Insomnia

ry aIt’s 12:31, on a Wednesday evening, and I’m writing because I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep because I’ve consumed far too much sugar, and I consumed this much because, well, that’s all I’ve got in the house. Oatmeal, a pineapple, sugar, condiments for all the delicious “nothing” I eat, and a ginormous tub of millet, to be more precise. Below is a picture of my humble refrigerator



When you look at it, doesn’t it make you want to shut the flippin’ door? I know. Me too.
I could quite easily complain that it’s because this is Africa, but “franchement” (frankly), it’d be the same in the U.S. In fact, my fridge then and now look pretty much the same…minus the tub of millet and the random pineapple. I can cook but, holy mother of Mary (her name is Anne and yes I know come across as a holy roller, but isn’t that the point?), is it hard to do it for myself. Sure, it may be hard to come across affordable protein here, but it’s not that bad. I have no excuse. And because of this, I know that Jesus loves me for He hath placed street food vendors all alongeth my road. The lifestyle of a bachelor is international.

Fo Shizzle.

In addition, I can’t sleep because of some anxiety due to massive amount of translating that I’ll have to start on soon. Oh, yes. Translations. After a year in a Francophone country, I’m going to have to start translating formal English business texts, into French. One would think that immersion for a year would have ameliorated one’s previous state of foreign language ineptness from, “I can barely say Bonjour,” to “Le programme sera enseigné pendant les soirs, plusieurs fois dans la semaine” but au contraire mon frère.



I just wasted 3 minutes on looking up how to conjugate the verb “to be”. You’re welcome.




My Togolese counterparts have the best of intentions, but they just don’t ever… make me feel stupid enough. They’re just… too gosh darn nice. No sarcasm intended. I know. “Why would you want your counterpart to make you feel inadequate? You masochistic fool,” you may ask. Well, because it’s true. Both of themJ. JK, but seriously, I am...both. Firstly, I would have rather had my counterparts correct me more severely early on so I wouldn’t make these ridiculous mistakes. Now, I practically have to circumlocute around my anus to try to say something that takes all of three words that I conveniently don’t know. Mistakes made, lessons learned.
You future Peace Corps stagiares, friggin’ do your Rosetta stone. Preferably past the “Bonjour! Je suis Americain!” section. Believe me, they know you’re foreign. Then again, that section’s useful because they don’t like the French. When you get here, you probably won’t either. Oh, if you’re Asian-American, you’re Chinese. Even if you say, “Je suis Americain,” they always have to add that you’re from China, so that sections pretty darn useless to us. They hardly ever interact with other non-Chinese Asians, so let it go. We’re the minority of the minorities (though most Togolese are familiar with Korea from the 2006 World Cup…hollaaa). For other than your own community and homologues, I advise that you be selective on convincing strangers otherwise. You’ll end up talking to every person on the road and before you know it, your whole day is gone trying to convince people you’re American. Most of the time they’ll just randomly say, “China” or “Chinois,” and stare at you. That’s it actually. Just that. For your sanity, know this. If you’re actually Chinese, you’ll be absolutely sure that you really are Chinese by the end of service. Shoot, even I think I’m Chinese now. Please refer to my "Les Chinois sont impermeable a S.I.D.A." blog entry for more info. Anyway, Secondly, we won’t go into my masochism here. I’m just saying I’m Catholic. Devout too. Who doesn’t like the occasional guilt trip to the confessional booth? JK again, but seriously. Who doesn’t? Watch out southern Baptists.


At any rate, I’m starting a “business school” with my homologue, Bernadette. This is the reason for the needed translations. Because texts for small businesses in French are hard to come by, and when they’re available, they’re expensive and scarce, I’ve decided to try to tackle this problem by picking and paraphrasing certain texts that are applicable to our entrepreneurs and translating them. Oh, yeah. That’s right. I’ve bit off a lot, but that’s okay. Because if this goes through, I’ll be begging you for money some point or anotherJ, so don’t pity me too much. Just a little bit would be nice. Our last meeting on Monday consisted of me giving her a one page rough summary of the organizational structure and procedures (which I spent close to 6 hours doing because it had to be, you got it, en Français), and her agreeing with everything that was on it. It made me self-conscious and a tad bit weary. I mean, I’ve been to planning meetings involving the e-board, and they discuss every option possible. Perhaps I’ll get the 3-hour meeting of my dreams when we take it up with the President, who knows. I just wish she disagreed with something. We even went as far as selecting the potential professors for the school, all within a 40-minute period. 40 minutes. Meetings in the States take longer than that. Anyway, I have another meeting next week with Bernadette to discuss the curriculum and the marketing strategy, so we’ll see.



I also met with my Bernadin (convenient names, I know), yesterday regarding a meeting to be had with my tailors. A meeting to discuss another meeting. Gotta love that ish. Like the previous meeting I described, I gave him a 4-page outline of the meetings key points and he just said that it was perfect. I mean, at least a grammatical correction would have been nice. This should prove to be an interesting meeting, considering that this is the first time all the potential members will be present, instead of talking one on one with me. I’ll also be asking them to give up time in their own shops to work for a newly formed company. Ha. Oh, yeah, and they have to find their own start up funds. Double Ha. If an advisor in the States told me I’d have to lay down more than a 200% of what I made that year for a business plan I’ve never heard, I’d laugh too. I’ll have to lay down the Asian persuasion for that sucker to fly. We’ll see. Though there are complications inherent in this project, out of all three I have lined up, I have to say I’m most excited about this one. I’ll definitely fill you all in on how this meeting goes. Interesting is probably going to be an understatement.


Anyway, my eyes are drying out and I’m sitting here wondering why Microsoft Word is underlining all my contractions in “grammatically incorrect” green. I mean, really. Give me a break will you? Maybe this is why I got a C in AP English. No no…maybe THAT’S why I got a C in AP English. That’s right. I’M ignoring your attempts to make me feel insignificant. Take that Bill Gates. You and your monopolizing, anti-competitive, pretentious, “I think you can’t speak English well, so I’m going to prove it to you by underlining crap in green, red, and ‘now available on Microsoft Word 2007, blue’.” software. By the way, thanks for the language/ research buttons under “review” available on the newest version of Word, Billie G. You really saved my tuckus with that. Oh, and spell check owns me. Fo rizza.

If you read me, read all of me

You know, for the average person, there are unfortunately only a handful of times where one is completely content with where one is, how one feels, and who once was, is and will be. Perhaps I may be speaking for myself, or perhaps I’m speaking with you. Who knows? Call it spiritual epiphany, call it enlightenment, call it “Zen”, call it “one with God’s plan”, or what have you. Regardless of the title, or the arbitrary religious affiliations that come with those titles, it is something to be cherished, pursued, and never forgotten. It is in these small, unbearably enormous, rich and serene existences where we experience absolute life, absolutely.
It’s where purpose and choice, options and destiny meet. It is one knowing that life is composed of the “less than optimal” choices one makes amongst infinite other imperfect possibilities, and that these choices are unequivocally and perfectly theirs. It’s where one knows that these choices makes one perfectly oneself. It is where one is content in accepting that these free choices and consequences are destined to serve a purpose one may never know.

Is that all? Is that how one “gets there?” I don’t believe so. In an extreme case, one can live in complete hedonism and nihilism and will inevitably feel emptiness. That person may never regret a single decision and may freely accept all consequences but still can be unbearably discontented. That person is perfectly who they are, yes, but perfectly empty. I believe that as long as all these “imperfect” choices are genuinely chosen out of love of others as well as oneself, one has no reason to regret choices, regardless of its consequences, “negative” or “positive”. This is all of our destinies. This is all of our purposes. When one starts on this path, one reaches joy and complete contentment that can’t be stolen, but only when one falls from this path. I can’t say that I know that these statements are true, but I have faith in them, as I do in my God. I guess that’s the same with everyone else. One may not believe in the same God or creed as I do, but one must at least believe in love. I suppose that’s what gets us there. Here, in this magnificent moment of “I don’t want to be anyone else, anywhere else, or in any other time” moment.

Why, you must be asking, is this volunteer writing about this and why is this continuing on for longer than we’re interested in reading? The answer is this; I want to write this because I want to remind myself of why I’m here and how I got here in the first place. I want to remember this and I want others to remember this as well to remind me of how joyful I was in love. I am writing this in hopes that particular people will read this, and to thank them for inadvertently helping me get there.

Get comfortable.

“Maybe you should take an inventory of why you’re here and what you’re doing here. I remember that you also have a lot going on at home, which you should also consider.”
That’s a rough paraphrase of someone that I very much trust. Another person, whom I regard highly, and a person who has my upmost respect had told me,
“Perhaps you should start looking at things in a different perspective,” another rough paraphrasing.

When I heard these statements, I, quite honestly, had two reactions in my mind and heart; alarm and dismay. Had I been seen as someone that is negative, a person that is here for the wrong reasons, a person that is closed minded and provincial? How differently have I viewed myself than this? Surely this has stemmed from something and for some reason.
I firmly believe that the way a person views another has something to do with, yes, the person being viewed. You may disagree, but I see it as a litmus test. Just because someone disapproves of you or your actions, it doesn’t mean that their perspective is invalid to you. In fact, it’s where one should begin. Now, the friends of whom I spoke, I trust, find me amicable enough, so the previous statement is not directed toward them, and I digress. I did exactly what they suggested to me. I took an inventory of why I was here and what I was doing, and I took another perspective of my environment and the culture around me. Allow me to share:

I came here because I knew this was my calling to do so. Whether I am deemed “successful” or not is not of any consequence. This statement is not some sort of metaphor, nor is it an exaggeration. There were certain events that took place in my life, and the life of my family that led me to enter the Peace Corps. My faith, for one, had parted unto me that the giving of oneself to another is the greatest form of love that could ever be expressed, nay, is the very definition of it. For this, I have done what I had done for my family the past years of my life before entering the Peace Corps. I had taken over the business of my stroke ridden father, working both a full time and part time job, taking care of my father, and going to university full time. I did all these because I loved my family and my God. He had given me strength where I could find none, and had relieved me when I could take no more. I am not embellishing nor am I boasting of any of this; in fact, I am omitting a great portion to spare you, the reader, several hours of your life. What needs to be said is that I had fulfilled my duty to my family and my God. During university, there was a question of whether I would graduate because of the load I took with my courses and my family business. Please believe me that it was by a sheer miracle that I graduated, and I vowed that I would do service for my God. I looked into various Catholic Charities and after prayer, found that none spoke to me. I then found the Peace Corps and felt strangely compelled to apply to a secular institution. When I was accepted, I told my father, and he couldn’t have been more proud. He explained to me that the Peace Corps had helped his village in Korea and that a volunteer had taught him English, helping him get into university.
He had given me his blessing to go and spread the gift that the Peace Corps had given my father.
Before I left, my father made me vow that I would complete my service well, regardless of all circumstances for an oath is an oath. These were my reasons and intentions to go; to serve my God, my family, and my country.

When I arrived, I was full of enthusiasm at the prospect of fulfilling my duty and purpose, and felt that sense of peace and content of which I wrote previously. I looked at this as an opportunity to give because of how much was given to me, and to please my family and God. As time passed, I felt more distant from my purpose and reasons. Reflecting back, I can tell you the moment I began to deter away from my original intentions. After my three months training, I began to fear. I feared the failure of living up to expectations, I feared isolation, and I feared that I was being abandoned by God; perhaps the typical experiences of a Peace Corps volunteer. However, in my fears, I failed to recognize my change in perspective. I began to fall under my own ambitions to counter the lost sense of purpose. I wanted to serve myself, and began to see the projects I had proposed as a way to do this. I began to think that I “deserved” this service, as if it was something to be won. I tell you now that this is no more motivating than to believe that you’re here for no reason at all.

How ludicrous.

I see now that it was folly for me to have even thought that volunteering was anything less than an honor and privilege to serve my God, family and country. Because of this, I saw barriers instead of opportunity, and deficits instead of surpluses. The perspective that I once had had all but disappeared.

After some serious self examination, by advice of my friends, I have come to view things the way things should be viewed; with green lenses rather than exclusively blue or yellow.
Though there is poverty in this country, generosity is abundant. It is cultural and expected that you offer to share your meals with your neighbors even when there is but a cup of food available. In villages people raise children together as they well should, and take care of each other. If one member of the family is successful, that member shares his wealth with his entire family out of his sense of duty. People take care of the homeless by feeding them at street food stands. They rarely ridicule them and pity them more than the average American would ever do. It is customary to ask the condition of almost every aspect of your life when greeting a friend before conversing on other matters…even on the radio.

Yes, there are faults, but so many positive aspects that I have failed to share with you, and the previous list is far from exhaustive. I hope that I will be able to share a more balanced view as I should have done before.

Now I tell you the reasons why I wish to stay. I am staying because I now see God where I should have seen him earlier. I wish to stay because I have yet to complete the work I had set out to do. I wish to stay because of the priceless friendships I have forged. I wish to stay because of my oath I had taken. I wish to stay not to promote myself, but to promote the potential in another person’s life. I wish to stay not because I love the Peace Corps itself, but because I love what the Peace Corps represents.

Regardless of what my future holds here in Togo, I am content because I have finally come to be who I should have been, a grateful servant. Thank you.

Michael

strength in numbers

So folks, it's been quite a while since I blogged and I'm sorry. I really am. I could make the excuse that I've been so ridiculously busy that I haven't had the opportunity to sit and write, but honestly, I've had tons of time sitting and, well... sitting. Infact, I've been sitting and doing exactly that for quite some time. I don't know what to tell you. One would think that the life of a Peace Corps volunteer would consist of more than just sitting, and one would be absolutely correct in assuming so. There's laying in the hammock too. I mean, a nice hammock. The type that wraps you into a cacoon and never lets you go, kind. The kind that invites you to read over 500 pages in one day and because it's so inviting, you do exactly that. I've covered just about 20 books, and I'm the one that hates reading. But there are more things that Peace Corps volunteers do, for sure.

We volunteers( by "we", I more than likely mean "I exclusively") like to chase live stock. From my previous blogs, I've already desribed this almost innate yearning to kick goats and chicken into little puff balls of feathers, but generally, it's more or less to get them away from drying foods like corn and yams. I, however, had reached a new level of boredum. I have been known in other volunteers' villages to randomly chase baby goats and pick them up. Though this little hobby has crowned me with the honor of being the village idiot, it also put me at risk of some serious physical injury (Of course, I couldn't do this in my own village. Oh, no. I've got a professional image to keep up. I chase and scare children with my karate master skills).

Please, don't do this at home with any of your local live stock, vraiment.

I, being the easily amused person I am, one day cornered a baby goat and coaxed him into calming down with little leaves of moringa. It was easy enough. Really, it was like picking on the fat kid in dodgeball, and then making up by giving him a hostess cupcake. It's true. I know this because I was that fat kid, and all it took was a twinkie to forgive and forget. Never underestimate the power of foods with the shelf life of 20 years. Trust me. I snuck up on him like the ninja I am, and picked him up from behind. For about 5 seconds, it was all soft and cuddly until the little twerp realized that it was being held by a potentially protein deficient human being. It started to yelp and scream and squirm for dear life. I'd say it was cute, but that would make people think I was weird, and then call P.E.T.A. on me. Those terrorists. Anyway, I tried to calm it down again by speaking in the high pitched, " goochi goochi gooo" voice. How embarrasing was that? Here was an american college educated economics graduate, talking to a goat like a moron, in front of Togolese that don't play with their food. To them, it probably looked like I was trying to pet and talk to a happy meal hamburger. My village idiot crown was just then encrusted with diamonds. As I happily made a fool of myself, I failed to notice the large amount of congregating goats slowly approaching me and my new found happy meal friend. Well, crap. I can't tell you how intimidating it is to be backed into a corner, holding the child of a community of about 15 to 20 pygmie goats, and them staring you in the eyes with hooves scraping the ground. Needless to say, with a gaped mouth, I slowly bent over to release the calf. As it scurried into the center of the mob, I bolted getting butted a little bit on the way out. The villagers couldn't stop laughing. I have to admit, it wasn't the first time I've been chased by an animal here, and that is vrai ca. I got chased by an angry steer once, but I'll get to that in another post.

Yes, the government sent me as a representative the peaople of United States of America. Can't you tell how great of a job they did with attracting and filtering candidates? Be proud. 1/3 of applicants get interviews, and even less take the position. The statistics aren't on the side of prudent decision making that's for sure ( we had a trainee that didn't like to touch other people, handshaking included, didn't like talking with people, and didn't eat anything other than synthetic foods that weren't the color brown or green. I mean, the person had a diagnosed case of scurvy before coming to Peace Corps for God's sake. Seriously, people...).

At any rate, there are really other things that I do that have some sort of meaning and significance to my existence and those around me. Or atleast that's my hope. I'll share some good solid ones but not quite yet. I'll write them in the next blog. I've got to go eat some dinner before I pass out. I hope it's goat.