Blog Post
July 18, 2008
Yes I Still Exist…
I know the past few posts have constantly promised updates and then nothing is posted; sorry about that – it’s hard to plan here. Either there’s an internet issue, or I’ve arrived in Lome a lot later than I expected and want to get home that same day rather than spend the night in Lome. But – here we go – a long promised update / post. This weekend I’m going to Lome because Kassie will be there … yay! And we were supposed to have internet in Vogan this whole past month, but I’m missing a page of the instructions and have to wait till I can go to the telephone company to ask for them. And I’m not sure when that will be since they are probably not open on weekends and I don’t know when I’ll be in Lome again during business hours.
La Mousson
July has come to Sevagan, and it was ushered in by the Mousson – a wind from the South that renders the days blustery and overcast, but no rain. The dark stormclouds that used to be reliable foretellers of tempests are now permanent fixtures on the horizon, accompanied by strong winds that rattle our rooftops and scatter leaves all day long. Days are warm and dry, heat without the promise of rain that existed in June. Mornings can be chilly and if the sun never escapes the clouds then the day stays cool and temperate. For the first time in two months I ran out of water and am back to the hot season decisions of “Do I do laundry or do I wash the dishes today?” The rains, I am told, will be back in August.
Kpotossou and the Moringa Project
The other week, the teacher with whom I taught Life Skills at the collège and who also attended In-Service Training with me took me to the neighboring village of Kpotossou to introduce me to the chief there and present our ideas for a moringa-planting project. Moringa is a tree that grows everywhere in the world we find malnutrition; it contains extreme quantities of vitamins and nutrients (including iron, calcium, protein, potassium, Vitamin C, and Vitamin A) The village was so pretty and welcoming (I hadn’t thought I could find a place equal to my own village) and the chief ended up asking me to stay and eat and afterwards took m e on a tour to explain the history of his village. One distressing fact is that unlike Sevagan there is neither a dispensaire nor a collège, and so sick people and students must walk as far as Sevagan to go to school or to receive medical treatment. The chief is also in the middle of buildling an orphange / “day-care center” type thing which really interested me. I really enjoyed my afternoon here and hope to go back, if they decide they’d like to do this moringa project. (Of course, I’m not sure why they think I know any more than they do – I keep remembering every plant I’ve ever tried to keep and ended up killing.)
My Birthday Fete
So a month ago was my birthday! I can’t believe that was already four weeks ago.
Anyway – my birthday was awesome. I had so much fun. First off, for most Togolese people, birthdays are not the big deal that they are in the States. But everyone was excited to fete with me. I paid for all the drinks and food. To begin with, Becka (my closest PCV in Vogan) met me in Togoville (it’s only 9K away), as it was a Wednesday and that’s their market day. We hired out a pieroge, or what I like to call a “Togolese gondola” – seriously, that’s exactly what it is, complete with the man with a pole. This little gondolas cross the lake and are the equivalent of bush taxis, waiting to fill up completely with people and baggage (including the requisite goat and other odd accessories). Because we wanted to go somewhere that wasn’t a “normal” destination, we had to rent out the whole taxi—er, boat. Before this, we went to the artisan shop behind the church, and I bought some stuff as a present to myself. Next to the artisan shop, we discovered a silversmith, who would make beautiful silver jewelry on demand. He had a catalogue of beautiful rings and necklaces and earrings, and explained how his soldering stove worked. One of his designs was 20,000 CFA (about forty dollars) – steep for an impulse purchase on a PCV budget, but definitely something to consider if you’ve saved up some cash and want to bring something beautiful back to the States (and the American equivalent would probably be a lot more expensive).
So we rented out the gondola, and he took us across Lake Togo to the Hotel du Lac. Crossing the lake and gazing all around us at the different shores (and thinking “OK, 9km that way is my own village on the lake!”) made me remember just how pretty Togo can be.
“Becka,” I said, “we’re in Africa – in a boat — on the lake – in Africa! When did that become normal?”
The day was pretty overcast, and in fact it had rained all morning, almost canceling our plans, so we eventually decided not to pay to swim. But we sat outside and ordered ourselves lunch – both of us had chef’s salads, and I had chocolate crepes. It was a little mind-boggling to think that we were sitting here, enjoying a yummy lunch, at a hotel where rooms can cost about 80,000 CFA, and in our villages there are kids whose parents can’t (or won’t) pay their school fees of 5,000 CFA.
After a leisurely lunch, we headed back to town, meandered through the market and caught a market car back to Sevagan.
Back in village, I introduced Becka to probably half the village, who always gets so excited when they see me with another American, as that doesn’t happen very often. One thing that makes me proud about my village is how welcoming and open they are. They made me feel good about if ever I have visitors from the States how they will be received. Someone in the market even went up to Becka and said “Oh! You’re the one whose cat died! We were so sorry to hear about it.” Justine, naturally, was thrilled that I had a visitor. In fact, Becka was instantaneously promoted to be called “ma soeur” by Justine, who also hopefully said “But can’t she stay till Friday?”
I took Becka on a little walk through the village, and we went to buy drinks for the evening. When we got back to my house, we gave Justine the 2 kilos of beef we’d bought in Vogan, and the tomatoes we’d bought in Togoville, so she could make my absolutely favorite meal ever – pâte rouge, or pâte sallé as it’s commonly called (but PCVs prefer the name pâte rouge). It’s made by making the pate in the sauce, rather than making the pate separately and then dipping it in the sauce as you eat. Anyway – I love it. Justine uses a lot of coconut oil in her cooking which makes it taste amazing!
Justine had borrowed a cassette player and cassettes for me, so we had both American music (Shakira, anyone?) and Togolese music to dance to. (I’m hoping to get some iPod Nano speakers eventually, so next party I can just plug in the Nano.)
Guests were: Me, Becka, Justine, Simon, Justine’s mother, Justine’s three younger sisters, my favorite drum player from church and his friend, and I think that may have been all. We had a great time eating and drinking Cokes and Fantas and Cocktail des Fruits. Coco was a little miffed at all these people around and couldn’t decide whether to beg for food in his usual spot under the table or go sulk on my porch.
Afterwards, Becka spent the night, and in the morning we walked to Lake Togo and back. We also hung out at Justine’s workshop a while. After lunch she left, since it looked like it wanted to storm again.
All in all, a very satisfying birthday, and it was exactly what I wanted, with the people I wanted (well, minus the obvious exception of those who aren’t in Togo!).
An interesting effect of my birthday fete was that Justine’s little sisters, Adjo and Akou, who were always polite but a little shy and reserved, have now completely opened up towards me and are pretty much like my little sisters. (I’ve realized I really, completely missed out being the youngest in my family.) Maybe it was having a new stranger (Becka) there, which made them want to seek me out for security, or maybe it was me hopping around our compound have a solo dance party. Or maybe it was because in the morning I’d gone over to their house and given them each a present of Crayola crayons. Anyway, yesterday I taught them the Macarena and now we do it together every time I go over to their house.
The fete wasn’t over though… There was the church fete two days later!
Church Fete (JPG)
So as far as I could tell this was some kind of celebration of World Youth Day or something like that….
This year was Sevagan’s turn to host, so starting Friday night up till Sunday evening, youth from surrounding parishes such as Togoville, Badougbe, etc., came. They all slept at the Ecole Catholique which is five or ten minutes up the road from the church.
Saturday I spent in the courtyard of the church helping the women cook enough food for all these people (200?). OK, I didn’t “help” that much, but I stirred a couple pots until the smoke burned my eyes too much. It was the first time no one nagged me to go to Mass. I think the women were pleased that I was counted as a “parish woman” rather than going to the youth mass going on at the same time, with the other young people. Although I made a couple pointed comments about –”Well those boys are just sitting around doing nothing. Why can’t they come help the women cook?” I basically hung out in the “kitchen” area all day with them. In the middle of the day it started to rain and we hurriedly erected hangars to shield the fires to continue cooking. In the afternoon I slipped away for a nap (they had been singing and playing music/drums all Friday night so I hadn’t slept well). Afterwards there was a soccer match between various parishes. At night there was what they call “recital” and what we would call basically a talent show. First there was something sort of like traditional dancing, but I think it was based off a choreographed music video. Afterwards the kids from different parishes sang popular radio songs or danced around. At midnight I was falling asleep on my feet and was decidedly grumpy. I left the party and stumbled home to bed. The next morning was Sunday and there was the normal mass, although with a lot more attendants, most of whom were falling asleep being as they’d stayed up so late.
After mass there was more food. AND, Fabiola showed up to visit me! She was in Vogan the night before, and came to spend the night with me before we went together to Vogan on Monday. Just like with Becka, everyone was very excited to meet her; I also think they thought she’d come specially for the church fete and so they were proud and pleased. Fabiola and I hung out in the church courtyard watching the festivities wind down. In the evening we ate with Simon and Justine.
In the morning I had to be at the elementary school at 9am to watch my Camp UNITÉ apprentices give a presentation on HIV/AIDS to the little kids. It went well, and it’s great I can now channel their energy – and local language skills! – to work with the village. The apprentices loved Camp Unite and want to do all sorts of things in the village over the next year so that they get picked to be senior counselors next year.
After the school presentation Fabiola and I ate lunch. We had to leave Sevagan pretty hastily because the storm clouds were coming and we didn’t want to get stuck there. Justine made us yummy roasted coconut balls to bring to Vogan, and, since Becka was going back to the States soon, wanted to give her the coconut treats to then mail to Sophia. I explained to her that they would probably spoil before she would receive them, but that Sophia would appreciate the thought.
Monday night we slept at Vogan, and a COS-ing volunteer came to cook tacos and quesadillas and teach us salsa dancing. (It was part of a prize that Becka had won at the auction at the All Volunteer Conference in March.) Tuesday morning it poured, and it was hard to get back to my village, but eventually I made it back. And that was the end of my birthday week.
Homekeeping
Last week the carpenter brought over the chair I ordered – one of the best purchases I’ve made in a long time! It’s a folding chair with cloth for the seat, and there are two levels, one in a comfy sitting position and the second in a reclining position, perfect for taking naps. Anyway eventually I’ll post a picture. Anyway it’s great – because I spend a lot of time outside, my back was killing me when I’d sit for hours on a bench at a little table, writing or reading, and I finally ordered this awesome “Togolese Lazy-Boy”. Tomorrow the carpenter is delivering a second chair, not the same model, but a simple X-shaped chair which is typical here (I don’t actually think they’re comfortable, but Togolese like them, and it will be nice for visitors that come by to say hi and I get dibs on my cloth chair…)
I’ve also – after nearly seven months here – caved in regarding housework. One of my favorite students (also named Akoele), starting Monday, is going to come by once or twice a week and sweep, do my laundry and dishes, draw water if need be, etc. In return I’ve offered to pay her school fees. Since she hasn’t started yet, I can’t report on how the arrangement is working out, but we’ll see. I thought I could “do everything myself”, but frankly – housekeeping is a lot easier in the States. There’s just so much dirt and dust, and no PCV will ever clean a house better than a Togolese. We’re just not used to it. It was getting stressful running around mass-cleaning right before announced visitors, and if it was unannounced – well, they were always polite, but I saw them firmly averting their eyes from my unwashed porch. As for laundry – I’ll probably still do small stuff myself, but handwashing (let alone wringing dry) sheets is hard !
(Unfortunately, Justine was miffed that I didn’t ask her to find me a girl, that I made the arrangements with a student at the collège before asking her opinion. Technically, she had a point, as she’s a good judge of character and would have been good to tell me about my student , but I just wasn’t thinking. Also, she said disapprovingly, “It’s just better if the girl goes to church. Catholic church.” Not knowing what to reply, I said diplomatically, “Actually I think it will be better this way; since so many people at the church know me, it may have been a little awkward for one of them to help me out, because they might not think of me as an authority figure and might take liberties.”)
The Peace Corps Experience – Ramblings
I can’t believe it’s July already. Particularly this month is flying by, what with all the trainings and camps and meetings and stuff. In fact, I just realized I will be out of village for the next four weekends, which is mildly distressing. I hate living out of a backpack, and when my weeks in village are broken up I feel like it’s harder for me to do any work. Although I’m pretty content with my life right now.
But I remember this time last year, when I was at PGSIS (oh, PGSIS, how I miss you) and desperately trying to make the decision to join the Peace Corps, how I would troll others’ blogs, searching for clues as to my future, trying to figure out if people were “happy” where they were placed, what the “Peace Corps experience” was really like, what the heck to pack…
Then I got to wondering if anyone thinking about coming to Togo or becoming a PCV was reading my blog, and then I became nervous: “Oh my gosh, what happens if someone comes here and then gets mad because they’ve never seen a cow pushed in the back of a station wagon? What if it doesn’t meet their expectations?”
The thing is – and I’ve been meaning to blog about this for a while – my blog isn’t the “be all end all” definitive description of what my life is like here. In general, I tend not to gripe (well, not meaninglessly, anyway) on this public forum, and sometimes I think I give the impression that everything is fine and dandy, that being a PCV is just like exploring Italy as you study abroad sophomore year. But that’s not it. I tend to blog to capture descriptions, to try and impart some of my experiences with my friends and family, to note some thoughts or ideas. So for me, I don’t use this as a forum to complain about my day. Because I’m blogging for an audience (however related to me they might be) I try to find something interesting about whatever was irritating me, and reflect on that. Life in the Peace Corps constantly surprises me.
But life here is hard in general, both physically and psychologically. It’s up to each individual to figure out how to deal with it. The lucky ones succeed.
I guess I’m not really being clear. I guess I just wanted to say to whoever is reading, that you can never really know completely “what it’s like” from reading on the internet. Just because I don’t rant on my blog doesn’t mean I don’t have frustrating days or something shocks me or I learn something that makes me angry or I commit a terrible cultural faux pas. I do all those things, I just haven’t gotten around to blogging them. I think because I get out a lot of my frustrations verbally I don’t feel the need to write them down, unless it’s to analyze them. On the flip side of the coin, if this blog was one that ranted a lot, I would still say the same thing: Just because there’s a lot of negative stuff talked about, doesn’t mean there aren’t marvelous things to see or do. It’s up to each person to make of Togo and the Peace Corps what they will, and I’m not sure that there’s a “right” experience. (Also, a lot depends on your reactions to situations. But some of my closest PCV friends that I admire and respect have very different ways of reacting to or analyzing events; that doesn’t mean either of us is wrong.)
Just to prove that there’s always positives and negatives no matter where you are, here’s a list I made…
Things I Love About My Life Here / Things I Hate
I love…
Riding motos, learning two new languages and getting to practice them, yummy food, Justine and Simon, my kitty, dancing to drums, going to markets, bargaining, playing with kids, arriving and having every single kid call out my name and run to greet me at my front door, the full moon, going to the night market on Mondays and Thursdays (seriously, it’s where everyone goes. It’s like the mall. Teenagers loitering and hoping to catch their crush’s eye, old women arguing, mothers gossiping, little kids munching on sweets.), the way my neighbors’ eyes light up when they see me return from a trip, the fact that I can be patient to sit through speeches that I don’t understand, learning to be ok being alone, seeing something click in my students’ faces when they finally understand something,
I hate…
People thinking I know all the answers, not having access to quick “let’s figure this out” options (IE running to Google and searching for information and then sharing with others), no electricity, being constantly judged on the color of my skin, being asked for money, being approached to do funded projects, feeling pressured to do “something” for my village, not being able to write on my computer, the “asking” or “you owe me” mentality or the constant attempts to taking advantage of me, men I thought were “safe” suddenly turning creepy, not recognizing people when I’ve only ever met them once and we weren’t really introduced then or had a proper conversation and now they’re insulted I don’t know who they are. (come on, cut me a break!), feeling lethargic or procrastinating all the time.
Tu me connais?
One thing that drives me absolutely CRAZY is the “Tu la connais?” or “Tu ne me connais pas?” (Do you know her? Don’t you know me?) that people will ask me. Other PCVs have this problem too and apparently it never gets better. Either I’ll be walking with someone and we will pass a second person in the street who stops to say hi. Then the first person will turn to me and say “Oh, do you know her?” Now, in the States this would be quickly followed by an introduction without waiting for a (potentially embaressing) confirmation, but here there is an expectant pause. I’ve yet to figure out whether the correct response is “No” or whether to fake it. Another variation is the person himself walking up to me and saying “Oh, don’t you know me?” Again, I don’t know what’s appropriate to admit. It drives me crazy and it’s embarrassing. Not to mention, introducing someone is not automatic here, so there are many people that I’ve never learned their names. Also, if I’ve never had a conversation with them or stared at their face before, it’s hard to immediately place them. But then the person will continue: “Oh I work at the middle school.” (OK but you never talk to me when I’m there.) Or “You said hi to me in March.” OK, that was months ago. I have no idea whether they’re actually offended, or in Togolese culture whether it’s ok. It’s also unfair because so many people know me (duh, I’m the only white person in the village), so the fact if they call out my name doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve ever actually met me. It happened just yesterday that someone came up to me and said “You know me, right?” and I tried to fake it and hazard a guess, but it turned out to be wrong, and the man turned out to be a health peer educator who I run into very occasionally and whose house I ate at in FEBRUARY. Ooops. And the other Sunday at church, a young man came over and said hi and asked when he could come over to “discuss my work” – after talking to him and faking it, at the end I found out he was a university student home on leave and I’d never met him before. Argh. Or a moto driver will be like “Don’t you know me? I drove you to Vogan two weeks ago.” Um, no, because I was sitting behind you and all I could see was the back of your neck. Anyway, I’m not really driving home how frustrating this is, but believe me, it sucks, and it’s something other Volunteers complain about too. It makes me so paranoid now, and I’m starting to stare at people all the time wondering “Do I know this person?” SIGH and apparently it will not get better for the next 18 months I am here….
Smiling a Blessing
The lady kept repeating something in Ewe and smiling at me. She pointed to the child that had wrapped itself around my leg. I said in Ewe, “I don’t understand.” The old woman gestured over another woman who, being from Ghana, spoke less French than I do Ewe, but managed in broken English to say: “She wants to tell you: Thank you for loving our children.” And the old woman’s toothless smile blessed me.
Don’t Mess With Akoele-vi
At the village church fete, during the soccer match, something happened that gave me a small warm glow of satisfaction, that still makes me proud every time I think about it. I was sitting near a young man from Togoville, the opposing team. I knew he was talking about me in Ewe to the others (who, some of them being from Sevagan, were looking a little embaressed). I was a little irritated – this was my home turf, after all. I tend to brush off comments from rude people in Lome or Vogan, but when it happens at home, it touches a nerve and tends to make me quite snappy.
And then, I heard some boys from Sevagan, while not exactly defending me, start to tell him to watch it – that the yovo spoke a little Ewe and you shouldn’t talk about her because she’ll understand you. (Actually, that’s pretty close to defending me outright; anything more explicit would probably have gone against their male code of brothers, or whatever guys call it.)
This in itself would have been enough to make me smile. But the situation didn’t end there. The player started to antagonize me – which was actually extremely unusual for me, even when I’m not in village. So basically the guy was just a normal jerk. He started to say things like “There’s nothing for you to do here. Why don’t you go over where the girls are and play ampeh“—a traditional game that “only” girls play. Obviously he was being sexist by American standards, but for Togolese standards he was also being extremely rude, to a stranger, a guest, a yovo, and to someone who perhaps was older than him (?) and therefore his superior in Togolese culture.
I found myself starting to be embarrassed. After all, quite possibly my students were watching me to see how I would react. If I ignored him, would it make me seem weak? Or worse, would it teach my female students that docility is always the preferred response? But if I respond, would it aggravate the situation, or if I didn’t “win”, what conclusions would be drawn about me?
After a few feeble attempts at making a joke of the situation, a strategy which normally diffuses harassment for me or else opens the doors for a normal conversation but which this time didn’t work at all, I finally dealt with the situation in a way that instantaneously shut him up and made his friends laugh at him. He left me alone for the rest of the soccer match. Still, the incident bothered me, enough that I considered leaving the match, but being stubborn (and liking soccer) I stayed. Not only was I not used to being harassed (I receive the odd marriage proposal or subtle testing-of-boundaries in village, but nothing so grave that it upsets me), I also knew I’m under constant scrutiny as to the appropriateness of my actions.
But later that week I found myself redeemed. Thursday night in the market I came upon an acquaintance from church, Eric, telling a group of market-goers the story of how a boy from Badougbe took on Akoele – and lost. The marché mamas were laughing and clapping their hands. I said jokingly, “Yes, and none of my brothers from Sevagan defended me or helped me out.” “No, no, no,” he said. “We just figured you would come up with something great so we wanted to see what you would do.” The marché mamas began to turn to their neighbors and repeat the story, chuckling.
I’m writing this not to show that I always have the answers when it comes to harassment or village comportment – I don’t at all. But the incident has stayed with me because of its followup – because of the market-goers sense of pride and “ownership” of me. Granted, sometimes this sense of ownership can be tedious, or make me feel like an object to be shown off to visitors (“Look at our yovo”), but in this case it was like a vindication. (I talked this over with Becka and she completely understood, and shared a similar story on her part.) Because it showed that people took an interest in me, wanted me to be successful in my interactions and work, appreciated my living with them. And it showed me that so much of my life here has to depend on hindsight: I had to go through the first months in village, with the days where I just napped and read books and occasionally hid in my house all day long, with practicing French and cultural interactions and getting to know people, to “suffering” through village events (now I love them because since I know people I’m not shy about dancing), with those days at the beginning where I couldn’t get out of bed or thought “What am I doing here”; I had to go through all that to get to this point where people in my village know when I’m gone, worry when I’m not around, think that I deserve to be shown politeness. And sometimes that’s an important vindication to receive, to know that in a way, after six months at post, I’ve built my relationships and habits and life here, that my house is my home, and that’s where I prefer to be (not counting Vogan, which is my home-away-from-home and plus, has electricity.) And that’s what I needed here in Togo; and I think sometimes, that I was very lucky. Am very lucky. Because I encounter angels everywhere here.
(Eventually I’ll write a post on the negative side of being too well-known in village. People knowing when you’re not around is one thing, but then they start to get jealous when you bring back bread for one person and not for them, for example…)
Apprentice Meetings
Recently I’ve been having meetings with about 20-30 apprentices in village. The 4 apprentices who attended Camp UNITÉ present a certain topic that they learned about, such as child trafficking, self-confidence, or prevention of STDs. I’m there just to monitor, to give “authority” to the meetings, and to take photos. Oh, and to sing and dance before and after the meetings. Right now one challenge is a) getting people to show up on time and b) gently directly the 4 apprentices, who are so excited to share their knowledge that they constantly deviate from whatever we carefully planned/practiced the night before and turn a 45-min session into a 3 hours session. It’s been happening every Monday, but I didn’t schedule one for next Monday cause I wasn’t sure of my schedule. I’m going to figure out how to improve it; the fact that my apprentices in village are reasonably well organized (their patrons have meetings weekly, etc.) and that I have 4 apprentices who speak French and who can translate into Ewe for activities seems like too good a chance to pass up.
I’ve also started my “Small Enterprise” project for apprentices. So, only two of them signed up – but that’s ok! We’ll start small. I think of it as a pilot project, because I’m adapting a commonly-done project at the collège level, into an apprentice project. I’ve given them each 5,000 CFA to start income-generating activities, but in return they have to save at least 500CFA a week and attend a lesson on bookkeeping and money management. I’m using accounting methods that don’t require the participants to be literate (IE we draw pictures of a chicken instead of writing “chicken”).
Misc.
As I said in the last, hurried post, there are new photos up of my birthday and the church fete. Also, I changed the “Send me mail” page. Also, one thing I forgot to add to the “send me mail” page (because I hadn’t thought of it) was: cookie or cake mixes! That would be great, don’t you think? (Oh, you might be wondering how I can bake. I use a Dutch oven to bake bread, which is a pot heated over a flame and then you just put whatever you want to bake inside it.) I wonder if there are non-frozen, chocolate chip cookie mixes around?
Posted by togolesejourney 
Posted by togolesejourney 
