Dadavi roams West Africa again

Here I am, sitting alone on a Togolese ‘restaurant’ balcony sipping on a rather large G&T (kinder on the waistline than a local beer, and/or no cold Awoyo in sight), waiting for another spaghetti bolognese (random craving, and/or one of the only interesting things on a menu dominated by omelettes). This is the first moment I have had to myself so far on a 2 plus-week trip to West Africa and I feel in the mood for a little chat to myself in the form of a much delayed blogging session. The soft reggae beats from the hotel radio is a great way to remind me how I am coming to feel at home in this little francophone state tucked away between Ghana and Benin. It’s my fourth trip here and on two occasions this week I’ve been asked by local staff if they could perhaps try to convince my boss to set up an office for me in Lome. It does sometimes seem that I am here more than I am at home and I am officially known as ‘dadavi’ (little sister) which helps me to feel part of the team at the Y. The group of prisoners that make up the ‘club juridique’ are awaiting another visit but this time I am hoping there won’t be another portrait waiting to be presented – it just can’t beat last year’s unexpected gift now proudly sitting in the kitsch corner of our office in London. Whilst it clearly displayed the talent of one of the young artists in Lome prison, I am also happy that it is not such a perfect representation of me that it is immediately recognisable to visitors!

Two busy weeks have passed quickly and I am wondering how much of the amusing or interesting moments I will be able to capture here. First week was spent in Ghana, at a conference bringing together all of the national Y movements in Africa – including all of the great people I have worked with over the past few years – and representatives from our counterpart organisations from Europe and North America. So many people to speak to made for a busy week consisting of workshop facilitation, side meetings, networking on 4-hour bus trips to nowhere (perhaps an unfair comment, but a closed cocoa plantation with no sign of chocolate wasn’t a highlight of the trip), and the odd spot of interpretation. There wasn’t much time or energy left for evening entertainment although we did of course find our way around the local beers quite swiftly before we crashed out knowing another 6.30am start was around the corner. The saddest thing about this trip was the fact that the hotel boasted both a pool and a long beach on the doorstep – neither of which I even dipped a toe into…

After a busy, extremely hot and sweaty week, a few of us moved on to cross the border into Togo. The usual confusion of crossing a land border was exacerbated by the lack of any physical structures on the Togolese side – this time waiting for a visa in the dark in an open shack – and the disappointment of noting that baskets of baguettes at the roadside are no longer a prominent sign indicating that you have entered a francophone West African state. Our group – made up of a Brit, an American, a Senegalese, 3 Malgache, 2 Germans and Togolese – continued for another hour into the countryside outside of Lome where we would spend 3 days on a basic, but beautiful farm. Another 3 days then of meetings interspersed with a few evening beverages under the thousands of stars, an agouti-eating session (head, tail and all), a tres petit dejeuner (a small packet of salty biscuits), and an extremely sweaty but fun dancing session with a traditional group from Lome.

The final evening’s entertainment of drumming and traditional dance attracted the attention of seemingly the entire population of the surrounding village community (including little ones who slept happily on their plastic chairs, and bigger male ones who videoed the whole thing on their phones). After we had all got up to join, a message was passed to me from members of the group to find out if I was in fact African in any way as they didn’t understand why I could dance like them. Ladies – I am doing my best to dispel the same kind of myths that once assumed white men couldn’t jump… By the time I sat down, my Malgache friend confided in me that she was happy I had, as she was greatly concerned that my kikoy (wrapped around as a skirt) would fall off if I continued to dance with such enthusiasm. I reassured her that I had tied it securely and in fact have become so adept at tying it that tonight I had to cut myself out of the knot! Anyway, I wonder if the question of my potential African heritage is more related to my shape, unfortunately growing shapelier with every visit (every Coca-cola, every spag bol, every croissant, every plate of carbs – you get it). I do find it a little bit sad that I get excited about the thought of being able to eat salad without being nervous when I get back to London. But bring on the long London evenings and dust off the trainers – I have work to do!

So, after 3 days of nature I moved back into Lome to the friendly Hotel Equateur, where every evening so far community-wide electricity cuts have plunged us into darkness for however long it takes to start up the generator. As always I am thankful to have either a mobile phone or my little laptop by my side so I can orientate my way around! But why do I keep forgetting to put a torch at the top of my Christmas list…?

No surprises, but my packed programme was interrupted by a mid-week public holiday which would usually irritate me if I wasn’t warned in advance, but this time I have to admit was a very welcome break. We headed to the ‘grand marche’ where I was happy to note that our Malgache friends attracted just as much if not more attention than me – the only blanc in the group. After spending a long while sweating and holding up different types of West African material of varying colours and random patterns (including seemingly a maths lesson), my Malgache friend helped me to choose a pattern that I then took to the accountant’s house where his lovely wife will turn it into a dress. I’ve been wanting to do this for the past 3 years but never got round to it, so this time I am making the time. There was a lot of measuring and picking out hand-drawn patterns from an exercise book so we’ll see what happens! As an aside, I have just been reminded of one of the more amusing moments in the countryside which involved a fake marriage ceremony between me and the accountant (otherwise known as Papa Noel). He has called me his wife for a while now (this is the one time I can definitely say the behaviour is tongue in cheek and highly amusing for everyone), but at the unofficial ceremony, I officially turned him down. After all, I remembered kindly his wife and two small children at home…! This funny episode was followed by a question from the American colleague asking whether I have had many propositions on trips and I took the opportunity to tell some of the better stories, summarised earlier in the blog. None better than the American missionary in Senegal…

Brilliant song has just come on from Cote d’Ivoire that I first heard – and became obsessed with – in Senegal last year. Group is called Magic System and I wish I knew what this song was called… Must hunt it down. I have heard it again since in Madagascar a few months ago and now in Togo. It’s amazing how music can send you back to really happy (and of course very sad) moments and right now I am remembering with amusement a night of dancing with Senegalese guys and my fun former colleague Sophie. The first few dances were salsa which surprised me but again I loved it as I haven’t had many chances to remember the informal lessons from my friend Nando in dark, sweaty local bars in Colombia. An excellent night that I will perhaps get to replicate when I am there in a few weeks. Yep, here for another 4 days, home for 2 weeks, then off again for 2 weeks. But on a positive note I have imposed a travel ban on myself in July / August and September. Any travel will be fun time, and the laptop will hopefully stay home. (Which means it is less likely than it’s owner to get stranded due to volcanic ash, BA strikes, etc. No such luck here!)

Off to hunt down that song if the internet connection holds out long enough…

Dadavi roams West Africa again

Here I am, sitting alone on a Togolese ‘restaurant’ balcony sipping on a rather large G&T (kinder on the waistline than a local beer, and/or no cold Awoyo in sight), waiting for another spaghetti bolognese (random craving, and/or one of the only interesting things on a menu dominated by omelettes). This is the first moment I have had to myself so far on a 2 plus-week trip to West Africa and I feel in the mood for a little chat to myself in the form of a much delayed blogging session. The soft reggae beats from the hotel radio is a great way to remind me how I am coming to feel at home in this little francophone state tucked away between Ghana and Benin. It’s my fourth trip here and on two occasions this week I’ve been asked by local staff if they could perhaps try to convince my boss to set up an office for me in Lome. It does sometimes seem that I am here more than I am at home and I am officially known as ‘dadavi’ (little sister) which helps me to feel part of the team at the Y. The group of prisoners that make up the ‘club juridique’ are awaiting another visit but this time I am hoping there won’t be another portrait waiting to be presented – it just can’t beat last year’s unexpected gift now proudly sitting in the kitsch corner of our office in London. Whilst it clearly displayed the talent of one of the young artists in Lome prison, I am also happy that it is not such a perfect representation of me that it is immediately recognisable to visitors!

Two busy weeks have passed quickly and I am wondering how much of the amusing or interesting moments I will be able to capture here. First week was spent in Ghana, at a conference bringing together all of the national Y movements in Africa – including all of the great people I have worked with over the past few years – and representatives from our counterpart organisations from Europe and North America. So many people to speak to made for a busy week consisting of workshop facilitation, side meetings, networking on 4-hour bus trips to nowhere (perhaps an unfair comment, but a closed cocoa plantation with no sign of chocolate wasn’t a highlight of the trip), and the odd spot of interpretation. There wasn’t much time or energy left for evening entertainment although we did of course find our way around the local beers quite swiftly before we crashed out knowing another 6.30am start was around the corner. The saddest thing about this trip was the fact that the hotel boasted both a pool and a long beach on the doorstep – neither of which I even dipped a toe into…

After a busy, extremely hot and sweaty week, a few of us moved on to cross the border into Togo. The usual confusion of crossing a land border was exacerbated by the lack of any physical structures on the Togolese side – this time waiting for a visa in the dark in an open shack – and the disappointment of noting that baskets of baguettes at the roadside are no longer a prominent sign indicating that you have entered a francophone West African state. Our group – made up of a Brit, an American, a Senegalese, 3 Malgache, 2 Germans and Togolese – continued for another hour into the countryside outside of Lome where we would spend 3 days on a basic, but beautiful farm. Another 3 days then of meetings interspersed with a few evening beverages under the thousands of stars, an agouti-eating session (head, tail and all), a tres petit dejeuner (a small packet of salty biscuits), and an extremely sweaty but fun dancing session with a traditional group from Lome.

The final evening’s entertainment of drumming and traditional dance attracted the attention of seemingly the entire population of the surrounding village community (including little ones who slept happily on their plastic chairs, and bigger male ones who videoed the whole thing on their phones). After we had all got up to join, a message was passed to me from members of the group to find out if I was in fact African in any way as they didn’t understand why I could dance like them. Ladies – I am doing my best to dispel the same kind of myths that once assumed white men couldn’t jump… By the time I sat down, my Malgache friend confided in me that she was happy I had, as she was greatly concerned that my kikoy (wrapped around as a skirt) would fall off if I continued to dance with such enthusiasm. I reassured her that I had tied it securely and in fact have become so adept at tying it that tonight I had to cut myself out of the knot! Anyway, I wonder if the question of my potential African heritage is more related to my shape, unfortunately growing shapelier with every visit (every Coca-cola, every spag bol, every croissant, every plate of carbs – you get it). I do find it a little bit sad that I get excited about the thought of being able to eat salad without being nervous when I get back to London. But bring on the long London evenings and dust off the trainers – I have work to do!

So, after 3 days of nature I moved back into Lome to the friendly Hotel Equateur, where every evening so far community-wide electricity cuts have plunged us into darkness for however long it takes to start up the generator. As always I am thankful to have either a mobile phone or my little laptop by my side so I can orientate my way around! But why do I keep forgetting to put a torch at the top of my Christmas list…?

No surprises, but my packed programme was interrupted by a mid-week public holiday which would usually irritate me if I wasn’t warned in advance, but this time I have to admit was a very welcome break. We headed to the ‘grand marche’ where I was happy to note that our Malgache friends attracted just as much if not more attention than me – the only blanc in the group. After spending a long while sweating and holding up different types of West African material of varying colours and random patterns (including seemingly a maths lesson), my Malgache friend helped me to choose a pattern that I then took to the accountant’s house where his lovely wife will turn it into a dress. I’ve been wanting to do this for the past 3 years but never got round to it, so this time I am making the time. There was a lot of measuring and picking out hand-drawn patterns from an exercise book so we’ll see what happens! As an aside, I have just been reminded of one of the more amusing moments in the countryside which involved a fake marriage ceremony between me and the accountant (otherwise known as Papa Noel). He has called me his wife for a while now (this is the one time I can definitely say the behaviour is tongue in cheek and highly amusing for everyone), but at the unofficial ceremony, I officially turned him down. After all, I remembered kindly his wife and two small children at home…! This funny episode was followed by a question from the American colleague asking whether I have had many propositions on trips and I took the opportunity to tell some of the better stories, summarised earlier in the blog. None better than the American missionary in Senegal…

Brilliant song has just come on from Cote d’Ivoire that I first heard – and became obsessed with – in Senegal last year. Group is called Magic System and I wish I knew what this song was called… Must hunt it down. I have heard it again since in Madagascar a few months ago and now in Togo. It’s amazing how music can send you back to really happy (and of course very sad) moments and right now I am remembering with amusement a night of dancing with Senegalese guys and my fun former colleague Sophie. The first few dances were salsa which surprised me but again I loved it as I haven’t had many chances to remember the informal lessons from my friend Nando in dark, sweaty local bars in Colombia. An excellent night that I will perhaps get to replicate when I am there in a few weeks. Yep, here for another 4 days, home for 2 weeks, then off again for 2 weeks. But on a positive note I have imposed a travel ban on myself in July / August and September. Any travel will be fun time, and the laptop will hopefully stay home. (Which means it is less likely than it’s owner to get stranded due to volcanic ash, BA strikes, etc. No such luck here!)

Off to hunt down that song if the internet connection holds out long enough…

Dadavi roams West Africa again

Here I am, sitting alone on a Togolese ‘restaurant’ balcony sipping on a rather large G&T (kinder on the waistline than a local beer, and/or no cold Awoyo in sight), waiting for another spaghetti bolognese (random craving, and/or one of the only interesting things on a menu dominated by omelettes). This is the first moment I have had to myself so far on a 2 plus-week trip to West Africa and I feel in the mood for a little chat to myself in the form of a much delayed blogging session. The soft reggae beats from the hotel radio is a great way to remind me how I am coming to feel at home in this little francophone state tucked away between Ghana and Benin. It’s my fourth trip here and on two occasions this week I’ve been asked by local staff if they could perhaps try to convince my boss to set up an office for me in Lome. It does sometimes seem that I am here more than I am at home and I am officially known as ‘dadavi’ (little sister) which helps me to feel part of the team at the Y. The group of prisoners that make up the ‘club juridique’ are awaiting another visit but this time I am hoping there won’t be another portrait waiting to be presented – it just can’t beat last year’s unexpected gift now proudly sitting in the kitsch corner of our office in London. Whilst it clearly displayed the talent of one of the young artists in Lome prison, I am also happy that it is not such a perfect representation of me that it is immediately recognisable to visitors!

Two busy weeks have passed quickly and I am wondering how much of the amusing or interesting moments I will be able to capture here. First week was spent in Ghana, at a conference bringing together all of the national Y movements in Africa – including all of the great people I have worked with over the past few years – and representatives from our counterpart organisations from Europe and North America. So many people to speak to made for a busy week consisting of workshop facilitation, side meetings, networking on 4-hour bus trips to nowhere (perhaps an unfair comment, but a closed cocoa plantation with no sign of chocolate wasn’t a highlight of the trip), and the odd spot of interpretation. There wasn’t much time or energy left for evening entertainment although we did of course find our way around the local beers quite swiftly before we crashed out knowing another 6.30am start was around the corner. The saddest thing about this trip was the fact that the hotel boasted both a pool and a long beach on the doorstep – neither of which I even dipped a toe into…

After a busy, extremely hot and sweaty week, a few of us moved on to cross the border into Togo. The usual confusion of crossing a land border was exacerbated by the lack of any physical structures on the Togolese side – this time waiting for a visa in the dark in an open shack – and the disappointment of noting that baskets of baguettes at the roadside are no longer a prominent sign indicating that you have entered a francophone West African state. Our group – made up of a Brit, an American, a Senegalese, 3 Malgache, 2 Germans and Togolese – continued for another hour into the countryside outside of Lome where we would spend 3 days on a basic, but beautiful farm. Another 3 days then of meetings interspersed with a few evening beverages under the thousands of stars, an agouti-eating session (head, tail and all), a tres petit dejeuner (a small packet of salty biscuits), and an extremely sweaty but fun dancing session with a traditional group from Lome.

The final evening’s entertainment of drumming and traditional dance attracted the attention of seemingly the entire population of the surrounding village community (including little ones who slept happily on their plastic chairs, and bigger male ones who videoed the whole thing on their phones). After we had all got up to join, a message was passed to me from members of the group to find out if I was in fact African in any way as they didn’t understand why I could dance like them. Ladies – I am doing my best to dispel the same kind of myths that once assumed white men couldn’t jump… By the time I sat down, my Malgache friend confided in me that she was happy I had, as she was greatly concerned that my kikoy (wrapped around as a skirt) would fall off if I continued to dance with such enthusiasm. I reassured her that I had tied it securely and in fact have become so adept at tying it that tonight I had to cut myself out of the knot! Anyway, I wonder if the question of my potential African heritage is more related to my shape, unfortunately growing shapelier with every visit (every Coca-cola, every spag bol, every croissant, every plate of carbs – you get it). I do find it a little bit sad that I get excited about the thought of being able to eat salad without being nervous when I get back to London. But bring on the long London evenings and dust off the trainers – I have work to do!

So, after 3 days of nature I moved back into Lome to the friendly Hotel Equateur, where every evening so far community-wide electricity cuts have plunged us into darkness for however long it takes to start up the generator. As always I am thankful to have either a mobile phone or my little laptop by my side so I can orientate my way around! But why do I keep forgetting to put a torch at the top of my Christmas list…?

No surprises, but my packed programme was interrupted by a mid-week public holiday which would usually irritate me if I wasn’t warned in advance, but this time I have to admit was a very welcome break. We headed to the ‘grand marche’ where I was happy to note that our Malgache friends attracted just as much if not more attention than me – the only blanc in the group. After spending a long while sweating and holding up different types of West African material of varying colours and random patterns (including seemingly a maths lesson), my Malgache friend helped me to choose a pattern that I then took to the accountant’s house where his lovely wife will turn it into a dress. I’ve been wanting to do this for the past 3 years but never got round to it, so this time I am making the time. There was a lot of measuring and picking out hand-drawn patterns from an exercise book so we’ll see what happens! As an aside, I have just been reminded of one of the more amusing moments in the countryside which involved a fake marriage ceremony between me and the accountant (otherwise known as Papa Noel). He has called me his wife for a while now (this is the one time I can definitely say the behaviour is tongue in cheek and highly amusing for everyone), but at the unofficial ceremony, I officially turned him down. After all, I remembered kindly his wife and two small children at home…! This funny episode was followed by a question from the American colleague asking whether I have had many propositions on trips and I took the opportunity to tell some of the better stories, summarised earlier in the blog. None better than the American missionary in Senegal…

Brilliant song has just come on from Cote d’Ivoire that I first heard – and became obsessed with – in Senegal last year. Group is called Magic System and I wish I knew what this song was called… Must hunt it down. I have heard it again since in Madagascar a few months ago and now in Togo. It’s amazing how music can send you back to really happy (and of course very sad) moments and right now I am remembering with amusement a night of dancing with Senegalese guys and my fun former colleague Sophie. The first few dances were salsa which surprised me but again I loved it as I haven’t had many chances to remember the informal lessons from my friend Nando in dark, sweaty local bars in Colombia. An excellent night that I will perhaps get to replicate when I am there in a few weeks. Yep, here for another 4 days, home for 2 weeks, then off again for 2 weeks. But on a positive note I have imposed a travel ban on myself in July / August and September. Any travel will be fun time, and the laptop will hopefully stay home. (Which means it is less likely than it’s owner to get stranded due to volcanic ash, BA strikes, etc. No such luck here!)

Off to hunt down that song if the internet connection holds out long enough…

Locked up in Lome

Is it wrong to try to write a blog about conditions in a West African prison? My blogs so far have strayed away from the serious and more into the realm of amusing anecdotes so I am not sure how I will tackle this change. But it would be unfair of me not to at least try -after all, the objectives of my constant trips to Africa are about a lot more than generating travel stories.

So here’s a summary of what I do on a trip to any African country: meet with local staff and Board members to discuss organisational issues & assess their capacity (to identify areas where I / YCI can provide more effective support); discuss progress of current YCI-supported projects with staff and volunteers (focusing on challenges and coming up with solutions together); develop/plan future projects; carry out training for staff/volunteers on all aspects of project & financial management; and finally visit project sites to see project activities and meet with young people who have benefited from these. I thoroughly enjoy all aspects of these trips and one of the keys to this is that I have been privileged to work with some amazing, experienced, passionate and extremely committed local staff/volunteers. Travelling on my own to most of these countries of course adds to the experience and also enables me to establish a stronger working relationship with the people I support on a daily basis from afar. In many cases, I have come to see some of these people as close colleagues & friends and look forward to seeing them during the next visit. Of course the fact that 3 of my 4 partner countries are francophone has had a huge impact on my French, as demonstrated by the fact that I have just successfully planned and facilitated a 4-day training workshop for 12 Togolese staff/volunteers in French. I loved it! 

The objective of the training workshop was to prepare staff/volunteers for the start of a new EC-funded project that targets 2,500 young detainees and/or children & young people at risk of coming into conflict with the law (it’s a mouthful and the official title is longer!). Main activities include: empowering young people to advocate to the Togolese govt to improve conditions for young people detained in prisons in Togo; providing access to judicial advice/support for young detainees; providing vocational skills training and access to employment for ex-detainees / at-risk young people. The Y in Togo have been working in this area for over 3 years with YCI’s support and this project represents a significant scaling-up of their work, enabling them to support many more highly vulnerable young people.

Lome (the capital) is home to the largest prison in the country as well as the only offenders’ institution for under-18s. Lome prison was built for 600 people yet currently houses over 1,500. The young offenders’ institution crams children from as young as 8 into 6 tiny cells. Although the mandate of this institution is to house under-18s who have committed a crime and legally should not be locked up with adults, it does in fact include children who have been forcibly brought there by their parents to improve their behaviour, homeless children found on the streets as well as victims of abuse. Not surprisingly, this situation presents a serious cause for concern for the wellbeing of these children not to mention the effectiveness of their rehabilitation.

My second visit to Lome prison reminded me of just how awful a place it is. It’s not really a place that can be described, particularly now as I sit sleepily in Ghana airport after 4 hours of waiting with at least another 4 to go. On top of severe overcrowding with over 60 sleeping side by side in communal cells; no space for exercise; a meagre meal provided once a day; extremely poor sanitary conditions; etc – many of the detainees have never seen a lawyer or judge and can be detained for well over 12 months with no charge and no idea when they will get out. During my visits to the prison, I have spoken to a number of young people in this kind of situation. 

In an attempt to finish on a positive note, the staff & volunteers (including some young detainees themselves) are working hard to change this situation – including giving young detainees access to a lawyer – and to prevent more young people getting caught up in the (in)justice system in Togo. That’s another one of the reasons why I’m proud to be working with people like them.

Chat up lines – West Africa styley

I feel the need to make a note of some of the more amusing ways I’ve been chatted up in West Africa over the past year. At the very least it might amuse others and more importantly perhaps it may prompt me to consider more effective responses…

My first flight to Africa was on a plane heading to Liberia via Sierra Leone. As (the only?) single white female on the flight, I made ‘friends’quickly. Particularly once we’d dropped people off in Freetown by which time many of the men remaining had consumed a fair amount of beer and I found myself surrounded by spare seats – both of these adding to their confidence. Then began a kind of relay tag-team whereby one by one would sit next to me and ask the intro question: ‘are you married?’, followed by a spate of random questions leading to the final ‘can I have your number’? Never having been one to offend, my feeble attempts at resisting concluded with me writing my email address on one (or two?) random scraps of paper / boarding passes. Of course omitting the all important ‘dot’ so as to remain hopefully out of their reach in cyber space…

So that was a year ago and have I become more effective in responding? Well, I have not heeded to the advice of many a humanitarian security advisor to wear a ring on the wedding finger and talk of a husband (many will know that my capacity to lie is severely limited). I have also not taken to being rude, although I do try to ignore as much as is possible without appearing deaf. Take this example – in an internet café in Togo, I sat next to a young Togolese guy who immediately mumbled in English: ‘I love your smile; I like you; you are beautiful’ – as if reeling lines from some strange English language textbook in the how to pick up a foreigner chapter. I was bemused and stifled a giggle (which may have led to more ‘smile’ comments) and only responded when he held out his hand for a few minutes to introduce himself as Jude. When he had finished his internet session, he announced confidently that he was ready to leave yet sat there for a good 5 minutes waiting for a response. The response never came and he left. Leaving me to chuckle…

Two more examples and that’s it for now. The first just happened. I got into a lift in Ghana airport to go one floor (massive, heavy case…) and was joined by a smartly dressed airport staff who in the space of no more than 30 seconds established my name and that I am not currently married. The lift opened, he shook my hand and we went our separate ways. Brilliant!

The final case comes in the form of a young American missionary in Senegal. This is also a classic if not a little odd. He came to sit with me at breakfast one morning to introduce himself and find out what I was doing in Ziguinchor. I wasn’t warming to the missionary business but it was just that little bit easier to stomach than having breakfast with a Lebanese diamond trader in Liberia who kept referring to Liberians as liars and crooks… Anyway, the following morning when I was joined by another colleague, he came over to offer me a necklace/earrings ensemble made by their translator’s wife that he thought would suit me. Unexpected, slightly embarrassing, but kind all the same. It got all the more amusing towards the end of the trip when the receptionist presented me with a bag of 3 more sets of jewellery and a hand-written note from said missionary. To be fair the poor guy thought I was leaving early the next morning and wouldn’t see me but in fact bumped into me again at breakfast and looked a little sheepish. At that time there was nothing I could do but give him my email address (with the dot this time) by way of thank you. Conclusion – a few friendly emails for a month or so but happily they tailed off and I have a few nice sets of handmade jewellery for my next trips. Have I learnt anything? Not really, but it’s been funny!

It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t end this little chapter with an ode to fatty boom-boom (for LG and Jack) and noting that all of my Y African partners comment on my weight in between ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’. As I sit here eating more plantain and beans whilst supping on the last African beer of the trip (Club from Ghana if you’re interested), I only have myself and my work travel schedule to blame for this! However, it does get a little wearing when you’re heard the weight comments from almost every (male and female) members of the local staff team – even if when pushed by LG they acknowledged that ‘un peu de rondeur’ is a positive thing. Well, it might be a complement of sorts on this continent but not so appreciated back in the land of snow where a schedule of running and no-carbs awaits me before the carnival season begins again…

Would you be embarrassed if…?

What a way to start the first trip to Africa of the year. A personal invitation from the first officer of the BA flight to Accra to sit in Business Class mid-way through the flight. He apologised that we wouldn’t get the meal service but still hoped that we might appreciate most leg-room… Word had got out (through Jack flirting with a few camp stewards in the galley) that we were on our way to do some kind of voluntary work in Africa and his 18-year old daughter was about to do the same so he was looking for our advice. Following an enthusiastic intro from me on YCI and our work in Togo (fuelled by a red wine and G&T), he enquired if we might be embarrassed if we were all to move up to Business Class… Of course we giggled all the way to our plush seats and perhaps liberated a few pairs of noise-reducing headphones that will come in useful for the rest of my life flying in economy class.

Arrival in Accra was almost uneventful although Jack did get twitchy (G&T-related?!) when the designated hotel driver in fact drove us to another hotel suggesting that the original choice was now full. Anyone remember tips regarding airport pick-ups during our NGO security training??

 

A new year, good intentions.

It’s happened again. I am almost at the end of the first trip of the year and despite including blog updates in my short & succinct new year’s resolution list, I have neglected it already. To be fair, 80% of this trip has involved me and my friends/YCI colleagues (Jack and LG) staying in a Togolese Catholic ‘maison de retraite’ (not the literal translation of retirement home, it is in fact a training school for novice priests). Unsurprisingly, this was not kitted out in the latest technology (or a lot else, although to be fair felt a bit homely after 8 nights with the particular exception of a glow-in-the-dark Jesus on the cross in my room…) and as such access to internet has been very scarce.

This is not my first trip to Togo but it is the first time I have really considered the extent of poverty here. My first trip came on the back of a visit to Liberia which is struggling to rebuild itself after civil war and had just built the first paved road in the capital city, so perhaps at the time Lome felt just that little bit luxurious. Putting things into context in this second visit and I’ve realised a number of things that perhaps I didn’t spot before: Lome has very little infrastructure and most roads are an extension of the beach; there are very few high-rise buildings and no obvious centre/business district which gives the impression of a town rather than a West African capital city; most shops are market stalls / huts; and the hotel that I was so excited by last time I was here takes at least 90 minutes to deliver any food ordered. And all of that before I even start trying to describe the state of the prisons…

However, far from wanting to paint a negative picture, I do feel really comfortable here and was delighted when the hotel staff at Veronica’s Guest House remembered me by name and looked genuinely happy to see me. Jack and LG quickly took to calling me Veronica after one of the waiters appeared at dinner on the first night to hand me the hotel phone: ‘Madame, vous avez un appel’. The staff team here are great, the French has improved in leaps and bounds and I’ll be sad to leave this time.

Les vazas sont foux

The week has flown by! Having a 24hr bout of ‘food poisoning’ earlier on in the week (courtesy of a weak Western stomach of which I was once so proud) meant that the programme didn’t go quite as planned. Perhaps I should either build in slack time to each trip – just in case – or do as some colleagues and go veggie when travelling? Honestly, none of those options is really going to suit me! And we’ve all seen dangerous looking vegetables…

One of the things that unfortunately slipped down the priority list was visiting young people and families who have been involved in the project we’ve supported in Tana for the past 2 years. We managed one home visit in Ankazomanga – a very poor, semi-slum area of the capital city – but had to cancel the second one as it was pouring and the mud alleyways had started to flood. We met a girl who has been trained as a peer educator, spreading messages to other young people and community members on the issue of HIV and sexual reproductive health. We sat with 3 generations of her family in a tiny room with space for a single bed and a few chairs, talking about what she has been involved in and the creative ideas that she and others have had for raising funds to continue their activities. My favourite is known as Operation Cake. It’s a simple but great idea – you buy a ticket for about 50p and get a cake in return. The seller makes a small profit. Genius idea – everyone loves cake!

Most of the weeek has been spent in the office planning for a new project. The staff are great and pretty advanced in many areas of programme implementation, which made for good discussion and a few late evenings. Today we headed into the countryside to a small town called Carion. It was the first day not to rain which meant that we got to see the countryside in its full beauty. What a stunning place! Rice paddies, mountains, rock faces, valleys, rivers, forests, traditional houses made of mud bricks and villages full of cute children and the odd chameleon… Tourist mode kicked in and I momentarily became a crazy vaza (Malgache for foreigner), clicking away and musing at how I might be able to move out here to live in the Madagascan hills. Together with Y staff, we concocted a plan of action…. It basically involves me giving the Y the number for YCI’s travel insurance company and them calling up claiming to be my kidnappers. After lengthy negotiations (I would hope I warrant at least some form of negotiation?!), insurers pay up, I disappear, we split the cash and I get to build a mud brick house in Madagascar somewhere between the forest and the sea. There may be plenty of things wrong with that scenario, but it had us giggling for a good while!

After meeting a group of young mothers hoping to benefit from vocational training courses, and spending an hour in a tiny room with at least 40 highly animated (and amusing!) peer educators, it was a little sad to jump in the car to head back to Tana. Not least because from tonight onwards we all have to pretend to be grown ups. The more serious meeting starts tomorrow morning, with 20+ Y staff from across the country, Y top dogs (no disrespect intended) from a handful of other African countries together with me and another European representing the international partner contingent. I may need to cultivate a few (more!) wrinkles and the odd grey hair overnight to look less like a peer educator and more like someone with negotiating power! I have had so many comments this year about being younger than Y partners imagined me to be – particularly amusing are the ones related to my name. At least 3 different people told me that they’d imagined me to be an old English woman dressed in a long woollen skirt…?! That amused me as much as the insistent belief of a few Madagascans that the English drink tea with a touch of milk at 5pm every day. Without wanting to disillusion, I explained that it is actually more probable that at about that time, it is highly likely that the English are on their way to a pub for their first pint!

On that note, I’m off to conserve some energy for the opening of the meeting tomorrow. And more importantly, for the much awaited visit to the local crafts market in the afternoon. There, I’ll be able to take on the role of crazy vaza just one last time before I adopt the serious and slightly more mature vaza persona for the remainder of the trip…

Ooh I’ve just remembered that one of most favourite memories of Tana will be my first (and last?) ever sighting of a banane jumelle – a twin banana! Literally, two in one – it was brilliant! Damn the EU for denying entry to anything but the straighter, bright yellow, sour-tasting, lowly relative.

Ici, on parle la Malgache

Since blog number 1, I’ve been to S Africa but failed to even log in to my blog. That’s not to say there wasn’t a lot to say – it’s just there was zero time to actually say it. It was crazy, fun, stressful, knackering and emotionally draining. So sleep took priority over blogging. But hey I saw penguins and participated in a lifeskills session with former young gang members in a notorious high security prison in Cape Town (Ross Kemp got there first…). And I got to laugh a lot courtesy of D and some brilliant youth workers. I’ll soon upload a photo of the newest (and frankly the best) member of Y Care staff – Marvin the penguin.

 

I’ve now landed in Madagascar and have found the answer to me successfully blogging in Africa: travelling alone and being lucky enough to find a hotel with internet access so I can type from my bed.

 

Here I am in the capital – Antananarivo, which I’m pleased to say locals call ‘Tana’ because there’s no way I’ll get it right on a regular basis. I’m in a little hotel that’s quite cheap and slightly strange. A huge room with two little lumpy single beds, a little desk, a few armchairs, a TV and most excitingly a little fridge with cans of local beer and chocolate which I am sure will be required at some point over the next few weeks. When I first arrived this morning after more than 16 hours travelling and no sleep, I was not too happy about the noise and sun streaming through the ‘curtains’ cutting into my allocated sleep time. I’d also been accosted by a precious stones vendor whilst eating lunch alone in the little restaurant. Although I appreciated the beauty of his wares, I tried in a polite manner to point out that I’d only been in the country for a matter of hours, was in desperate need of sleep and am frankly not a precious stones kind of girl. He then enquired whether I worked for an NGO – perhaps concluding that I could merely not afford such luxuries. And I guess he had a point!

 

So, after an unsuccessful kip I was pleasantly surprised by the shower (I did find a few ants wandering around but have been assured by a local that Madagascar has no dangerous animals –maybe they just haven’t discovered them yet…) and free internet access and was happy to meet my Madagascan colleague from the Y for dinner. I met her 2 years ago in Nairobi and she’s even lovelier than I remember. We had a great dinner of steak with béarnaise sauce (stuff Gaucho!), a huge local beer called the three horse heads or something equally bizarre (I’ll be sure to bring one home) and discussed various topics including the new project and voodooism. (NB: Y Care is not currently funding vulnerable voodoo-affected youth in Madagascar!). 

 

Now back in the room and it looks quite homely. Here’s hoping I can get a good few hours sleep as I’ve got a busy week ahead. The Chair of the Y is picking me up in the morning to take me around Tana and then we’re off to N’s house for a traditional Madagascan lunch. Sounding good already – best make sure I spend a minute a day doing ‘the plank’ and other appropriate hotel room-based exercises in an attempt to keep the excess African weight off… The afternoon will be spent visiting children and families in the local slum community who have benefitted from the project so far. Sounds like a good way to spend a Sunday – if you ask me!

The beginning…

So, in my last year as a 20-something and before I am forced to reach for the collagen fillers, this seems an apt time to join the ‘youth’ generation and start blogging. This year may also prove to be one of the more interesting years of recent times given the frequency of my trips to one of London’s finest airports to head off to yet another new, far-flung and fascinating destination. So far this year: Chicago, Liberia, Togo, Senegal, Mallorca, South Sudan, Spain, Honduras, Trinidad… Next up: South Africa, Madagascar, Trinidad and Mallorca again. Before anyone comments on my carbon footprint, I know! I’d like to say I’m into planting trees and all that good stuff but it’d be a lie. I’m a recycler and public transport user but that’s about it for now. Sorry planet.

 

It’s apt as well that I am writing my first blog to kill time whilst hanging around in Belfast int’l airport during yet another delay. Could I have foreseen that a day trip to Belfast would coincide with the failure of Heathrow’s air traffic control?? As a result, I won’t hit London’s tarmac till 1.30am. Which pretty much suggests that Friday will be a bleary-eyed day in the office – unfortunate when I have a nasty budget to tackle and an interview to conduct…

 

I’m dedicating this blog to those family and friends who I simply don’t see enough of. Not only that, but I don’t seem to get the chance to really fill you in on the stories of my travels – partly due to the fact that when I start, I don’t usually stop (yes – I know you know!) so it’s easier to sum it up in a phrase. Which of course usually begins with: ‘some of the nicest people I’ve met’… And that’s not always an exaggeration; even for me who as we all know over-uses the description ‘lovely’ when referring to people I may have only just met!

 

To all of you then, who I wish were there to join me on the highs and lows of every new journey. To make up for my prolonged periods of absence, I hope to amuse you with virtual tales. And once I know what I’m doing, perhaps even with visuals to accompany the ramblings!

Good night all. I’ll be back very soon. xx