHE it when people beep me. HATE IT.

So where am I leading you this time around? We're going to jump over to Ewe, the local language here in the south that stretches from Benin to Ghana. Ewe, like many indigenous languages has a few quirks about it that we westerners find odd - there are no verb conjugations and only a few proper tenses - in Ewe you can eat something (present and past at the same time) - "me du nu", you can be eating something (present progressive) - "me le du nu", and, by using 'to go' to bridge the gap - I am going to eat - "me dza du nu". Now, if you've been following what I've been laying out for you here the past few months, you'll remember how the perception of time here is stretched quite far here - I'm guessing that is, in a large part, because of the constructs of the language. I'm over-simplifying when I say this (though not by much), but the common ways of expressing time are summed up in two words in Ewe - 'today' (egbe) and 'not today' (Etso) - meaning both 'yesterday' and 'tomorrow'. Now, of course, there are ways to express long periods of time, but it is important to point out that the most fundamental and common units of time are 'today' and 'everything else'. Think about that - In a place where there are only two seasons - dry and wet, one temperature and a lack of time-telling constructs in the language, how are we to bring about lasting change? Words like long-term become laughable when people focus only on eating today and leaving everything else until etso. How do you convince a horny 20 year old to choose between buying food or condoms, when hunger is real and now and AIDS is something that could kill you etso? How do you change long-held beliefs on the treatment of women and children, growing crops, or saving money when this is way things have always been done and you are just a happy-go-lucky baby-huggin yovo who is here egbe and gone etso?

I don't know, folks, I really don't know. There is, however, no word for 'boredom' in Ewe, nor is there much of a distinct difference between 'work' and 'living'. On top of that, there are lots of words for 'happy'. Maybe that should tell us something...

Ma Petite Raison d'Etre

I drank a mojito today for lunch. It cost me 4mil (4000CFA). Thats 8 dollars. I walked into the most expensive bar in Lome and spent 8 dollars on rum and mint and limes. Normally I spend 500 francs on food for the entire day. And that, my friends is the contradiction of my job. Yesterday I got in a shouting match with two taxi drivers because they tried to charge me 50 cents too much and today I spent a weeks worth of pay on a cocktail. At lunch. No, instead of lunch. Part of me says I should feel guilty for doing this in Togo, one of the poorest countries in the world, where a normal wage is 28,000CFA a month ($60). Its the same part of me I tricked into believing that I joined the Peace Corps to do some good in the world. To help people. To ease suffering and have a purpose to my life. Now, however, I'm pretty sure that I joined the Peace Corps because I had nothing better to do and was terrified of the real world. How do I know this?

Because the other part of me sat there and ordered a second one. And I don't feel guilty at all.

The 3 People You Meet in Hell

Just another day

Einstein is credited with summing up the theory of relativity in one succinct analogy - “Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity.” This has come to light here in Togo in broader ways that I first noticed. Not that I've been running around high fiving grills or chasing skirts relentlessly (although I never said I didnt WANT to chase a skirt...c'mon universe, throw me a damn bone here), but time seems to have taken on a different personality here. There are times, sitting at home, having already paced the path from my kitchen to the living room to the porch, sweeping neurotically along the way, that I start planning the rest of my day just to waste daylight hours so I can make it to dinner. Other days, days filled with beaches and travelling and laughter slide by much too quickly. Like a broken accordion, the temporal standards here move in and out, incredibly slow periods seeming like nothing in retrospect.

Any where I've travelled that is A) Tropical(ish) and B) Generally poor, where the local folks yearn for something more have two things in common – 1) They're big into Che Guevara Tshirts and Bob Marley music and 2) they all have a relaxed view of time. Things here a different from what we are used to. Folks here run on a dearth of stimuli. Sitting is important here. Talking – about nothing in particular – is something like an art form. Being quiet takes a precedence as the sun falls. Things take (you guessed it), time. Little things – taking showers, 2 hour taxi rides that are only that long in theory, meals, washing or drying clothes. The meeting you set at 3pm wont start until 4:30 because people were 'busy'. L'heure Africain predominates just about every single interaction or transaction you decide to attempt. So, coming from the western world, where not looking at a clock or a mirror for more than 5 minute spans can induce fits of rage and spasms, it is easy for me to tell you who holds all of the power here – those that control your time. These 3 groups of fine gentlemen (and women) can have your balls in a vice within the blink of an eye – (the corollary to this being they are the happiest groups here) -

1. Government officials – Ever been cruising down the interstate, listening to your favorite David Hasselhoff mixed tape, just to have some jerk-off in a beamer come tearing around you going 30 over, chucking burger wrappers out the window, nearly running you off the road? And you start to cuss, and I know what you are thinking – damn broads – but no, wait, is that a Government tag there? You'd bet your bottom dollar on it – So imagine that scene here, only (now stay with me) you are walking, with 22 lbs of yams on your head and a baby strapped to your back, on your 3^rd of 6 miles from village and that jerk-off is just the same except overfed, overpaid, and driving one of the ONLY beamers in country. Welcome to West Africa – where your perceived power is directly proportional to how incredibly overweight you are and where your actual power is indirectly proportional to how long you routinely force the populous to wait to fill out even the most mundane of paperwork - “My, my, govn'uh, you're looking splendid today! Are those new pants? You had to buy larger ones, yeah? My you've gained quite a lot of....wealth. Whats that? I need to sit down over here? But all I need is a form. No, the one right there – beside your hand. I mean, I can see it. Look, its not like you even have to really do anything. Just grab it for me. No, little more to the left, little more, no, too far, YES, thats the one. What? You need to get permission to give it to me? But there's like, a hundred of them just laying there.” The DMV is a playground compared to any governmental office here.

2. Gendarmes – Police. Keeping the population safe and secure by harassing whitey and fleecing taxi drivers. I must have missed the part in school where they teach you that a cold-war era rusting AK-47 slung backwards over your shoulder is your be-a-total-dick-to-anyone-you-please card. Believe me, gendarmes here go from 6 to midnight when they see a taxi full of yovos coming their way (If I have to explain it, you don't need to know what it means). “Whats that driver? You have 2 yovos in the back there? Well then I'm sure God has blessed you and you can bribe me with an even larger sum today than you did yesterday for me to not fine you for this... um... *crack* broken taillight here.” I have had a truck full of gendarmes come to a screeching stop in front of me as I was waiting to cross the road to ask me for my papers. ...TO ASK ME FOR MY FUCKING PAPERS - what is this, East Germany? Who the hell asks for papers anymore? Am I gun-running in the easter-bloc? “I'm very aware that my sloping brow and protruding lower jaw give me the air of the common criminal, but my fine sir, I'm doing nothing but standing on the side of the road. Yes, thank you for informing me that there is no common indicator of a criminal mind and that you must be vigilant. No, actually, I don't have my passport on me. Um, well sir I wasn't aware this was a police-state. Sir, you do see that there's like 5 other people standing around me, right? Yes, I'm sure this is a completely random stop. The way you swerved and left tire tracks as you braked was a sure-fire indicator of that. Where do I come from? I'm American. No, I'm not French. Oh, so you don't need to fine me now? You know, for standing? On a sidewalk? Oh, ok, well, yeah, see you later, boss.”

We May Never Know...

3. Bank tellers – The cream of the crop, the brightest bulb in the pack, the top of their class, and by far the largest tools of any shed I know of, the lowly bank teller that normally greets you with a smile and asks about your kids in the states regards you with nothing more than the most vehement of disdain here. My eyes were truly opened to this when I began to question why I was always bringing a Russian novel with me whenever I needed to go banking.

Dostoyevsky comes highly recommended

Anyone out there remember The Soup Nazi from Seinfeld? Yeah, Imagine that, except instead of getting kicked out, you're never able to leave. You'll be forced to live in a waiting-room hell. They know you need your money. They know they have you. Did their favorite soccer team lose last night? Heaven have mercy on you, my child – you won't make it out before dark. And heaven forbid you ask for them to give you some small bills instead of 10mil notes – imagine paying for bubble gum with a $100 bill in the states – do you know how useful a 10mil note is here? You might as well try and buy a steak dinner with your vintage PEZ dispenser collection – ITS ONLY WORTH SOMETHING IN THEORY. There's also a good chance you are standing in the wrong line. Sure, its the same line you've always stood in, but you know what? Its the wrong one. “No sir, just go down there *points* and they'll take care of it. *Looks to the left* Down there? Down where? Ma'am, all you did was vaguely motion to the left. Down there, sir. They'll help you. *Looks again* Yeah, look, you just pointed at Benin, could you give me a little more to go on than that?”

You wanna know the redeeming factor in all this? I saw a gendarme standing in a line at the bank the other day. Yeah, eat it.