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!

SMALL BLESSINGS

Small Blessings

• Don’t forget new photos are up
• “Empowering Young Women to Initiate Change” was a training I found online at the YWCA that I did over the course of 4 days in June at the collège with all the girls in 4eme (9^th grade?).  There were 42 girls, although we lost about half of those by the fourth day, due to conflicts in the school schedule and also to the increasingly ambivalent attitude of both students and teachers towards attendance (all exams are done a month before school is officially over, so kids don’t have any motivation to come to school cause it’s their exam grades that count, so most villages treat it as unofficial vacation time and even expect the kids not to attend school).  The themes were :  HIV/AIDS, Economic Justice, Human Rights, and Sexual/Reproductive Health.  By the end of the second day I changed stuff around according to the girls’ interests and abilities, so we ended up doing activities on HIV/AIDs; learned how to make banana fritters to sell as an income generating activity; learned how to do a feasibility study and budget money; and lots of reproductive health.  And for some reason I’m drawing a blank on what I did the third day but that’s ok .  Anyway, it didn’t go too badly, and I loved the reproductive health day – it was the ONLY time the girls took notes , they were fascinated, although they were too shy to ask questions, unfortunately.  It was great to finally just to something only with the girls and to see how they appreciate that.  It also helped me get over a little bit of the discouraged slump I’ve been going through.   Some of the male students at the collège are also asking for a  training of their own , but I’m worried about fitting it in because I’m busy with Camp Espoir and also because of the aforementioned attendance problems I don’t really feel like preparing a training and then have no one show up.  So I’ll think about it and decide this week.  School officially ends on July 17, so there are 2 weeks left.

• My birthday fete was great! We had it on the 24^th so that all the school exams were over so that everyone could participate.  We had rice and wagash (fresh real cheese… it’s sort of like mozzarella?) in a yummy tomato sauce.  I played togolese music on my ipod with speakers and Justine presented me with a pagne skirt for a present and a birthday card!

• * AKOU PASSED HER CEPD EXAM !! This means she will continue on to collège next year as a 6eme student, and that no matter what happens in her life, she has an actual diploma to justify her eduction.  As you know, I love both Akou and Adjo, in different ways due to their age differences; but Akou and I have a special bond (probably due to her age – looking for a big sister substitute?) and so when I heard that she had succeeded I was overwhelmed with pride and joy.  It was Michel who came to my house and told me that both Akou and his little sisters had passed; Michel has put even more effort than I have into tutoring this group of little girls.  He told me first; but when I saw Akou the next day I pretended not to know.  She kept looking at me out of the corner of her eye and couldn’t contain herself.  When at last I asked her, she tried to give the customary, Togolese response of nonchalance, “Oh ca va….” (meaning yes) but couldn’t quite pull it off:  a big grin spread across her face and she hooked her arm through mine as she said it and instantly leaned in for the embraces she knew I would shower her with.  Now she has begun to insist on that fieldtrip to Lomé (she’s never been) that I promised her as a treat this summer; hopefully we’ll go sometime next week, just her and I, to the beach and the grand marché and the Peace Corps bureau and buy ice cream and talk about how she should keep on going, right on through lycée …. Her older sister, Viale and Justine’s younger sister who attends high school in Lome, just passed her BAC I exam too, so she only has one more year/exam to pass (the BAC II).  I am still waiting on the BAC II for Michel and Emmanuel, they should be hearing really soon, and I have a huge ball of dread in my stomach due to the realities of the education system and corruption and just life in general here; that chances are they have not passed, and I am not sure if they will accept to repeat another year again ….
• On another positive note, the day after I found out about Akou, I found out that KOKOUTSE PASSED THE BEPC which means he has finished collège and will enter lycee in Vogan next year!!!  Again, I was so excited and felt like hugging the entire village.  I bought him and his best friend Coca Colas at one of the buvettes in village.  The BEPC is a major stumbling block in rural Togo, and many kids after they fail it will not return to school because they can’t be bothered to repeat 3eme again just to take the national exam.  But the BEPC is the key to continuing lycee and to getting the BAC II (another near-impossible feat) and without BAC II it is hard to find any sort of “real” work (not that the jobs are there anyway, but that’s another conversation…)   Anyway, the week that I found out that so far three people in Justine’s family have passed their exams was an extremely happy week for me.  Like I said, hopefully we’ll hear about michel and emmanuel’s results soon !  (Although I’m scared.)

• The night of my birthday fete I had to take a bush taxi from hell to get back to village, …. Long story but it involved the rains, 35 ppl in a 15-place vehicle, flooded roads, breaking down, etc etc… Not the point right now. As we were entering the taxi, I slid over next to the gear stick next to the driver; I’m used to sitting this way with slanted legs and turned body.  Michel said: “Anna, no.  Get out.  I’ll sit there.”  At first I thought he was just being mildly chivalrous – sitting closer to the window is more coveted and I thought he was assuming that I would be mad at my seat placement.  I started to assure him that no, I was used to sitting like this.  Michel shook his head.   “No – you’ll have to squeeze even more.  They want to put three people there.  Let me sit first.”  So now because we were so squeezed in , Michel was obligated to practically sit on the driver’s lap, straddling the stick gear and permitting the driver to reach over and down every time he switched gears.  It’s actually not that uncommon for bad drivers to put someone in this position, which Ive blatently refused before, and only had to actually do once (which was with a driver that I knew from village and who was obviously so terrified that he would be accused of molesting the white gear that he used the bare mimimum of movements needed to shift gears), but I have never, ever seen anyone (up till now) voluntarily offer to sit in this position, much less take note of the fact that it is ultimately more humiliating for a woman to deal with this, and refuse to let her suffer through it .

• It’s 730 at night.  Simon has called me to see why I’m not back in village yet, as I was expected to return from Pagala this evening.  I explain that the car did not arrive at Lome until past 6 o’clock, ,which would have obligated me to take a moto to village around 8pm , well into darkness, something I wasn’t willing to risk considered how much it’s been raining and that even in daylight it’s a little terrifying to have the moto be surrounded by so much water that it covers my toes.   His voice is still weak from the malaria that’s been troubling him all this week, but I can tell he’s frowning.    “If only I was in better health,” he says, “I would tell you to just get a car anyway and I would come myself to pick you up on the road.”  About to say goodbye, he adds, “Tomorrow when you’re coming back you should call us and maybe I’ll send Justine’s brother with my moto to pick you up from Hahotoe.”  “I don’t understand , why can’t I just take a zemijan like I normally do?”  “Because that’s more money for you to spend.”   Let me get this straight – I’m the white American who can afford to spend the night in Lome and Simon wants to not only make sure I get driven by someone I know/trust, and to get back to village as soon as possible, but to save me money?   Driving the motorcycle in  the dark is no easy feat even for experts, and yet here he is voluntarily having the idea that he could come to Hahotoe to pick me up, as opposed to me just paying the moto taxis who are already there.

New Photos

New albums are posted:
1) Becka’s Going Away Party
2) My 25th Birthday Party
3) Training: Empowering Young Women to Initiate Change (a 4 day seminar I did at the middle school in June)

some details on benin

So as I mentioned, photos from Benin are up at the usual site or you can click here .

Benin was great. I would love to go back there and explore more (particularly the park in the north where you can go on safari and see animals!)

Crossing the border was a little chaotic , and confusing because the time changes ahead one hour as soon as you cross the border! The border is very easy to cross if you’re Togolese and you forgot your national identity card — just blatently hand the immigration officers 500 cfa and you’re on your way…. We, on the other hand, were obliged to fill out paper work and deal with policemen on power trips before receiving our 48 hour visas.

Our home base was Grand Popo, a beach town with several hotels and not much else to do except lie on a hammock in the beach or soak in the pool. I know, life is tough, right ?

Because this is “off” tourist season we were pretty much alone the whole time, and enjoyed ourselves eating good food and keeping good company. (We were 5 PCVs.)

The second day I decided to go to Ouidah because I’d heard it was the second most visited tourist place in Benin. I caught a car to Ouidah in the morning (about an hour or so away from Grand Popo).

Ouidah was fascinating. In January it has an annual voodoo celebration but even on non-fete days you can tell that you are definitely in voodoo Africa… First I went to the Portuguese fort which is also a museum. (OK, yes, I might not have gone to the museum if it hadn’t been a Portuguese fort haha.) The Portuguese never colonized Benin but they had outposts here for trade. There were lots of artifacts, maps, pictures, and interesting information on Portuguese-Beninois relationship and the slave trade and also the influence of voodoo on the Caribbean islands, Brazil, etc.

Afterwards I did the “Slave Walk”. You start at the location of the slave market. First the slaves would have been held at the Portuguese fort. Then they would have been brought the market to sell. (Or vice versa, I forget.) Afterwards, they would be marched the 4K to the beach where ships would take them across the Atlantic ocean. There is a monument there called the Point of No Return. Along the way, there are statues representing the different voodoo kings of Benin, and also pertinent points of interest, such as the location of the small building they would shut the slaves up in to test their endurance in cramped dark conditions before putting them on the ship.

I spent the day in Ouidah and really enjoyed it because of its historical and cultural significance.

In the early evening Fabiola and I went hippo watching ! A total tourist trap but I enjoyed it :-p

We paid a man who approached us on the beach to take us into the mangroves and watch for hippos. We went at a bad time so they weren’t feeding on the banks but we did see two or three surfacing and coming up for air several times. It was a little scary, particularly as we became more and more convinced that the hippos were a myth and we were going to get murdered by the Benin guides (why else would we need THREE men to take us hippo watching? we thought it would just be the one), but all’s well that ends well and it made a great story. We were pretty skittish, especially when Fabiola muttered in English, “Oh, we’re definitely going to die” and our guide, who didn’t speak English but wanted to copy our accents, echoed, “Oh, ‘re going to die…” Not exactly the thing you want to hear. But it was the perfect end to a great day — Voodoo, Slavery, and Hippos!

The next day we crossed the border back into Togo around noon and then it was a quick trip for me back to village (an hour? 1 1/2?). I would love to go back to Benin and maybe I will get another chance before I COS.

Photos from Benin

There are photos from Benin at the normal site now posted

May 8 2009

Blog Post

Photos: May 2009

A new photo album has been added, called “May 2009” . It is mainly of the First of May Fete (Workers’ Holiday), but also has pictures of kids playing American football and baseball at the collège ….

World Map Project

The World Map mural is DONE. You can see photos at the normal site. It was pretty exhilarating putting the last paint stroke on and knowing I was completely finished. Since the end of Marc, I spent every afternoon with the students and the weekends (mainly by myself) as well as during the 10-day Easter vacation I was at the school every day for 5 hours including weekends.

The World Map Project was a little different than I expected. The fabulous manual that gives you all the instructions, the grid outlines, the paint guides, etc. etc., is really (in my humble opinion) designed for an American-like service project. My kids in village are not American teenagers. There is no culture of after-school activities or extracurricular interests or volunteering your time without being obligated to. (This is not necessary Togo; in bigger towns or in more motivated schools there are extra curricular activities). Also, “kids will be kids”, so anytime I had more than 5 kids together it was a disaster in terms of concentration and making mistakes and goofing off. There were several kids that worked well and were very meticulous in their work, even though they didn’t come on weekends to help me.

During the Easter vacation nearly every time I was there there was a quiet boy from the troisieme (who was not included in the regular group of kids who were working on the map during the week) who I had never met before but who showed up regularly and simply worked quietly on the map with him. His name was Eli and I appreciated very much. One day I had to go to Atakpame so I bribed Kokoutse my 20yearold brother in the class of troisieme to go with his friend Bogavi to finish drawing Europe in my absence so I could start painting the next day. (I knew those Tshirts with American flags I brought back from the States would come in handy!) Seven year old Adjo also loved to traipse over to the collège to “help” and to watch me and to hand me paintbrushes. Also probably because she knew I always had cookies or some other snack to nibble on at the end of the day. Then she would help me carry all the paint back to Justine’s where I was storing it. Emmanuel who is in lycée also helped me paint in Russia one day when he was using the collège’s blackboards to study. But the point is everyone who helped me wasn’t “supposed” to – they just wanted to, as opposed to the 30 or so kids that worked on the map during the school day that were “supposed” to be doing so.

Another point of interest is most Togolese kids can’t really paint (they use the paintbrush like a crayon and move it back and forth regardless of borders or accuracy) so even though I was highly frustrated and bitter towards the lack of enthusiasm to help me during the vacation, secretly I know that the map is a lot prettier because I was mainly the one who filled in the colors. Painting the map was fun and very relaxing (I always loved doing murals in Philly). It is relatively large – about 4.5 meters by 2.25 meters. I ended up writing in most of the countries’ names in French with a sharpie (talk about BORING having to look it all up in a dictionary).

The only continent whose labels did not get finished was Europe. The maps we used were from 1995 and hence in Europe particularly there are great inaccuracies. You can just imagine what I felt when I discovered this. I feel a little guilty knowing that this map is not 100% accurate but on the other hand, the grids had already been drawn and it was too hard to find another map by the time I noticed. Africa too was problematic (it still had “Zaire” on it!) but I just labeled it the Congo and hoped no one would notice any erroneous borders. WHOOPS. The whole of the European Balkans area is completely unlabeled (maybe cause half of those countries don’t exist any more….) but no one seems to have noticed so far……

After talking to other PCVs about my frustrations and difficulties with the map, I realized that the map might be one of those projects that in theory sounds great and that Peace Corps directors etc may encourage you to do, and that sounds great in the United States —- but in reality, is more of a project for a volunteer to do to see something concrete that they’ve actually done in Togo and to make themselves feel good…. Other PCVs also have had frustrations with the map, too. So perhaps we should start counseling PCVs to do the map, but make them away of the challenges and potential setbacks ahead of time.

The map is beautiful and I’m very proud of it. But if I had a choice I’m not sure if I would do it again. Or if I would do it again, I would definitely change the way I did things, and I would rope the teachers into obligating the students to help me on Wednesday afternoons and on the weekends. (I was a sucker and was too nice and said “Oh of course you have to work in the fields, ok, well, come if it’s possible…. Just try….” If it was a real teacher at the school he would have said “Sorry about your private life but I need you on Saturday so show up or else.”)

“Work”

Started up the English club (twice a week) again. It was put on hold while we were doing the world map. I wanted to do English work with the Troisieme again this year to prepare them for their BEPC (national exam that will let them go to high school) but the school director has not yet taken me up on this offer and time is running out, unfortunately. So I don’t think this will happen.

The total number of primary schools I am working in is now 4. This too has its frustrations. Because of the scheduling, I cannot work in all 4 in one week. This means that every single week I had to walk around to every school to set up the schedule (OK I came last week so I’m not coming this week… OK shall I come Tuesday? …. Etc) Also more and more I am getting “bumped” as the rainy season is in full fledge and the teachers want the kids to go to the fields in the afternoon. This is very frustrating and sometimes makes me very stubborn and angry. Especially after I’m the one who has put forth effort into setting up the schedule, I get upset when I’m cancelled at the last minute. Sometimes this makes me not want to put a lot of effort into re-scheduling. Work is very difficult because I do not have any true “counterparts” that work with me that can continue my work after I’m gone and also puts all of work responsiblities on me – IE it’s up to me to motivate myself to show up at the schools and say “excuse me, can I stop by on Thursday afternoon to work with the kids”—I don’t have anyone that comes by and says “Anna! We love your work! You’re comng by on Thursday, right?” I know the school directors all appreciate me, but they place all of the motivation on me , so sometimes it’s difficult to feel like I’m actually accomplishing anything. So many times I sit and write out lists of what I want to accomplish (young mothers’ training, girl scouts, mini-camp at the schools) but then things never materialize because it is all on me to put it into practice and not only is this overwhelming but sometimes I just honestly don’t know how to start something so it never happens. My APCD talked to me and said the first year I did so many great things, the implication being that now I’m in my second year I am not really doing anything, so now I’m under pressure to “do” something. (This is a whole ‘nother topic for a different conversation and it might not even be appropriate for this blog.) It’s easy to start putting things off about this time though; meetings and preparation for things like Camp Espoir are under way, so it’s hard not to look at a calendar and say “Well there’s only one week available in June where I could do a mothers’ training, but I don’t know if I’ll have enough time to prep for it the week before so I don’t know if I should do it…..”

When I’m free, I continue to help out at the dispensaire weighing babies and there are other things keeping me busy, Camp Espoir preparations, Leve Toi Jeune Fille work (the magazine I help edit), village life including fetes and weddings and going to the fields and organizing the kids’ Easter skit and rehearsing with the tailors for their performance at May 1st Fete and a whole bunch of other stuff that keeps me busy and tired all the time but somehow nothing to “prove” myself……

Easter

Easter was fanta-bu-lous. I’d forgotten that at somepoint during all the vigils (can’t remember if it was Thursday or Saturday) there is a long interlude with drums and singing while people rush around taking down all the clothes that have been hiding the crucifixes and statues and put up garlands and relight the candles. Quite marvelous to see, especially Michel balancing on the back of the priest’s chair to reach the top of the large crucifix that was draped in purple (see, if it was me, at this point I would have tumbled to the floor and broken my ankle). The Easter play went splendidly – even better than Christmas, although we didn’t have as big an audience because people went home since it was so late. I should have done it on Easter Sunday cause I don’t think the video turned out that well ‘cause it was nighttime. And thankfully, Jesus remembered to rise from the dead, which he (she) forgot to do during dress rehearsal (at which point I was rocking back and forth whimpering from stress).

My absolute favorite part? When I brought out one of the girls dressed up as a chicken (beak and all) and she CROWED into the microphone when Simon Peter denied Christ three times. The church erupted into applause and amusement.

Adjo was so proud of her spear that I made out of a stick and cut-up flipflop and duct-tape. We used one of the three kings’ crowns for Pontius Pilate. There were about 15 little girls who took part. People kept coming up and saying in Ewe “You really made an effort” which basically means “Amazing job”. Just like Christmas, they hadn’t imagined it would be so great. (I’m pretty proud of the props.) Jesus even had a crown of thorns, and we threw in a scene of Veronique wiping his (her – all female actors) face with a towel that I drew a face on with Sharpies and watercolor paints (so it looked bloody). The next day, the lady who makes beignets (doughnuts), whose daughter participated, wouldn’t let me pay for the doughnuts and gave me 4 free (that’s a lot). Everyone was surprised the amount of time it must have taken to rehearse and the girls’ “gumption” to perform in front of everyone.

Easter morning I divided up the money that had been through at us (in Togo when someone is dancing or performing or singing or whatnot, if you want to appreciate them you press coins or candy to their head) amongst the girls (about 600 CFA, or 45 cfa each, which is about twice what they spend every day on snacks during recess) and also gave them each a religious medal from my stash that my mother sent. Every single time I see one of my girls they are wearing this medal. Once again, just like after Christmas, when I pass the church there are always a few that come out to meet me, shy devotion and gratitude in their eyes, and pride too. They know that what they did/do far exceeded anyone’s expectations. And I was proud of them too, and glad it all turned out ok, considering that rehearsals were very difficult due to conflicting schedules (I got stood up numerous times and finally threatened that if no one came tomorrow then we just wouldn’t have any play at all and how would they feel about that) until I enlisted Simon’s help to start making firm announcements at the end of Mass that they BETTER show up that afternoon; and managing any more than four kids always means chaos. (Imagine a group of fourteen 7 to 14 year olds all chattering in Ewe and correcting each other and goofing off and critiquing and whispering….. I swear I aged ten years during Easter.) But it all turned out ok, and has been added to one of my favorite memories so far.

Village Drama

You think a little African village is sleepy and ignorant and doesn’t have anything going on? This is only a sampling of the drama that I know about, and I barely know anything cause I try not to implicate myself…

My married, old chief (his kids are my age and work in Lomé, his wife lives in Lomé) apparently is courting an apprentice (my age) and is probably setting her up as his mistress (this is hearsay only…). He wants to house her in the house next to Justine IE in my compound and Justine has refused pointblank. The chief doesn’t actually want to go against her wishes, even though she doesn’t have any authority over him, but instead wants her to give her acceptance to this arrangement and now thinks she is being too stubborn and doesn’t miss an opportunity to nag her.
Several men who attend church have more than one wife (not religiously married, obviously) – oh African Catholicism.
The man that Vialé has been in love with for three years broke of his (undercover) relationship with her, saying that Justine went to his family and reiterated that she doesn’t approve and that she will do everything possible to prevent the relationship including she will leave her husband. Now the man (a university student) has completely thrown Vialé over, ignoring her and refusing to return her calls, etc (Wow, sound familiar?). The pain in Vialé’s eyes when she told me this was unbelievable. (But at the same time I was flattered that she told me). However there is NO WAY I am touching this one with a ten-foot pole, or even a twenty foot pole – all Vialé says is that Justine doesn’t like the quartier that the man is from but it’s the same quartier that Simon comes from so I think I’m not getting the whole picture. Vialé won’t confront Justine over it cause she doesn’t want to be insulted. I AM NOT getting in the middle of it and neither of them have asked or expected me to.
When the Committee of Village Development, a committee that is supposed to manage the village, was being elected, Simon and over 80 young people from the church mobilized to elect people they thought would be good for the village. The chief heard about it and called them to his house to warn them not to vote against the man he wanted to become president of the CVD (a distant relative I believe). Fifteen times he called them to his house to admonish them. Simon and his friends didn’t like this man and didn’t think he would work well for the village . The day of the “election” something happened (I’m not exactly sure what – they weren’t notified or something) and the man the chief selected was “elected” president.
An ONG financed the construction of the youth center/library and the pharmacy, planning that in May of this year (IE this month) the village would take over the running and would have learned to be self-sufficient. A year ago Simon and his committee wrote a (unfortunately harsh) letter to the village saying “Attention!” and that the management was in danger of being badly run. They were harshly criticized and there is still bad blood between the two camps (no one likes to be publically critiqued) . But now a year later, there is NO MONEY left in the pharmacy bank account and the funds have not been accounted for. So what Simon predicted, albeit a bit too tactlessly, has come true. Who knows what’s going to happen – as it is even when we supposedly had funding sometimes I was forced (through passive aggressiveness on the part of my homologue) to buy fuel for the generator so I could use the computer, but then the next day everyone would want to watch a soccer match and the money would mysteriously be found to pay for that…
When the dispensaire had been built a few years ago, an interim health worker (until the state could provide one) was proposed from amongst the villagers. The chief refused the choice. (Why the chief should have any say in this matter is a bit unclear, but there you have village politics and obeisance to royalty.) Delphine, the professional midwife who is currently at the dispensaire, was at this time at a private clinic near my house; in the middle of taking annual leave, she suddenly appeared at the dispensary (IE the chief asked her to move over there) and has worked there ever since. To this day, the doctor from the private clinic, whose work she basically abandoned, and Delphine refuse to talk to each other.
And that’s just a sampling….

First of May

The First of May (the workers’ fete) has come and gone. This year, being a bit busier, I wasn’t at every rehearsal for the tailors, but I managed to catch the last few ones, and would always try to participate in their choreographed performances. The last number, a salsa-esque routine, I was there when they first taught it, and managed to pick it up before anyone else mastered it. At which point the tailor teaching us started stomping around (he’s rather melodramatic) and muttering that The yovo could dance so well and how come she was the first one to learn it and the apprentices better pick up their game and didn’t they know the performance was in two days and come on now, just watch and see how Anna does it….. I wore the pagne selected by the tailors (at fetes families or unions or whatever like to wear the same pagne) and Justine and I had the same complet, designed by me. We were cooking at the house till about noon and then showed up at the Catholic school which has nice grounds for fetes; all the tailors had “pot luck” ie we all shared everything and then afterwards we had the performances, marred as usual by some petty drama and misorganization and miscommunication but in the long run nothing unusual…. Around 630 I left because I didn’t feel like walking back in the dark and Justine followed soon after ; it was about this time that the teenagers were showing up to start the “real” party to dance till dawn…. In the morning I talked to Michel and Emmanuel a bit, abandoning Justine (she seemed surprised I wasn’t always there every time she turned around); in the afternoon too Kokoutse and Bogavi showed up and I was thrilled to hang out with them too, which is interesting — I think I’m starting to crave the company of my peers and “friendship” more and more, which you would think at this point in my service I would be getting less lonely and not more lonely… Justine had made me wear a pair of heels I had only worn for my swear-in. Because I danced so much and because my feet are used to wearing Chacos or Tevas or flipflops, all that night I didn’t sleep because I had hurt the bones in my feet so much and the next day was very very difficult for me too. I felt like such a wimp… By Sunday it was all better though J

Things I’m Glad I Bought Back…

When I came back from the States in January, my suitcases were mainly full of presents for my village, but there are certain things I use that every time I do I think about glad I am to have brought them. They are: my jogging shoes that Lizzy gave me and sports bras — without these I probably would have stopped my running a long, long time ago, but I’ve been doing it consistently for 12 weeks now; the AAA-battery run charger for my ipod (in case I can’t get to Vogan to charge it on Friday); the face moisturizer Sophia gave me; Bare Minerals makeup; basically all my “Christmas In January” presents from my sisters; my contact lenses; photos from January ; ……..

I wish I had brought back… more batteries (AAA and AA), sauce packets (like for pasta), hot chocolate/coffee instant packets, little kids’ workbooks, more Tshirts with Americana on them…

You know what I wish I had? A typewriter. I wish I could find one. I HATE writing everything (and I mean everything) by hand!

Vialé

I was hanging out at the youth center when Vialé called to me. “When you’re ready to leave, I have something for you in the dispensaire office.”

“Ooo. What is it? Food? You can show me now!”

Ah yes, a demand for instant gratification…

In the office she handed me an envelope with no name on it. I could feel the papers inside it. She said, “No, open it at home!”

“But why? Can I open it now?”

She hesitated. “OK. Go ahead.” And then, embarrassed, she ducked out of the room.

There was a letter inside the envelope, two sheets of paper covered with careful handwriting. The English translation cannot do it justice but here it is, a shadow of what it meant to read it French and to know instantaneously the sincerity of the words.

April 17 2009

Words of Thanks to the sister Anna H

“….Those who love others fulfill the law.” Romans 13:8

These two fetes at Sevagan would have been a calm moment without the considerable support of our sister from the Peace Corps Anna Harrison who we call “Anna”. I was very surprised and marveled by the open welcome that you have shown our church and in particular to our little girls since your arrival in village . Despite all the difficulties that you find here you have put up with it all everytime we’re all together and with a good attitude; you have worked tirelessly with our little sisters in training them to be dynamic, confident, and able young women, in teaching them your theatre plays. I lack the words to tell you exactly all you have done for our little sisters and not only for them but for the development of our church. You are here without any member of your family but you have taken us like your family. Don’t ever think that you alone; I assure you that God your creator is next to you; ask Him whatever you want and he will give it to you. Only God can thank you enough for what you have done and what you continue to do for us. I have nothing to give you in return; I can never repay you. Only God can give you what you deserve. You are a welcoming, marvelous, dynamic woman. Always have confidence in God. The children too will never, ever, cease to pray for you every day; they will never forget you. That our Virgin Mother protect you from all harm.

Clemence “Vialé”

She kept wandering in and out of the room, waiting patiently for me to be able to speak. But what exactly do you say to gratitude? That it is you who are grateful ? That perhaps it was/is all worth it finally?

Finally I mumbled: “I don’t do anything everyone else wouldn’t do. I don’t deserve it. What I do – it’s no better than anyone else.”

And her eyes flashed and her finger raised angrily.

“Do you think—” And each word was annuciated with passion and conviction, angrily biting off the ends of each syllable “–that before you came here les petits have ever done what you let them do? Do you think that at Christmas and at Easter our little ones perform in front of the congregation like that, every year? Never. It is always les grands, who perform, and who make Adjo cry, like last year, because they refused to let their little sisters dance with them If you weren’t here they would have done nothing. No one has ever, ever believed in them the way you do. Let me tell you something. Do you think they would have ever that courage before you came? The one who played Jesus. Francoise. To hear her speak out like that? Incredible. I have never seen her express herself like that. I teach her in Sunday school. She is always quiet. She is always resting tranquilly. She is not loud. She does not like to talk in front of others. And then to see her play Jesus so well ; to pay no mind to her audience; to remember all those lines; to be so serious. Unbelievable. Because someone believed in her? What you give us is extraordinary. Because you don’t come here to give us money. Instead you have given us your soul and your heart and your love. I know it is difficult for you. And I know I can never repay you. But what you do for us — I will remember it all my life.”

Travel Plans

Next week I’m going to Benin for two days. We are just going to stay in Grand Popo, a beach town near the border, so before I COS I hope to return and visit the historical and cultural sites in Cotonou and Porto Novo; I’m kind of disappointed we’re not doing this the first time around. There is also a park in the north of Benin where you can safari and people have seen lions and elephants and giraffes so I’m hoping to visit there too before September if I can find someone to go with me. (After Sept. I’m not allowed to use my vacation days.) I was also invited to go to Mali and Burkina Faso for about 10 days with two other PCVs (it is their COS trip) and if money permits I would like to join them. That will be at the end of August but I haven’t decided anything, I’m seeing how much to budget first.

And of course Sophia is coming sometime!! =D