Comment ça va? Bien...

Lomé, Togo. It’s a small country between Ghana and Benin of which I knew almost nothing about except that my friend Yawo with whom, I travelled (UWP cast E95) is from there and started talking about bringing me to rock the villages of the motherland probably the first week of our year of travel. It took (holy sh°t) 15 years, but here I am.

I can’t post pictures but let’s go back to being amazed I can see who is on facebook in Boston from a house that only kinda has running water in West Africa. I was in sad shape before my trip, more critically so with each day. I find that’s often the case with major voluntary life events for me. When I think I’ve been rendered completely incapable the universe says ‘’REALLY ?’’, gives me a good shove to the ground and I find myself bootstrapping to answer whomever is asking ‘’how bad do you want it ?’’ A few good friends echoing the wisdom ‘just get yourself on that damn plane’ did the trick.

Hurricane Earl, though headed for the carolina coast the day of my flight out of DC, did not exist in this parallel universe. I stopped tracking it on the web since there was nothing i could do about it, and all flights were not only on time but smooth like buttah. I did have to check my bag last minute because of deadly nailpolish and scented lotion Yawo suggest I bring (FYI, they have nailpolish here, and no one cares what i smell like). People were losing their sh°t in DC at security. Again, You’re gonna make the flight or not. Going ape and making everyone else miserable isn’t gonna help. Thank you thank you to my teachers – travel is so much more enjoyable nowadays. Anyhow, the kid sitting behind me on this half empty flight to Ghana started puking and hyperventilating. Eventually they took him off the plane ; Again, we somehow got to Africa early. I was the white girl taking tons of pics on the plane (mostly trying to figure out my camera) as we landed. The flight left DC at 10pm. It was long. It was mid afternoon at touchdown in Accra. I have no idea how the hours work out there. Again, good to be Winnie the Pooh in some situations. And that is the most boring part of my journey. This keyboard blows (french configuration) and I indeed have travellers’ tummy. I think even the water we are buying and drinking in these ubiquitous plastic bags is weird. Good thing I only eat bread.
I will say I have many stories to tell, and the mind that leaves the present and leaps ahead to find something to be miserable about worries there will be no one to listen. I think the toxic glow of the computer screen is putting me in that state so I’ll sign off. Now I’m off to craft something for my hosts, Yawo’s parents, that they will not really like. They want good whiskey, not nesting paper boxes. Oh well. They know my heart’s in the right place. And I Didn't bring a sampling of my paper collection to get me across the border. (ok maybe i did think it would help. wrong. But wait till I bust out my Obama stamper at immigration on the way back)...