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Thank You letter (snail mailed too)

At the hospital, Christmas Eve 2009

January 31, 2010

Dear  Friends and Family:

Thank you for your incredible generosity and open heartedness in your support of Justine’s operation.  I am attaching the blog post from early December that I posted as a thank you to all of you.

Justine finally had her surgery on December 21, 2009.  She left village on Saturday the 19^th and spent the weekend at the hospital, along with a group of six other women from around the country that were all scheduled to receive the same operation on the 21^st.  Very quickly the women bonded together and became a tightknit support group, praying with each other, encouraging the others, swapping stories, looking after each other.   Justine was the first woman to have the surgery, early Monday morning.

On Monday morning I myself arrived at the hospital, in Afagnan , about 80km from the capital city of Lomé.   I accompanied Justine’s mother, “Dada” (the local language for Mama) who at the last minute also insisted on coming along.  Cecile, Justine’s 18-year-old sister in her last year of high school in Lomé, had arrived in village on Sunday on her school Christmas vacation and agreed to go with Justine over the weekend.  Cecile was a saint throughout the whole process, and ended up staying almost the entire stay with Justine, sleeping on the floor beside her bed and tending to her needs while sacrificing her valuable and short school vacation.

Justine’s surgery was reported to have gone well, and I stayed the whole day in Afagnan.  Because it was an intrusive procedure, she was in a lot of pain and hazy from medications, but the doctors assured me that she was quite ‘normal’ and on track with her recovery.

I returned to the hospital on Thursday, Christmas Eve, and all the women who had the surgery remembered me and were excited to take Christmas photos with me (I brought a Santa Claus hat just to make them laugh) and while everyone was still in pain, they were at least able to walk around.

Justine was very lucky and was allowed to leave the hospital on Saturday, one week after being admitted.  (There had been a good chance she would not come back before I returned to the USA.)  She returned to village and was able to say goodbye to me when I left village for good on Monday morning.

Justine had a follow-up doctors’ appointment in mid-January, and I telephoned to see how it went.  Her internal organs are still healing and she is in a lot of pain, and is not even allowed to use her sewing machine for at least two more months.  She has a third follow-up appointment in about three weeks, and I will check on her progress again at this time.   Her spirits remain high, and she made sure to remind me to “Tell your friends I said hi!”

Thank you once again for your unbelievable support and touching donations.  Justine and Simon were incredibly surprised and grateful for your help.  Ever since they learned that this surgery really was going to be possible, they haven’t ceased to mention their wonder and their appreciation for the kindness of strangers.  When I left Togo, they gave me a letter for my friends and family, and I am attaching a photocopy (with a rough translation!) for you all.  They have always remained humble and thankful, and we all send you our sincere thanks.

Anna Harrison

Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, Togo 2007-2009

Simon and Justine's letter

“

December 27, 2009

TRANSLATION:

To our beloved friends and family of Anna :

We, Justine and Simon, ask you to accept our sincere thanks to everyone (Anna’s friends and sisters) who showed us their love and sent us their help during our moment of difficulty with Justine’s illness in sending us money for medical care.  We thank all her sisters and friends who became benefactors, not forgetting our sister and friend Rebecca.  May God reward you as you deserve!  We wish you an overwhelming thank you and may God bless you !

Justine and Simon

Update on Justine’s Surgery

Update on Justine’s surgery

Went to hospital in Afagnan, Simon and I and Vialley (who we asked to come stay at the hospital with Justine since Simon and I are not free to do so) waited for SIX HOURS , then Justine got handed a piece of paper and was told that she needed to go to Lome and BUY BLOOD at the blood bank and bring it herself back to Afagnan before Friday, then she herself will come back on Saturday and the surgery is scheduled for Monday.

“You know in AMERICA normal hospitals have their own blood on stock,” I hissed at the hospital personnel.   “What are we supposed to do now?  Ma yi asime, ma ple blood ? »  (I’m going to the market and I’m going to buy blood )    « This is the fishiest thing I’ve ever heard.  Afagnan is so far away and we spent so much money to come here today and now you want us to come back again? Fiafitowo.  Ma no fia.   Miapkoda.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t insult the doctors,” whispered Justine.

“Well, seriously, they couldn’t have told us this before?  You could have just come by yourself today and Vialley and I would have come next week when the surgery and now we’re all just going back to village now?  It’s so anticlimatic.  Look , I even made you a get well package with coloring books and French books and Uno and playing cards…”

So now… don’t even know if she and Vialley will be back from the hospital before I leave Togo!!!  Justine is in Lome now searching for the blood and has found it and is in Afagnan now, don’t know if she has left yet after successfully depositing it.    I’m frustrated because of the day we wasted yesterday and of the change in dates and also because I don’t know if I will free to go again to Afagnan…

OH TOGO TOGO .

(“Well,” I said later to Justine, who was very discouraged, “the good thing is I was here cause I’m not sure I would have believed you if I was in the States and you called me to tell me you needed to buy your own blood.”)

This is the last time I will be in Lome (i hope!!) before I leave village for good on the 28th.   I will leave village early on the 28th, and complete formalities with Peace Corps on the 28th and 29th.

New phone number…

Surgery Scheduled

Justine’s surgery is (tentatively) scheduled for the 15th, in Afagnanyan which is 2 hours on a moto, several hours by taxi , away.   She will probably be there 5 -7 days before coming home.

Odds and Ends…

Simon and Justine’s Thanks   (seconded by me)

I cannot write too much about the day I told Justine about the money.  Even thinking about this day reminds me too much of the emotion in her eyes and this is a delicate memory on which I cannot dwell too much.    The following lines must suffice:

“Justine!  We found the money!  More than enough!  It’s going to be OK…”

She sat without moving.  For a split instant I thought she had turned to stone.  We stared at each other for a while.

After a few moments she said with difficulty : “Je ne peux que dire merci.  Merci plus que le mot meme.  Merci ne suffit pas. » I only have my thanks and even my thanks cannot be enough.

“Justine, they all helped!  In two days! Isn’t that amazing?”

She nodded slowly and whispered: “What have I done to deserve such a gift? Where did this kindness come from? How wonderful people are! Merci mille fois.” Thank you a thousand times over.

Then, a few days later Simon called me into the house to talk to me privately.   Playing reflectively with a pen in his hands, he paused a moment, cleared his throat, and began:

“A few days ago you gave us some incredible news that has made my head spin and has profoundly touched my heart.  If, up to now, I or we have not expressed our thanks sufficiently, it is because I could not even comprehend at the moment what you were saying.  That I could not even dare to hope that what you were saying was true.

“What you have done for us, we can never repay you.  What you have done for us, not everyone would have done.   Not even someone in the family would necessary show the love you have shown towards us.   I ran into a friend the other day and told him briefly that your friends and family in America have all helped us.  He looked at me astounded and asked what did Iever do for you that you should give us such a miracle.  He said, too, and rightly so, that a fellow country man would never give money sight-unseen for a problem that does not concern him directly.    That you and your fellow Americans have shown us the generosity that we should all learn from, that we should show compassion to all of our brothers and sisters.

“I have known you for two years and I know your personality, that you hate to ask for favors.  But I also know you have taken our ‘problem of Justine’ very personally, that you were always thinking about it and that you were truly distressed by it.  And I am touched and overwhelmed by the depths of your feelings towards us, who have never been able to afford to give you anything, who have barely done anything for you.  So I know you hate to ask for favors, and I believe you when you say you did not ask your friends and family and Rebecca for this gift of money, and for that too I must thank them for their love that they showed you by giving without being asked.  But I also must thank you because you were the intermediary between them and us, like the Virgin Mary in Heaven.

“What I want to say to your friends and family is : What you all have done is love as God intended us to show towards our fellow man, one of the highest accomplishments of humanity, an inspiration in times of terrible sins and darkness, a light for us to follow in your examples of love towards your sister and love towards the people of Togo who have loved your sister.

“To have been burdened with the news of this problem, and to know there was no solution, was difficult.  And then to hear, suddenly, that the problem has been solved… I cannot describe the weight it lifted off my heart.   God is great and you  are all His angels.

“You all have given us something we can never repay.  To even say ‘thank you’ seems insulting because it cannot express the depths of our gratitude.  Thank you a thousand times. I can never cease to thank you my whole life, and even that will never be enough times. May God bless you.”

______________________________________

Music Project:

I am recording my church choir with my camera and then I am capturing the music with a program on my computer to make audio files so I can always have the music I have listened to for two years.  It is not the best quality but my camera sucks so that’s probably why.   I have already done 11 songs but then the batteries on my camera died.  I’m listening to the music right now on my iPod!

The only thing is it gives me chills just listening to it because I can hear all my friends’ individual voices and I know the first time I listen to it after leaving Togo will be very very difficult.   Just listening to Michel and Justine singing makes me sad already, like watching a video of someone who is already dead

I hope to finish this music project in the next couple weeks . For an impartial observer, the choir isn’t even that good, particularly if you’re not used to Togolese a capella singing (can sound tinny or off-key), but I know all these songs by heart after so many Masses and fetes .  Justine could not believe how many songs I kept humming to her so she could write down their names – over 25…)

_____________________________________________

Zidane et Meninha

The puppies are growing up fast much to everyone’s surprise and delight, and many random people have commented on how healthy and robust they are.  Probably because they get 2 meals a day (we even make pate just for them if there are no leftovers) and are showered with affection and attention.  I am learning many things about dogs that I didn’t even know I didn’t know !  (However, in the States, I think I’d like to adopt an adult dog and not a puppy.)   From 6am to about 8am there is a reign of terror as they joyfully greet us after a prolonged absence (they sleep outside) and run about excited about life.   This is also when they destroyed my iPod headphones, and they regularly hide my flipflops in different corners of the yard.  After this time frame, they conk out, or Justine will take them with her to her workshop (I don’t like to leave them alone locked up in my yard all day).  If I see that they are restless in the afternoon I will take them for a stroll.  Being rather social they follow me faithfully and are very responsive to voice commands (they do not use leashes). Except they can make me extremely nervous cause they don’t get out of the way when motocycles pass and I’m terrified they are going to cause an accident one day.   They are surprisingly smart and know what “Get out of the house!” “Go over there!” “Stop” and “Ok you can come in but stay by the door” means, although this must be from the tone of our voices since these commands are alternatively said in English, French, and Ewe, even by me  Again, being very social, at night they may cry, but at least they have each other and soon settle down, especially if I’ve tired them out by going for a walk.      Michel and Clement are gleefully counting down the days till the puppies are big enough to take hunting.   Since they are growing quickly, they are saying that November 15 is the Big Day.    (The bad part is that the chief is mortally afraid of dogs and hates my puppies who bark and want to greet him with wagging tails but since he’s afraid he thinks they are threatening him and he has already hit them once with a flashlight and so now they growl at him which just makes the problem worse… Unfortunately it looks like he might be installing his mistress in our compound so that means he will be often in my compound so hopefully the dogs just learn to leave him alone, but it’s a hard situation.)

_______________________________

“Work” and COS

I am slowly trying to wind down “work” projects in village in order to start preparing myself for the idea I’m leaving and to have enough time to do all the “one last time” things I want to do.   Last week was my last session at the collège as well as the Catholic primary school.  I am slowly phasing out my obligations at the other, my favorite, primary school, and as for the other two primary schools I never really started work there this school year aside from a computer training for 20 teachers a few weeks ago.

 

The only “work” that I think I will continue right till the very end is my meetings every Tuesday with the Catholic women’s group in order to practice conversational French.  Their growing motivation and pride and self-confidence is truly inspirational.  Even when I’m not there they will review the previous week’s lesson by themselves, and husbands have come up to me in the market to tell me : “Did you know that my wife is always trying to speak French to me now? She’s constantly practicing the new phrases you’ve taught them.”    Once when my program director came to visit us, she asked them “What will you do when Anna is not here?”  and they replied “We will keep on looking for a way to teach ourselves.  She has planted a seed that we will never let die.”  And another woman said : “I never used to come on time.  But then I saw how much Anna loves us, how everything she does for us comes from love.  And I saw how what she is teaching will also stay with us forever.  Now I come to the meetings, because I know that if she cares this much , it must be important.”

 

Over a month ago I walked 25 kilometers to Vogan and back with Michel (the result of a long-standing argument that I couldn’t accomplish this task); a lovely day but my big toe nail rebelled against walking such a distance in closed toe shoes (I wore my running shoes) and after hurting severely for a few days, suddenly turned black, and continues to turn various shades of either white , green, or black  (but no pain)….. Friends have started to gleefully remark “Maybe it will fall off soon.”  Anyway, I’m keeping an eye on its fascinating progress…

 

My COS date is December 29.  I will leave village on the 28^th.  My flight leaves early morning of the 30^th (the night of the 29^th), and I will spend a few days in France in the Burgundy region until January 4, and then I will fly to Florida arriving January 5.  All very exciting!!

 

_______________________________________

Vialle:  A Mystery in Four Parts

 

I.

Over a year ago I asked Viallé:  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

She hesitated a split second and then shook her head No.  We were at Justine’s atelier sitting on her porch.  Behind us, we could hear the whirring of the sewing machine.

I shrugged and left it at that, not thinking anything of it. Later she came to my house.

“What I said at my house – it wasn’t true.  I just didn’t want to talk about it front of Justine. Yes – there is a guy.  We’ve known each other forever.  He is in Lomé at the University.  But sometimes he phones me, or he might come back here for Christmas vacation.”

“That’s great but I don’t understand , why can’t we talk about this in front of  Justine?”

“Because – because she doesn’t like him.  She doesn’t think to think of us together.”

“Why doesn’t she like him?”

Viallé shrugged.  “I don’t know.  She just doesn’t. She just doesn’t like people that come from Apegnigbe.”

“But Simon comes from Apegnigbe.”

“She just says he comes from Apegnigbe.  She just doesn’t like him.”

 

II.

 

After my return from the States, Viallé approached me again.  “Do you remember –once we talked about a boy?”

Yes, I remember.

“He – he telephoned me to say ca ne peut pas marcher. It just isn’t working. That I should find someone else.”  And pain crossed her face.   “If he doesn’t reconsider – how can I ever bear it?”

I awkwardly offered the standard post-breakup comforts and condolences.  But she wasn’t done.

“He said that Justine went to his family and said that they must tell him to break it off with me.  She threatened them.  She said if they did not pressure him to end it with me, she would leave her husband.”

“But why?”

“She just doesn’t like him!” Viallé insisted.

“Viallé, I really think you should talk this over with her… Maybe ask her if it’s true… I’m sure there’s an explanation…”

Viallé shook her head stubbornly.  “She’ll just insult me or yell at me.”

And she didn’t say it, but I saw the thoughts cross her mind: I’ll never forgive her.

I wrote about this on my blog at the time, but knew that it was a matter in which I should not try to embroil myself.

 

III.

Many months later, I was curled up crosslegged on Justine’s armchair in her house, during a rainstorm that had caused a hasty entrance into her front room.  We were chatting amicably, and dancing around the subject of relationships.  I saw my chance.  “Doesn’t Kokoutsé have a girlfriend?” I said casually.  Justine said no, he hadn’t shown any interest in any one particular girl as far as she knew. Then I said even more casually: “And Viallé?”

Justine pressed her lips together scornfully and said “No!”  And then she hesitated. “Tu sais – it’s true there was a boy.  She wanted to be with this boy from Apegnigbe [like a suburb of my village]. But it was not good!”

“Why not?”

“Simon also comes from this quartier.  I’m already married to Simon.  It would be like marrying her brother if she marries someone who is connected to Simon.  In our culture we do not do this.  Two women cannot marry two brothers.”

And then she admitted it without shame: “I myself went to the boy’s family and told them that if they do not break it off, I would leave Simon and move back to my family’s house.  Viallé knows that what she is doing is not good.”  I did not say anything.  I did not even judge one side or the other, or ask why their stories differed.  Only I stored it away in my mind, and I thought the matter finished.

 

IV.

 

But there was more to the story.    A constantly evolving web of details and new information that shifts the tale, that brings new light and new reflections.  Many more months later, the tale continues to emerge, after a year and a half.

“Michel,” I asked as we started our walk to Vogan, “why does Viallé not seem to be very open towards her family, and especially towards Justine?”

“Why do you ask me that?”

“Well – Viallé went to Lomé for two weeks to try to pass a government exam and she didn’t even tell Justine why she went to Lomé.  I know Justine is hurt that Viallé doesn’t confide in her. It’s like there’s always tension between them.”

He sighed a little pensively.  “Moi aussi je vois ce que tu vois.  Between Justine and Viallé there is little love lost.  Viallé has often been like that towards her family, c’est son caractere d’etre un peu cachée. She herself has chosen which members of her family she will favor and love, and the others she ignores.  But between her and Justine is the worst. ….You know, there was something, perhaps, that has caused this divide.  There was a boy…”

“Oh I’m glad!” I interrupted.  “I have heard a little of this story but since Viallé told me in confidence, I could never bring it up to you.  Allez-y, tell me what you know.”

“You know that Justine’s father was opposed to Justine marrying Simon.” (Just yesterday Simon would recount to me how the day of their marriage, Justine’s father didn’t even come to the wedding, and telephoned family and friends to say that the wedding was cancelled and there was no point in coming to village now!  Thus many invited guests did not show up to the ceremony.  He also made Simon pay a dowry of over $400.)  “He was vehemently opposed to it.  And just till now this has created problems between Justine and her father, that have not yet been resolved.  But it also divided the family.  Because Justine’s mother was in favor of the marriage and she supported Simon’s suit,  the papa turned against her and said that it was her that encouraged this match.  And this created une grande division entre les deux. Even today, some years later, there are still problems between the mother and the father.

“And now this suitor of Viallé’s – he also comes from Apegnigbe.  And Justine and her brothers were frightened that if it continues the way it continued with Simon and Justine, that it will create another, bigger problem.  That Justine perhaps does not regret her marriage exactly, but she sees how divisive it was, and how another argument on this matter may completely break her family apart.”

“Viallé made it sound like it was Justine alone who opposed this match.”

Michel gave a snort of derision.  “It was not Justine alone.  It was everyone – her brothers too.  Emmanuel would come to me all the time, very distressed, and talk about it in circles – that if such a case came up in my family, what would I do?  How would I advise a friend?  And then later he admitted that it was him, his family, he was referring to.”

“Vous tous,” I muttered resentfully, “you two are best friends and he has to make up imaginary scenarios in order to ask your advice?”

He smiled because he knows that if it was me I would have been embarrassingly frank.  “I know, but in our culture we do not always speak openly about our problems.  Anyway, later he spoke openly about it, about how he was trying to advise Viallé, about how all her brothers were pushing her to not encourage this relationship, to think of the pain it will cause her mother, to look at the divide it has caused in the family, to leave it be before it is too late.   It is not Justine who has caused the breakup between Viallé and her suitor.  They were all against it, and Emmanuel was very unhappy and anxious about the situation.   I don’t know why Viallé has chosen to pin all the blame on Justine.”

I said:  “Justine said it was because they were loosely related.   And also, Viallé refused to discuss it with Justine.  She said she would only be insulted.”

“Justine would have reason to insult her!  Viallé has placed her family’s tranquillity in danger.   And perhaps it is true that the two men are loosly related, but that is not the real reason… I know the boy.  C’est un bon homme– we were at school together.  It’s true that eventually he would make a fine husband for Viallé.  But she knew before starting this relationship that it was a bad idea.  I know what you are trying to say, that if she has truly fallen in love, that it will be hard for her to let him go.  But Anna, this relationship started when we were at college (middle school) together!  That is already over six years ago! She should have stopped it before it went this far, before she found herself too much involved.  She always knew that it could not end well, but she hung on stubbornly.  I know that in your culture you marry for love despite any problems, even without the permission of your parents.  Moi aussi I could not marry a woman I do not love.  But before falling in love, you must think of the pain you will cause your parents.  Is the pain you cause your parents worth the joy of loving someone else?  Il faut mieux de rester seule en place de detruire ta famille. It is better to remain alone rather than to destroy your family.”

 

Some other updates

• My COS date is December 29 , 2009 !!
• Thank you to everyone who has sent packages , letters, etc.   While I would never tell you NOT to send anything, keep my COS date in mind .   The things that I will continue to need are batteries and eating stuff, but everything else (craft items etc)  I will not be requesting more of.    (I do not need any more Crystal Lite!)  However if you see something that would start to make great goodbye gifts for ppl in my village, let me know.  That is mainly what I’m going to be looking for .  In particular,  I was thinking some nice goodbye presents would be photos, so if anyone wants to volunteer to print off photos (that I would have to designate ahead of time) let me know.  I would pay you back, of course.  :-)  In particular, the kids from the Easter play keep on asking for the group photo I took of them ! Whoops   I was also thinking a nice present for Justine and Simone would be making a photo book of all the photos of us together over the two years…    Anyway again, THANK YOU for all the packages and gifts !!!
• Update on Justine :  THANK YOU guys so much for helping me out with money for Justine’s medical visits.  We went to the hospital and got all the tests / analyses done with this money.   The results are that yes, a surgery is necessary to remove the fibromes.  She will never have children if she does not have this surgery.  This past week, she began to suffer from debilitating cramps, that continued even after she was done menstruating, that basically knocked her bedridden .  The only thing that would control the pain was the Vicodin left over from my January surgery that I ended up giving to her.  The cramps are better now.   She went to a clinic in village but they couldn’t help her much since their pain medication is not as strong;  they said that this complication is a result of the fibromes and will never be healed unless she has the surgery.   The surgery will cost about 150,000 CFA, or USA$300.   That is a little under Simon’s annual salary.  I think Simon could find about 50,000 which leaves 100,000 ($200) to find.  Hopefully I will be able to budget well enough that I can contribute something to this need by the time I leave.  :-(
• I thought I was getting replaced, but the person who was supposed to replace me, ET’d.   SO now, all the work I was doing to set up good relationships with directors/teachers in my schools, etc., ever since the beginning of the school year, will have been a waste!   It’s extremely disappointing and somewhat frustrating.   Also, I had been hoping to sell the items in my house to the replacement and give this money to Justine, so now I’ve lost a source of income so to speak.

Introducing

Meet Zidane  and Meninha, my two Mistakes as I’ve christened them.

Meninha and Zidane

Zidane is the black male and Meninha is the beige female.

Zidane was an impulse buy for which I blame Justine entirely ; she saw me playing with him and said “ I had no idea you liked puppies this much, just go ahead and buy him.”  So I did.  But I left him with the owner for a week cause I was going to be in Lome for Take Our Daughters to Work Week.   Lo and behold, on my return, there were TWO puppies at my house.   I was sitting on my porch cradling my head in my hands, whimpering “Two dogs?  Two dogs?  I cannot have two dogs.”   Justine explained that Zidane’s owner had refused to give her the correct amount of change back so she took the second dog as collateral, so to speak, in order to guarantee her money.   “But now,” she said, looking at me hopefully, “we can’t separate them.  They’ll cry too much.  They should stay together.”   “Justine.  We. Cannot. Have. Two. Dogs.  One was a terrible enough mistake as it was.  I’m leaving in three months.”

But, being a sucker, both dogs have stayed and are wreaking havoc on my life….  Justine’s family has been very cooperative, letting me bring them over to Justine’s workshop if I want to hang out … Adjo thinks they are living dolls and carries them around like babies….

A bunch more photos of the pups can be found at the normal site, as well as another album of photos from Take Our Daughters to Work Week (sept 28 – oct 2)

Are We There Yet?

Photos (and lots of them!) of this trip can be found at the normal link!

[Note:  Because I have already spent two days in Grand Popo and Ouidah, I do not talk very much about them here.  This is not to say that we did not have a great time relaxing on the beach!]

The last night in Grand Popo, Benin, we lit them on the beach, watching the lights flicker and running away from the fuses laughing.  Huddled on the dune in the darkness we fought the ocean wind and talked about Togo, about Peace Corps, about Life.   Some of us were continuing on the voyage.  Others were not even close to COSing.  Others were COSing but returning to Lome the next day.

And then we noticed something.   One of us, running down to the water’s edge , began to cry out : “Look! What is it ?”

Underneath our feet , where the sand was damp from the outgoing tide, exploded thousands of tiny stars, sparkles that marked where our sandals trod and lingered there for merely a second before fading. We ran backwards to see the miniscule explosions on the sand, and walked forward bent over to examine the sand, to try to see what was happening.

“Sand fairies,” said some.

“Fallen stars,” said others.

No, just phytoplankton.   But it was enough for us that night, a lovely , smug reminder by nature that while we had been amusing ourselves with sparklers and firecrackers , she had been putting on her own show all along.

The next day we traveled to Cotonou…  A city far more developed than Lome.  The others laughed at my subdued expression.  “I don’t understand.  Why are there dividers?  Where are the sandy roads?” And finally : “Wait a second… WHY is Togo far behind its neighbors?”   (The ensuing discussion will have to wait until I am not longer representing the US Govt.)

Zemi-jans are everywhere in Cotonou, much more than in Lome. In Lome, you can always find a taxi vehicle to take you where you want to do, in addition to being hassled by moto drivers.  In Cotonou, cars are next to impossible to find.  Even PCVs in Cotonou have universal moto privileges, unlike us PCVs in Togo.

For this reason, we asked the driver who had brought us from Grand Popo to Cotonou, if, since the other passengers were all getting off, he wanted to take us to a bus station and we would pay the extra.  It seemed like a good idea at the time;  I have often employed this strategy in Lome and chauffeurs jump at the chance to pick up extra fares.

“What station do you want to go to ?”

“We think it’s called SMTB – we have to go make reservations for our trip to Niger tomorrow.”

“Well,” he replied thoughtfully, “I don’t know where it is, but we’ll ask.  We’ll give it a try.”

This is where the plan severely deviated from the normal strategy.  In Lome, asking around generally tends to get you results pretty quickly, and both the passenger and the driver are happy.  This time in Cotonou however was another story…..

First the driver asked a couple people on the street who spoke in local language and pointed in various directions.  Each time he stopped to ask, he was told different instructions.  We were finally directed to Zongo, the Muslim quartier.  (All Muslim quartiers, it seems, are called Zongo.)  We pulled into the taxi station there and asked again.   The drivers there nodded their heads.  “Oh yes – for Niger?  That bus station is in Zongo, all right.  But it’s a little hard to find.  Here – I’ll jump in with you.”

We were now 3 American girls, one driver, and an unasked-for “guide” who was clearly expecting a tip at the end of the trip.  Resigned to the situation we continued on .  The “guide” did not seem to be very confident.  He directed us to a remote part of the city, then started to say “Oh, that’s right, they’ve moved offices.  That’s why I can’t find it.”

We pulled up in front of a bus station – but it wasn’t the right one.  This bus also went to Niger, true, but it was notorious for safety violations and discomfort; rumor had it that Benin PCVs weren’t even allowed to take this bus.  We hesitated.  Time was ticking against us – we didn’t even know if this SMTB bus existed any more, and we need to make a decision soon.  We decided to keep going though.

The second station grudgingly told us where SMTB was, and we started off again.  It was “just around the corner”.  We let out a cheer when we saw the bus parked in an alley.

“You guys start unloading the bags — I’ll run in and see if there’re tickets!” A. said .   She left at a happy pace.  Minutes later, she returned , laughing, and following another man somewhat helplessly.

“No, this isn’t the station,” she said.  “It’s the garage for repairing the bus.”

The man that she had been following confirmed this.  “But the real station office is around here. I’ll show you.”  And with that he seated himself in our taxi.

“No!  Now WAIT a minute,” said N.  “Why are there now THREE of them and three of us to find this stupid station?  Why do we need three guides?  Let’s get rid of the second one, he’s creepy and annoying.”

While we all agreed on the creepiness and annoyingness of the second man we were obliged to cram back in our (by now crowded taxi) and keep going.

We arrived at yet another bus station where they were loading the bus….. only to find out that this wasn’t the right station either.  Tempers were starting to grow short, frustrations rising.

Finally, finally, we arrived at the SMTB station, where we found out there were indeed spots left on tonight’s bus that would leave at 2am.   We bought our tickets, and with some hesitation left our bags in the office till that evening.   We then were informed that the Benin Peace Corps office was also located in Zongo.

“This is perfect! Can you just drop us off there?” we demanded our patient and long suffering driver.  He nodded.  The third man left us but the second one came along for the ride again.

“I remember where it is,” said A.  “Ok, here’s good, we can get out here.”

We paid our driver, giving him extra for all his work and patience (whereupon the second “guide” began to demand his present too).  He took the money with thanks  and drove off.  We rounded the corner to the Peace Corps building….

“Wouldn’t it be the end to a ridiculous morning if the PC headquarters had moved?” one of us said.

Which it had.  We stared at the empty building.  Peace Corps Headquarters should not, in our opinion, be allowed to change locations.  It’s highly inconvenient.

In short, several hours after arriving in Cotonou, hot, tired, incredibly thirsty, and definitely hungry, three dusty and mildly vagabond-ish PCVs arrived at the PC office to say hello to our former Togo country director, who is now country director of Benin.  She very graciously allowed us to stay at her house until midnight that evening , giving us a delicious dinner and a precious opportunity to nap and shower.  Thanks Brownie!

That night around midnight we arrived back at the station in Zongo with our tickets in hand.  We had been told to show up before 12am although the bus wasn’t schedule to leave until 2am.

The station consisted of an outdoor courtyard with a bus idling in a corner and mattresses in a corner for general use.  For a while, we were the only women, and the object of some speculative looks.    We took two mattresses between the three of us and dragged them to a quiet corner to get comfortable.

N.  immediately lay down to sleep and covered herself from head to toe with her pagne, like an Egyptian mummy.  “I’m telling you guys, COVER UP,” she insisted. “This isn’t Lome anymore.”

An unexpected weight caused our heads to swivel to the side, to behold a (somewhat idiotically) grinning young man who had appeared from nowhere and had plopped down on his knees on the edge of our mattress , appearing very much like a Jack-in-the-box.  Obsessed with this simile , I began to giggle and became quite useless in the situation.

“Bon soir—“ the intruder began.

A.  has no problem telling people when she is uncomfortable.  “Bon soir.  Attendez .  Wait.  What are you doing on our mattress ?  Please get off.”

“My friends and I wanted to say hello—“

“You can say hello standing up. Please leave.  Goodbye. I don’t like you here.  Bye bye.”

“Maybe you’re married—“

“No—“

“Oh – nuns, maybe?”

I muttered:  “Yes!  Nuns! Perfect excuse!  Let’s leave it at that.”

But by now A.  wasn’t necessarily paying attention to what she was saying. Agitated, she replied, “No, I’m not a nun.  I’m single – but I’m still for God.  Je suis celebataire mais je suis pour Dieu. OK au revoir ! »

I was in hysterics as the quite baffled and confused Jack-in-the-box stumbled to his feet and left.

“What does that even mean?!? ‘I’m single but I’m for God’?”

“I don’t know , I panicked.”

N.  roused herself enough to say , “I told you guys to cover up.  I’m blaming it all on Anna,” pointedly looking at my V-neck tshirt.  And prompty went back to sleep.

We lay back and stared at the stars.  Sounds of the Muslim quartier drifted over to us.  We waited for 2am to arrive.

Finally, we were allowed to board the bus.  We promptly claimed seats in the back and stretched out across their length under our pagne and went back to sleep…

…Till about four hours later when we noticed the bus had stopped so we descended for a potty stop.  There followed an unfortunately incident of having to poop in a deserted public marketplace that hadn’t yet woken up, the less said about this the better.

The rest of the day passed with making friends with women on the bus (the bus was about the size of a Greyhound bus, but probably about fifteen passengers were on board) , trying to nap, timing our intake of water with the next scheduled stop (becoming masters of relieving ourselves behind random objects ), playing cars, and staring out the window…..  We were traveling all the way up into northern Benin, and the trip to Niamey the capital of Niger was scheduled to be about 20 hours.   Scheduled to be, that is.

About 3pm , twelve hours after leaving Cotonou, we were minding our own business when the ground suddenly seemed to spring up at us.  We watched, frozen, as the bus tipped onto its left wheel for a few frightening minutes, and we realized that the bus was about to tip over completely.  Then, miraculously, it rightened and did not fall, and veered off the road across the ditch and into a cornfield, coming to a stop firmly entrenched in the mud.

We descended warily. The drivers (there were two, or maybe it was one and his apprentice) began to work on the wheel.  The five or six women on the bus (plus 2 infants) crossed the road to shelter from the sun under a tree.  There were one or two farmers nearby who gave us mats to sit on.

And so we waited.

And waited.

Obsessed by the memory of my trip to the States when my luggage was delayed and I had been without underwear or clean clothes for two days, I had insisted on bringing a small backpack on the bus with me ; we ended up being extremely grateful for my supply of toilet paper, toothpaste, face wash, deodorant, and other small comforts that help one feel somewhat decent after spending the night on a  bus, which is what we ended up doing.  We sat on the mats under the tree for several hours; we watched the first truck come and try and drag the bus out (it was no longer “broken down”, it was fixed, they just couldn’t get it out of the mud!); then several hours later we watched the second truck come and the chain break !  The second truck left, and the driver of the bus said, “He’ll be back, he’s going to repair the chain.”  We were still holding out hope that the bus would on the road again that night but as darkness fell we began to see that this would not come to pass.  A family of farmers took pity on us and brought us a small amount of food, enough to keep the hunger pangs away and more than enough to make us grateful for the kindness of strangers.  The men kept their distance from us, sitting calmly on the side of the road, or saying their evening prayers, or looking glumly at the bus.    We began to fall asleep outside, but some of the Muslim women began to complain and insisted we all enter the bus to be safer.    So we found ourselves once again stretching out on the seats; but the night was not so comfortable, because even though the night air was cool under the stars, inside the bus which had been in the heat all day it was stifling and uncomfortable.  I tried to sleep with my head hanging out the window the bus.

The next morning we woke up, hungry, thirsty, sore.   N.  stayed behind and A. and I started to walk to the nearest town a few kilometers away.  We stocked up on drinking water and found breakfast (and brought some back for N of course).

At about 10am, eighteen hours after the bus had its accident, a truck finally succeeded in pulling it out of the ditch onto the road and we were off again!  An entire day behind schedule, but grateful for the cheerful and helpful attitudes of all the passengers, the driver, and passers-by…

Niger and Niamey were still so far away….

Finally, Wednesday evening (we had left Grand Popo on Monday night!), we arrived in Niamey.  Where I was ecstatic to see camels carrying loads of straw or other material in the streets !

Our first day in Niamey we got Malian visas for A and N and went to a museum and we also went silver shopping.  Silver is AMAZING in Niger.  I spent a lot of money and yet, back in Togo, I’m regretting I didn’t buy more, because it is so beautiful.   We also saw the Grand Mosque and other sights.    The second day we went to Kouré and found giraffes!!!   WALKING AMONGST GIRAFFES was so surreal ; we were so lucky too to see as many as 17.

On Saturday we took an early bus to leave Niger for Burkina Faso.  Yet another bus journey… By now traveling seemed so routine….

Arriving in Ouaga, the capital of Burkina, we  visited some artisanal centers, but I was quite preoccupied with the problem of how to get back to Togo.  My COS Conference was scheduled to start the 1^st.   But it was only upon getting to Ouaga that we found out that the bus leaving for Lome direct had already left and wouldn’t leave again till  Thursday.

This left one alternative:  Take a small bus to the Burkina-Togo border, and then bush taxi it all the way down to Lome by myself (A and N were continuing on to Mali and Morocco) .

Which is what I did.  A terrifying, sometimes amusing experience, never ever to be repeated if I can help it.  I left Ouga at 7am and arrived in Lome at 8am the next day, traveling nonstop through the night (idiotic) in a taxi crammed with 20 people, half of whom were part of the Rael cult (Google it) and perhaps the next blog post will have further details of this harrowing journey…

For now, have a great weekend everyone – I’m off to a PCV gathering in Kpalime.  Monday through Friday I will helping at a seminar called “Take Our Daughters To Work” that PCVs have organized for girls in the Maritime region to encourage the girls to stay in school…

Camp Espoir photos

I’m uploading the photos from Camp Espoir 2009 right now !  Check them out at the normal link under “July ’09 -mainly Camp Espoir”

Updates 8.14.09

Communication Problems

So a lot of you have probably figured out that communicating with me has been difficult lately. This is because 1) the wireless internet in the PC lounge has not been working ; 2) the electricity has been getting cut all day in Vogan so when I go there I can’t use the internet; AND 3) my cell phone service provider was shut down by the government due to tax evasion or something. I got a new cell phone service provider, but the reception is spottier in village. Anyway the new number is 9106403.….

Travel Plans

Beginning on August 22, I will be traveling with two COS-ing PCVs on the first part of their COS trip. Unfortunately, I must be back in Lome by September for my own COS conference, so I will have to cut much of the adventuring short. But I am still looking forward to it. First we are going to go to Benin, including back to Grand Popo and Ouidah, and then we will go to Cotonou, and then transit up to Niamey(Niger). From Niamey we will make our way to Burkina Faso; my friends will continue onto Mali, and I will somehow figure out how to get back to Lome in less than two days by myself.

The COS conference will run from Sept 1 to Sept 4 (return to village the 5^th) and there is internet at the hotel so hopefully I’ll be able to share details from the trip at this time. The COS Conference is for everyone who became a PCV in December 2007. During this time we will decide what dates we are leaving Togo, begin discussing our accomplishments and comments about the past two years, and start to process that for most of us, we will soon be RPCVs. I can’t really even think about it right now.

And The Last Miracle…

In the last post I shared that Kokoutse and Akou passed their exams. On July 22^nd the results of the BAC II were announced. I was in Pagala at Camp Espoir and was on pins and needles the whole day. At 11pmthat night my phone lit up. It was a missed call from Michel. I called him back, beginning to feel sick from nerves.

“Anna, today they announced the results.”

“Yes…. And?”

“And….  Ca va.”

It’s alright? What? One of the greatest accomplishments of your life so far and all you’re going to say is ‘It was ok’? Sometimes Togolese modesty about things I consider important makes me quite angry.

“What do you mean, ca va? What does that mean?” I demanded, wanting to make him say it out loud.

“It means we passed. I passed. So did Emmanuel. We have our BAC. We succeeded.”

There was a long silence. Finally I said, “I have no words. I can’t say anything right now.”

“What do you mean you can’t say anything? You talk too much all the time and for once you can’t say anything?” he mocked.

“I just can’t. Later. Just – congratulations. Bon travail. You know that I’m so proud of you guys. Bon travail. That’s all I can say.”

He laughed, and I could hear from his joy what a terrible strain they’d been living under for the last month, dreading and yet wanting to know the results of the exam. “Bonne nuit then. Merci.”

And when I hung up the truth finally sunk in and I was overwhelmed with so much happiness that I cried, tucked in under my mosquito net, and couldn’t even sleep well that night – excitement kept waking me up, because I knew that if they had failed they would have possibly abandoned their studies, and that now, no matter what happens, they have one of the most coveted diplomas in Togo. Granted, it’s high school, and sure, a bachelor’s is even more desirable, but with the BAC they now possess the minimum to get a sort-of good job, they have a minor qualification that will let them leave village, they won’t be stuck in the fields or driving taxi motos all their lives (if they’re lucky)…. And suddenly I thought : “This means I can go home, because now I know that everything will be okay.”

I am so proud of them, my friend-brothers, and wanted to share with you all their joy and their reward for over four years of struggling to survive in a school system that fails more easily than it lets people succeed.

Fika

Fika continues to do well even though I have not talked about him recently! Yes he is still alive and well. He has transformed into quite an endearing character, still totally different from Akoko but lovable in his own way. He has never curled up on my lap or snuggled during the day, but at night he is quite happy to stay in the house with me and always sleeps in the nest formed by my legs, purring madly; in the morning, no matter how hungry he is, he will not leave the bed until I put my feet on the floor. Once he is on the ground he quickly turns into his “daylight” personality: meowing even though he is quite a picky eater, refusing any public displays of affection, etc. At night he waits underneath the table while Justine and I eat , or plays with the shadows; the exact moment I rise to open my gate and go back to my own house next door, Fika dashes through the open gate to wait for me on the porch, swishing his tail bossily. He very rarely enters Justine’s house, and has never slept over there, unlike Koko. But he will hang out outside her house with us, and begs for table scraps. I am not sure how he will fare when I leave.

Akou and Lome

As promised, I took Akou to Lome for the day. I took her to the Peace Corps volunteer lounge, to the office to greet our directress, to the beach to see the ocean, and to the grand marche to browse and buy her shoes (her request). We had such a great day together, and when she came back to village she would not stop chattering away to her family about everything she had seen. I was so proud of her and kept telling Justine and her other sisters, “Listen – Akou will turn out just fine in this world. She was so polite to everyone but so confident – she would be so firm with sellers in the market who were hassling us!” And it was me who spent a lot of money (unfortunately the pagne sellers can always sucker me into buying some new fabric)  – even though I had already openly promised to buy her shoes, it was Akou who was hesitant every time we stopped before a market stall, ducking her head even as her hands loving stroked the sandals, whispering, “But, Davi Anna, they’re expensive! Let’s just keep looking!” (If it was Adjo, the little imp, she would have been blatantly demanding everything in sight.) Now she proudly wears her new shoes – ugly black heels with a glittery fake diamond heart; I hate them but she’s in love with them and they’re “village chic” – every Sunday at church. It was a joy to see her excitement at seeing the “big city” of Lome or the huge waves on the beach or the bustle and craziness of the Grand Marche. Later I would overhear her giggling as she re-enacted for her family how “Davi Anna spoke Ewe to beggar kids who were bothering us and they didn’t know to react!”

Camp Espoir

Camp Espoir 2009 for the Maritime region was July 20 – 25. As you all may remember, I was one of the regional organizers. 2 regional organizers + 6 other PCVs + 10 Togolese counterparts (all staff or volunteers of 2 AIDS organizations in Lome) + 50 Orphans and Vulnerable Children (children eitheraffected by or infected by HIV ) = an exhausting week but still (along with last year’s Camp Espoir 2008) one of my favourite memories of Peace Corps Togo. This year went a lot more smoothly than last year, aside from the normal minor glitches that come with running a week long camp for fifty kids, and I am very proud of the work that Natasha and I have been doing since February, building up good relationships with the NGOs, etc. Camp Espoir almost didn’t happen because of lack of funding but in the end it all turned out ok. I hope to post photos soon; they are all organized on Picasa but the last time I was inLome my laptop was not connecting to the internet so couldn’t upload them.

Frustrations

Sometimes there are overwhelming frustrations that might seem so small if I try to describe them but when I’m in the moment they seem so big.  Even now trying to put them down on paper I can’t seem to articulate well.

July 14 2009 : Requiem for a Husband // Anna, Ton Mari Est Mort

Simon was standing in the doorway playing with his phone thoughtfully. I tossed over a careless remark as I started to open my gate. Where had he been – visiting the President? Non. I was at the chief’s house. Il y avait un evenement malheureuse. An unhappy event. 

The Togolese are masters of understatement.

Ah bon? I paused, looked at him expectantly. He sighed and put his phone away and told me the youngest of the chief’s two sons was dead, that there had been an motorcycle accident in Lome. That the chief had rushed off to Lome this morning.

The chief’s son was 22 years old. On Thursday he learned that he had passed all his final exams at the university and now possessed his license (bachelor’s degree). Most 22 year old boys in village haven’t finished high school yet. On Sunday night he was killed.

That night at dinner, as we made plans to all go together to the chief’s house in Lome to participate in the formal condolence calls (then I would leave and Simon and Justine would stay for the two or three days of funeral rites), I kept on thinking of a single, incredibly tactless and trivial detail. When I was in the States, it had become part of a joke to talk about how my chief wanted me to marry his son. That he had hinted , or perhaps it was my imagination, that perhaps if his son returned to village he would invite me over to meet him. We tossed around the joke throughout the month of my visit. And I couldn’t help thinking My expected husband is dead. We were just joking about him a few months ago. He is dead.

It ran through my head like a refrain all through the evening, and into the morning as well. And I kept kicking myself, scolding myself, for thinking something so odd, for fixating on something that was so trivial and above all so self-absorbed and so trite.

I was still thinking about it as we arrived at the chief’s house. And the first thing he said to me was: Anna, ton mari est mort. And I thought: He too remembered that he had once hinted to me. (He then proceeded to explain to Justine all he had had planned for me and his son.)

At the chief’s house there were dozens of plastic chairs set out in the courtyard to receive all the visitors who trickled in and out throughout the morning. We seated ourselves quietly and waited. Members of the household took turns greeting the guests and asking their names, presumably to inform the bereaved in case there was anyone they especially wanted to see. If not, it was our duty simply to support them with our presence while they grieved in the interior of the house. The chief came out and sat down before me and Simon and Justine. We went through the traditional salutations. He grasped my hand and said : I am grateful you have come.

And he began to recount, as he would a hundred times throughout the day, somewhat formally, the story of how his life had changed in an instant. How the son had taken the motorcycle out at night, after the rain, to deliver a request for a Mass of thanks to the priest, to give thanks for his success at university; how his father had called him on the telephone and how he had replied “I’m coming! I’ll be home soon!” And how after that, he was never heard from again. How the mother began to pray as it got later and later. How the car had rammed into the motorcycle, cleaving it into two; the son was not wearing a helmet. How the thieves came and took his son’s clothes, ID documents, phone, leaving him there on the road next to the lagoon. Was he already dead when the vultures that we call men stole even his shoes? Or did he only die later, when passers-by tarried too long to carry him to a hospital, fearful of a new law that says in case of accident no one should leave the scene until the police arrive? How the father went finally to a hospital and the doctors refused to tell him what happened; and by their refusal he knew what had happened; how he asked to see his son and they refused; and finally when they told him that his son was dead how they had to hold him up by his shoulders as he screamed and struggled and demanded to see his son. Je veux voir mon fils. Je veux voir mon fils. 

And the chief leapt up from his chair and began to pace up and down the courtyard muttering in Ewe, every so often bursting into song, which made his comrades wince and his followers take his elbow soothingly, trying to calm him, and he began to cry out again : Je veux voir mon fils. I want to see my son. Finally he went out of sight behind the house but his cries could still be heard. Justine was by this time part of the group that was trying to console him. Simon and I stayed seated. Even I, who had never even met the young man, was overwhelmed by the awful sight of sorrow. Besides me, stoic sarcastic stubborn Simon dropped his head to his folded arms on his knees and discreetly wiped away tears.

The scene continued like this for some time. The chief would calm down and return to move his chair to in front of newly arrived callers, to accept their greetings and condolences. And then he would remember the death all over again and began to cry out and walk and try to leave the house or to sing and desperately try to call on God. I want to see my son.

Eventually I took my leave. Before being allowed to do so, we were summoned to enter the house, to meet the dead man’s mother, who just till now had been able to leave her room to greet the guests. We entered the room. There were one or two elderly lying on couch beds, as if the effort had finally overtaken them; Let me just rest here a moment, dear, and then I’ll be ready to face it all. Just let me rest, dear. Don’t try to wake me, for them I will know for sure this is no passing dream.

I had never met the chief’s wife who lives in Lome. I had only ever heard her described as “A very great lady”, a school teacher, the love of the chief’s wife (despite the rumored 20-something-year old mistress in village), an iron willed Catholic. And she once was, and will be again. But not today. Today she was sitting, leaning into the corner of her armchair, half draped over the arm, leaning into the sympathetic arms of a old French man, clinging to his hands between her two and staring at him as he murmured his condolences. She looked like Michaelangelo’s Pieta. Merci. Merci beaucoup, she nodded.  At last she turned to us and began again to recant the story of her son’s death. An elderly woman roused herself and came up to her, whispering in Ewe that she must eat, she must keep strong, she should nourish herself to keep through the day…. The mother nodded wearily. The chief wandered brokenly into the room. Voila ma femme. C’est notre volontaire du Corps de la Paix.

This is my brother-in-law, he said, gesturing to the old French man. He is married to my sister. The Frenchman beamed at me as much as the occasion permitted and announced rather randomly, J’ai une petite metisse a la maison. 

The chief suddenly leaned over the back of his wife’s chair, smothering her with his hands across her face, laying his head on her breast, whimpering and clinging to her. She put a hand up to his arm. But her eyes were vacant. There is a reason why it is the woman Mary’s grief that is portrayed and not Jesus’ male brothers. Simon and Justine looked at the ground. In the face of such tragedy there is always awkwardness; I wondered if they were also embarrassed at such blatant public shows of affection in a society where villages and rural environments are still quite modest and coy and hypocritically outwardly chaste.

Thank you for your visit, she said with dignity. There is evening prayer tonight, and then tomorrow is the funeral at our parish church. Thank you for your visit.

That night, returning, I knew that I would have to put it all down on paper, and soon, before I lost the details although for the moment I felt I could never forget. But not now. Not yet. And in the darkness of a cloudy starless sky I played through every piece of sheet music I had, and every note I played was my own personal eulogy ; sending my prayers up to God with music that up to now I’d always stumbled through. I slept badly ; everytime I woke it was to stare at the ceiling and hear again and again those terrible words : Je veux voir mon fils!