Making a List

I am aware that I have an incredibly sheltered and privileged existence, and there is an enormous list of things that I hate about Togo, but as I savour the end of another day, it is nice to reflect upon what it is that makes this place so special:

·  Every day is an adventure. The unexpected sights and sounds and smells, although frustrating and sometimes overwhelming, mean that I am always encountering the unexpected, whether that is trying bizarre tasting food at the roadside, cramming through stalls full of shampoo and fried herring at the market, or trying to persuade the adamant Ghanaian that I do NOT want to give him my number.

· The sunsets. A liquid ruby orb swims in the sky each day on my way home, and reminds me how wonderful it is to be alive.

·Everyone speaks at least three languages. Languages and cultures and accents and backgrounds are all woven together; locals skip seamlessly between French and Ewé every second syllable. There are so many stories to be heard from people who have walked such far-flung corners of the world.

·       ·  I am finally beginning to communicate. It feels liberating that one of my closest friends here does not speak any English and I do not (yet) speak any Spanish. The gift of a second language means that we can connect in French!

I love also the sense of satisfaction that comes from the face of a disgruntled taxi driver when I refuse to pay Yovo (white man) tax, and manage to bargain my journey down to Amiyebo (local) price.

·         ·At weekends, I love being able to poke my finger on a map and say: “Let’s go here.”

I love the adventure and hassle that comes from trying to navigate a new place, and discovering that suddenly  there is a lake that needs to be crossed by punt and that this is actually a funeral that I have just invited myself to. Each horizon is brand new.

·       ·  There is something wonderful about finding that despite many differences, there are ways to connect with local people. Bringing my flute has turned into a massive blessing, as it means that I can connect musically. Even if I cannot connect with a common background or language, there is an undeniable bond that comes from creating an extra thread in the rich harmonies that weave and swirl into a tapestry of sound.

·      ·  I love eating with my hands again. There is nothing better than laying aside cutlery, and wrapping my fingers in warm, doughy Fufu lathered in spicy sauce.

Choosing a strange string of words on the menu creates a feeling of anticipation as I wait to discover which bizarre concoction will be dolloped onto my plate this time.

·      · Everything has so much more flavour. In Togo no on needs to pump nutrients back into shrivelled fruit that has been dragged half way around the world: here it was harvested a few hours ago.

 There is no sense of disappointment as I take my first bite of fresh mango or papaya: a shockwave of juice explodes in my mouth and runs down to my elbows. Blandness does not exist in Togo.  

·         ·I love having my vision of “life” turned on its head. Even the simplest things, like my idea of politeness, or how to cross a road, have now been flung out of the window. I no longer know where to even start on the fundamental questions, let alone the profound.

It feels completely refreshing to have the cobwebs of complacency brushed aside as I am completely rethink my ideals.

Every day is a rollercoaster ride where one minute I have to stop myself dancing down the street, niftily dodging the open drains, and the next I am clamouring to get on the next plane home.

However, my time here increases, and the feeling of being an incapable toddler is fading away, I can feel myself deeply connecting with this place. The everyday chaos is beginning to make a strange kind of sense.

 I am glad that I am only staying for two months, as this is a culture that I think I could fall in love with.