Sworn-In

After training for three months in Gbatope we finally headed into Lome to swear in as volunteers. The whole experience in Lome was kind of surreal. We were only there for three days but we had a lot to accomplish. We swore in Wednesday night and it was broadcast on television and over the radio. We all gave a brief speech in our local languages. I'd never spoken in front of so many people (including the U.S. ambassador) let alone in a new language but it went well. I rocked the moustache in honor of dad's birthday and I wore the complet my host parents chose for me.
The rest of our brief time in Lome was used for buying settling-in materials. Like buckets and stoves, pots and pans, etc. Most people had the van drop them off at a stop where they'd buy something and then go, but I decided to brave the Grand Marche and headed into the chaotic belly of the beast by myself. I have a knack at figuring out directions quickly so getting my bearings straight wasn't too difficult. The hustle and bustle of the marche was intense. Just one huge mix of vibrant colors. A sea of people swarming on all sides screaming out prices while they weave their way past one another. Turn the corner and you're swept up into a swarthy mass of vendors and customers all serious and determined. The air is heavy and the sun unforgiving. It's a hell of an experience. I wasn't in the marche for long. I bought a basketball jersey (they didn't have my beloved Bobcats so I went with the Bucks), a huge metal bucket, tupperware, charcoal stove, water bin, lantern and some sheets. I brought white sheets with me to Togo from the States and that was a bad idea.
There is a supermarket called the Superamco and when you walk into it's like walking into America. Think Harris Teeter or whatever. Basically you forget you're in Africa. I had to pick up some supplies from there for post:

• mustard & bread crumbs - for preparing that delicious chicken recipe my mother always makes
  
• ziplock bags - a must
  
• a handle of Jack Daniels - for special occasions
  
• ketchup - to go with all the yams I'm going to be eating
  
• pushpins for laundry
  
• tape - I've since learned it doesn't work too well
• Tang - because it's Tang
  

All in all much was accomplished. I was also able to track down a Togolese flag (you can't find them in the marche). Buying the flag was frustrating and the guy jipped me out of two dollars from the price we agreed upon. For the first time I got angry in French and started talking over him. My French was flying and it felt good but I gave up because we had to go and walked back to the van yelling at him and calling him a thief.
Bernard who commandered us around the city in the Peace Corps van took us to buy lipicos, a sort of sewn together cot. I didn't need one but I'm glad I went along. One of the workers was wearing an old Charlotte Hornets Alonzo Mourning jersey and I lost it. I had dreamed of finding a Hornets jersey, and Alonzo, my favorite Hornet! And there it was old, dirty and soaked in sweat, but I had to have it so I bought it off the man's back. This was not easy to get accross in my French, but luckily there was a man from Ghana (where they speak English) who helped translate. The man thought it was quite bizarre but pulled off the jersey and put it in a bag and handed it to me. The lipico place is outside on the side of a busy road where hundreds of motos zip down a steep hill. While I was discussing the jersey, I heard a loud screech. I looked over and just to the side of the road a moto had slid out. There was a child on the back and he began screaming. In a flash, seemingly out of nowhere, a man ran, scooped the child up in his arms and carried him off the road. The whole accident was quite jarring as it was hard to tell what exactly was happening right in front of you but you knew it must be bad. Amazingly no one was seriously injured and after a bit the little boy was able to stand and they took off as though nothing had happened. That was some luck.
Back at the hotel we all celebrated our last night together. It was essentially three nights of celebrating. Late night a bunch of us NRM'ers gathered on the roof of the hotel and had a great time sharing stories and reflecting on the past three months together. The whole thing was over much too quickly. The next morning we said our goodbyes before departing for post and it was sad. I felt a strong bond with everyone in our group and it hurt when we parted ways. I knew some I will never see again and it felt awful after all the experiences we had together. It was a shitty morning. Pulling away from the hotel with all our stuff I was in a daze. It was actually happening. We were leaving and headed to post for 2 years. It was a rollercoaster of emotions that day.