How I became a traveler
The man I married loves comics and superheroes. I was never really into these growing up (and still am not really into them, although I have learned to appreciate them a bit more). One thing I have learned in the past fifteen years is that every superhero, every villain, in fact, every character, has an origin story. This origin story defines who they become. It defines their powers and their personality. It is what makes them the person they are.
If I were to have an origin story, it would start in the 5th grade in Mrs. Artz’ class. The big class project that year was for each of us to pick a country and write a research report on it. Now keep in mind that this was 1984. There was no internet. If you wanted to write a report you went to the library and found books, you used the encyclopedia, you read magazines and newspaper articles. Also keep in mind this was West Chester, Ohio in 1984. Diversity was the one Asian American girl in my class. While the other students went home and told their parents they were writing a report on France or Italy or China, or in one case Czechoslovakia, I went home and looked at the globe to find the smallest country I could. I spun the globe around and found this tiny country called Togo in West Africa. It was surrounded by other tiny countries but it was the tiniest. It was like a little strip in this vast continent of Africa. I went back to school the next day to announce the country I had chosen. I was so excited. I didn’t even know a country could be this tiny, this remote, which at that point was my main interest in the place.
When I told the teacher my plan to do my report on Togo, I remember her calling me to her desk. She told me that I could not do it on Togo. She didn’t think there would be enough information. Why didn’t I choose England or Switzerland or someplace easier to write a report on? I didn’t realize it at the time, but this would be the first time I realized that there was a bias against Africa. There is an idea out there that Africa is so different, and so ‘unexplored’ that it makes it difficult to know anything about the place. I will say in this teacher’s defense, in 1984 information was harder to find on Africa than on Europe or parts of South America. I certainly knew nothing of the place (I was ten years old, so there is that) and my guess is she knew nothing of the place either. I held my ground though. I told her I was going to do my report on Togo. I honestly don’t remember the argument I made, but it convinced her. I did that report and to this day can tell you that the number one export from Togo in 1984 was groundnuts (peanuts as we call them here), that the capital is Lomé, that French is the main language spoken, that most people in the country were farmers and that Togo was filled with interesting people and an interesting culture. I remember all of that.
The two years later, in seventh grade, our school participated in a program where you could get a penpal from another country. You could either get a random pen pal, or choose a country and be matched to a pen pal from there. I decided to do both. My random pen pal was from Australia (Karina- we are still in touch as Facebook friends. Never have met but it’s been thirty-four years so, wow. If I ever go to Australia visiting her is my number one priority). I then requested a pen pal from Togo. When her first letter came it was all in French (remember- now 1986, still no google translate). There was a teacher who spoke a bit of French and she helped me read it and write a response. This went on for years. I ended up taking French in high school just to keep up this pen pal-ship, and continued through college and still have a French tutor I work with. Sadly, my French is still…lacking, as my work has taken me pretty much everywhere in Africa except for the Francophone countries. My pen pal was my age, her parents were both veterinarians and she told me all about her life, which sounds remarkably similar to my life — school, homework, activities, family. It turned out all over the world we are all pretty much the same. We all love our family, want to learn and grow, have hobbies and interests, have friends we like hanging out with. This lesson is one that I think a lot of people much much older than the twelve years old I was should consider learning to this day. I learned in 7th grade that the world is a big and interesting place, full of people who I could become friends with even if we don’t speak the same language, practice the same religion, have the same socioeconomic status. This is a lesson that I carry with me today.
Years later when I taught Geography at the University of Arizona, several classes included a map quiz. Geography of Africa and Human Geography both had map quizzes of the countries and capitals of Africa. There was not one time I taught those classes over a ten-year period where Togo was not the answer to at least one question. I wonder if the students ever figured this out over the years.
About three years ago my mother ran into Mrs. Artz, the fifth-grade teacher. She asked how I was and what I was up to. At that point it had been about thirty-two years since I’d last seen her. My mother told her that I was working in Africa and Mrs. Artz was apparently quite impressed. She too remembered the story of me fighting to do my project on Togo, and years later when she taught a university course to new teachers she used this as an example of how sometimes your students can surprise you- how they can take a topic you think is impossible and turn it into a great project. That sometimes you need to trust in your students and they might do so much more than you expected. She didn’t know I would end up working on the continent for most of my career, nor did I. But the interest in the world started there. It started with a spun globe, curiosity, and a tiny country called Togo.
