If you saw a woman walking down the street while balancing a tub of water on her head, you'd probably think that was both abnormal and impressive. I thought so too at first, but that lasted for about two weeks. Now it is normal- along with geckos living behind my fridge, bucket baths, stepping over people sleeping on the floor of the hospital, employing guards at my house, children chanting at me as I drive by on my motorcycle, teaching in a foreign language, and using MacGyver-like skills to keep hospital equipment functioning, all while it is 100 degrees and wearing a full-length skirt.
When I first moved to Togo, I remember thinking there were way too many subjects to talk about in a blog or newsletter. Everything was new and weird and unfamiliar. Now I can identify my African coworkers by their laughs. Now I automatically reach for the gear stick and clutch when I'm driving. Now the sight of a massive cockroach in my bathroom doesn't result in screeching and standing on the toilet. Now I am the reference, translator, and resource in the hospital instead of the greenie with infantile French. Now I've performed more CPR than most AHA instructors. Now no matter what changes, Togo is part of me. From the motorcycle burn scars to the family I've gained to the seemingly permanent dirty feet to the friendships to the memories, Togo has left its' mark.
