so...evala.

an annual week-long manhood initiation ceremony centering around lots of fighting, tons of dancing and chanting, endless welcome fêtes for the president, and, bringing it all together in that fantastic frat-boy kabyé way, TCHOUK galore.

so here i am in kara, one of the more northern cities in togo, with kelly and lacey. the wrestling and dancing has been going on all week in various villages around kara, but we came up just last night to catch the final in stevie's (the president's) hometown of pya. an entire morning of hardcore young men battling it out to prove they're ready to be married, fixed against a backdrop of drums beating, men blowing through horns of various animals, tchouk flowing, and the president presiding over it all like the muppet he is. after arriving a fashionable 1 1/2 hours late, stevie gave his blessing and the games began.

we played the yovo card and got some pretty sweet up-front seats, although our dirty village pagne pants couldn't quite measure up to the fancy dress all around us. kelly seemed worried but i shrugged and kept shelling my peanuts, burning off the frosty french with my deepening sunburn. it was a fabulous display, and as we wandered around later, we all agreed it felt like the outdoor summer festivals we've been missing so much. the vibe was incredible, there was fufu and corn everywhere (now that it's rainy season we can get salted roasted corn on the cob anywhere on the street!), the calabashes were overflowing with tchouk...just beautiful.

i seem to have developed a serious peanut habit lately so we sat with our calabashes and our peanuts watching, observing, marveling at - what? at first we weren't quite sure what the deal was. what was so different? then i hit on it - no one was really paying attention to us. somehow, some magical way, we were as anonymous as we've ever been in togo and it was unbelievable! the comments are stares were still there, but people seemed more preoccupied with the business of celebrating than that of harassing the yovos. praise be. it was gorgeous.

later on, the crowd started spilling off the grounds and we followed the running chanting fighters to, yup, you guessed it - stevie's house. there we were, at the front door of the man himself. i had to rouse myself from daydreams of kidnapping and forced exile, and when we finally did get inside the huge stone wall of stevie's hometown digs (obviously built to show his people how powerful he has become...the man doesn't even really live there but that didn't prevent him from raising up a palace in the middle of the village of his birth), i wasn't sure whether to laugh or (pardon me) puke. the grounds are huge, manicured, fenced in...more greenery than anywhere outside.

as we flowed with the crowd i noticed a murmur going up and all heads turned left - left, to stevie's own private zoo, where he reputedly feeds opposition leaders to his 2 lions (no lie). the beautifully paved road continued and suddenly i spied a monstrous building painted gaudy with the togolese flag - yeah, that would be the debriefing room. we waited for hours for the dude to grace us with a speech (in his broken, awful french), and all the while the dancers and drummers and singers went on.

eventually we decided, as the only yovos present, not to sanction this fool's homestead any longer, and instead took off to see the monument erected on the sight of the plane crash that help seal his legend close to 30 years ago. sarakawa is another village outside kara, made famous long ago when stevie's plane crashed in a field nearby and he emerged the sole survivor. seems almost as soon as he stepped out of the wreckage he was crying assassination attempt and simultaneously propping up rumors of his own special powers as a sorcerer. stevie can turn himself into a rock or a frog or hell a calabash so watch what you say, brother.

this mythical figure has ruled with an iron fist for decades, and when we drove up to the crash sight, i laughed out loud, startling the driver. there he was, in bronze, larger than life, literally pointing at the site of the crash, as if to say, "here, see, here's where i fell down! here's they tried to kill me, guys!" and even that he can't seem to do correctly, since the remains of the plane are preserved right where they fell BEHIND him. what a doofus. the visit to sarakawa was fabulous if only for a great laugh at a ridiculous man who unfortunately holds the fate of togo's 5 million souls in his grasp.

the visit to the evala festivals still continues as i plan to bike out to the ancestral village of most of my neighbors tomorrow. word is all of kaniamboua (my village) will be there. save a calabash for me, man, and i just might get in on the fighting!