Bon Annee! A year ago I could have never imagined my life this way, and I still feel like I am in a giant dream or nightmare. My first few months at post in Togo have pretty much been well… interesting, to say the least. One sickness after another, 4 days in the med unit, lack of adequate living conditions and more illness as a consequence, pick pocketing, thieving masons, bug and bat infestations, bike crashes, puppy seizures, doorstep marriage proposals, curtain fires, fishy flavored everything, bush rat and frog meat, I could go on and on. Yes, doesn’t sound all that romantic eh? I can say without a doubt, I am learning more about patience, resilience, coping, and forgiveness then I ever imagined, and I have high hopes for the next two years. Definitely wouldn’t have made it without the support of my fellow volunteers here in country, and my wonderful friends, family, and boyfriend back at home. No, I haven’t forgotten all of you, your letters, care packages, and warm thoughts have pushed me through the times that I thought I would break. Nothing like eating an entire care package or two of food, while painting with water colors sent for children, and reading letters from home to get you through the tough times. So thanks everyone. I am a little behind on posting so a little about life before Christmas…..
After being stolen from by my Mason and by someone in my own Marche, I was beginning to get a bit discouraged, Pollyanna be gone... Alas, I have hit my 4 month mark here in Togo! In one sense that feels like an accomplishment only 23 more months to go, although I sometimes kid myself thinking I have been here for 6 months and wondering how will I ever make it to the end. Not to fear, with my new sidekick Danfo (puppy), a kick ass host family, an amazing group volunteers, and a pretty great village… two years may not be enough. As far as the work aspect of being a volunteer, when you have to spend the first few months setting up your house with cement flooring and walls, pulling teeth to get a latrine, and ridding yourself of all ailments it’s a little difficult to do much else. But so it begins…
Wednesday December 21st, under the shade of a Neem Tree I held my first real meeting. After about two hours of waiting for everyone to arrive, I finally had to convince them we should and needed to start, even if the 8th son of the chief (who actually really isn’t his son at all) hadn’t shown up yet. Frightfully, I started the meeting by attempting the some fifty different ways to greet in Gam Gam only to resort back to broken French when no one understood or chose to respond, didn’t get much further with the French. The meeting was held to explain the women’s conference happening here in Togo in March, to nominate a woman, and to talk about my work/project plans for the next two years. I began by first explaining that I don’t actually know everything about… well… everything. I had to tell them that I don’t know how to build a dam, help them with their legal problems, or find a cure for malaria. From the grunts, groans, and sighs I was slightly worried that the rest of the meeting was going to go downhill from there, but I was pleasantly surprised. Because of things I have seen and experienced throughout my first few months I was beginning to think there was a lack of motivation, innovation, and creativity in this country, oh did my village show me. When I shot down the idea of building a dam, they remained insistent. The access to water her is shameful; there exists only four pumps of which three are in working order. Three pumps for a village of over 1,500 people, the women have to walk long distances and wait in long lines to get enough water. I tried to explain that a dam project was too large, too expensive, and too far out of my skill set (which for now ceases to exist altogether.) I brought the question of what would happen if a dam was built and it broke, who would maintain it, who would fix it? They responded by first telling me they already have 200 dollars saved up for a water project, and that they could create a committee to address problems and repairs, also they wondered if one could be trained to assess damages if they were to occur. Why not right? When I shot down their public latrine for the marche idea, because latrine projects are notorious for failure (they fill up, and become unsanitary) they suggested having people pay a small fee to use the latrine, using that fee to employee someone to maintain them. They also suggested composting latrines. Say what? Do I have the perfect village? These are ideas that I was supposed to propose, ideas that only other volunteers or educated people know, or so I thought. That’ll teach me to be paternalistic again. They tossed around so many ideas, that it all became a bit overwhelming… there is so much potential, so much motivation, but lack of resources and money, most things would require external or foreign aid of some sort. That brings up another whole subject- which I struggle to decide if I agree with or not. All of the sudden felt a weight of pressure to succeed in doing one or more of these projects, a pressure I wasn’t ready for, for I still haven’t figured out what my role or responsibility as a volunteer, community member, or simply a human is at this point. Another topic I will probably write more about it later for now I’ll spare you the craziness of complications of my mind.
After the meeting, my homologue and major invited me for what I thought was just a drink. Despite my constant insistence that I am a vegetarian, I am constantly told “little by little” I will habituate and become a meat eater. Thus, a not so little smorgasbord of meat was purchased, to you know- snack on during our drink, a three platter snack to be exact. . So what types of meat you ask? To my delight: beef, goat, and mystery meat. After exhausting my meat French vocabulary, trying to get to the bottom of what the mystery meat was and refusing to eat it, in fear that I would be consuming dog (yes they eat dog) my major finally says in overly pronounced English “It’s from the bush, like a raaaat.”
Oh joy.
The delicacy of Bush Rat… who would have thought that a rat could have such succulent meat? Of course I hesitated momentarily, I thought to myself for a second, whispered “you only live once right,” grabbed a piece of the moist, sauce covered meat and ate it. Three generous servings later I finally decided I had enough for the day, politely thanked them for the snack and drink and left the bar feeling slightly nauseous. Making my way home to nap away the nausea and reflect on my 23 years of being a non-adventurous meat eater, I am stopped by the very intoxicated Chef de Village who insists on buying me a calabash of Tchakpa, the perfect addition to a belly full of dead animals. I go through the motions; pour a small splash on the ground for the ancestors, sip it down, offer some to the old ladies, finish it off leaving another small bit to splash on the ground again, and pretend to misunderstand when they try to fill my calabash again, thanked the Chief and dodge away before I found myself stuck… drinking forever. On my walk back home the sun was more unforgiving than ever- sweating, sick, slightly tipsy, sleepy- the animals inside me decide to retreat as if they were still alive… I find myself puking behind the primary school, rat definitely tastes better going down. Luckily for me, it’s Wednesday, the day of the week my host family prepares my meals… not going hungry that’s for sure- give me some fish, frogs, or corn mush- anything but BUSH RAT!
5 am Thursday morning, I crawl out from beneath my mosquito net, wrap my pagne around my waist, pick up Danfo and open my four foot tall door to a bustling compound. I sigh with relief, for today I get to escape to the city. As I pack up my last items, strap them to my bike for my 170 k ride up North- I stop for a second to observe what is happening around me, trying to appreciate the chaos for what it is, and slap myself for sighing at my ache to escape- for this is my new life and I better get used to it. I then remember the presents I gathered and wrapped in make-shift Christmas paper for my host family, I dash back inside my hut in hopes of distributing them before everyone goes their separate ways. As I hand each person their gift they look at me not really sure what to do. I tried to explain the American tradition of gift giving and wrapping paper (thinking how silly it actually is to spend money on paper only to rip it up), still nothing. So I take 2 year old Kossi’s present and start un-wrapping it to show them, next thing I know they are tearing into their gifts faster than I could blink. What came next was a series of rejoicing… they all screamed, laughed, and danced! The little ones were smiling ear to ear, and I stood back and observed as they inspected each other’s gifts and exchanged excitement for one another. I’ll never forget that moment when Kossi’s mom grabbed him, kissed his face and hugged him with such excitement before showing him how to push his new matchbox car. They didn’t even need to thank me, their appreciation was loud and clear, and at that moment I no longer ached to leave village, nor ached to be spending the holidays in America. If only that same appreciation existed for the ridiculous number of gifts we receive every holiday. Alas, I had already made the commitment to ride up to Dapoang with two other volunteers. I was ready to go and was worried about being late to meet the others, but my host family kept insisting I wait until a villager came to see me off. Not thinking much of it, I began to get irritated as they blocked my departure. Finally the villager showed up, handing me two bills and a handful of change equaling about the equivalent of 10 dollars. My community had spent all morning gathering money for me, for all my money was stolen in the market the day before. I felt my eyes begin to well with tears; I knew this was a special gift and probably wasn’t easy to come up with especially during the holidays. Once again people who have so little are able to give so much. To put icing on top the cake I had a pretty bad crash on my way to meet my friends, not surprising right? As I bleed all over the place trying to pick myself, my bags, and my bike up a man raced over to help me. He strapped everything to my bike for me, dusted me off, and said sorry, sorry over and over again, proceeded to ride slowly behind me- just close enough to keep me in sight, but not too close to bother me. As we hit the mark where we were to go our separate ways he wished me good health, a good Christmas, and good voyage. Despite everything that may have gone wrong in the days, weeks, months leading up to this one, it is moments like those that make being here worth it, simple signs of gratitude, giving nature, and compassion.
I met Alisha and Sky on the main route and we made our way North. The pain from my crash persisted through most of the trip and by the time we made it to Mango I was dead tired, over sunned, and accomplished. The next leg of the trip would be easy, so I thought. Don’t think I could I have been more wrong. The next day we battled relentless savanna winds, blistering heat, a climb that went up but never came down, and semis that raced at on head on nearly knocking us off our bikes. My body was aching and I couldn’t replenish the salt that was dripping from my body, I fell behind the other two about halfway to Dapaong cursing so much you would think I was a sailor. The Togolese on their shitty bikes loaded with yams and God knows what raced past me, surely wondering why the crazy white girl was talking to herself, yelling in a language they couldn’t understand. Alas, we made it to our destination where for days on end we stuffed way too many volunteers into one place and over indulged on food, alcohol, and Christmas movies. Although I missed you all at home terribly, I must say I had a pretty amazing Christmas. As for what came next…. To be continued
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