3/20/08 through 4/7/08

3/20/08; 3/21/08; 3/22/08
No, I'm not being lazy, I am just trying to be considerate and not bore you all to t3ears. The last two days I spent in Atakpame, chatting with Jorge, shopping for a few necessities, and just hanging out.
Did I mention that there has been a bit of drama lately surrounding AIDS Ride? Ashley and I had talked about how we would like to coordinate AIDS Ride together for Plateaux Region and so, when they were at AllVol and I was playing hooky in Notse, Ashley texted me and asked me if I would like her to sign me up to coordinate AIDS Ride. I said that I would do it if I would be working with her and if no one else wanted to do it, but that I wouldn't fight over the position – meaning if someone else really wanted to do it, they should do it. When I got to IST, I learned that the national coordinator of AIDS Ride had high-handedly (some people feel that he is on a power trip) designated me and another Ashley (not my Ashley, not Notse Ashley) as coordinator's for AIDS Ride in Plateaux. Ashley, my Ashley, Notse Ashley, is upset because she really wanted to coordinate AIDS Ride. She tries not to let it show, but it is evident in comments she lets slip sometimes and her tone when she talks about it. I don't think she blames me, but I feel caught in the middle of an uncomfortable situation. Had she not listed me, she and the other Ashley would have been coordinators and so essentially she is probably kicking herself for trying to be considerate and including me. She keeps saying that she is going to help anyway, that the three of us can do it together, but officially, only two people can be regional coordinators and get reimbursed for their expenses, and I think it bothers her not to be one of the "official" coordinators. I want to change it and have her and the other Ashley be regional coordinators and tell them that I will help with anything they need help with, but I don't know how to make that change. I guess I can just write a letter to the volunteer who was national coordinator last year, but I am afraid he will react negatively to the challenge to his "authority" and not give my Ashley the job, but rather find someone else completely. Whatever, I will work it out.
This morning I came back to village. As always, during the trip back I felt very ambivalent about going back, but now that I am here I am perfectly content to be here. I have been gone such a long time! We must have gotten a couple of hard rains because my cistern is almost full (yay!) and my moringa seedlings aren't dead (double yay!). I am proud of my village for stepping up to the plate and accepting the responsibility of watering the plants and carrying through with the commitment (I take it back, I wrote this before I learned that Tsevi did all the work himself with only a little bit of help from two other women on the CVD who brought water and the school children who also brought water). The seedlings are already a couple inches tall, but there is a lot of variation and probably 300 out of the 1000 didn't germinate at all. I spent the whole day weeding the seedlings (they were overgrown with weeds) so that tomorrow I can plant seeds in the bags that got a dud last time.
Tomorrow is Easter Sunday, but it doesn't feel like Easter – no chocolate Easter Eggs, no jelly beans, no peeps . . . =0) I hope the church service tomorrow will be extra energetic and cheerful to make up for it.
3/23/08
So much for wanting to be in village for Easter – today didn't seem a all like a holiday except for the fact that Lili sent me some fufu. After preparing fufu myself a couple of times, any time I get to eat it without breaking a sweat is a special occasion.
This morning I planted new seeds in the bags where nothing germinated and then I watered all the trees. I also planted seeds around my garden so that I will have my own source of fresh nutrient-packed leaves.
I showered and went to church, which, contrary to my wish, was less joyful than normal because a large chunk of the congregation and the pastor were attending a "convention" near Atakpame. I don't think a pastor should desert his congregation on Easter, but no one asked me. No one translated for me and so I didn't understand a thing.
After church, I spent three hours washing clothes and then I made five exhausting trips to the barrage for water for my tree-babies. I didn't finish watering them until after dark.
I was thankful for the fufu Lili sent over because I am pineapple-less this week. It was very good and I ate it all (fufu doesn't keep! =0) and even drank the remaining sauce like a good Togolese. I showered and then rested in my hammock; every muscle in my body aching.
The members of the church were apparently saving their energy and joyfulness for the evening. I didn't know they were going to have an evening service or I would have mentalized myself to attend. As it was, when the boisterous singing started I was lying in my hammock half asleep. Interestingly (I'm sort of sorry I missed it), they paraded around the whole village singing very boisterously.
3/24/08
I forgot to mention yesterday that I got scolded by DaMarie for not having come to greet here after being gone for so long. Lesson learned.
I watered my plants and then, at the suggestion of Tseviato's older sister (Parfait's mom), I went to a closer barrage to get water. The water isn't fit to drink, but that doesn't matter because it is for my plants. It makes my life much easier because it is closer and on the road to Agbatitoe so I can easily ride my bike the whole way.
I made two trips before deciding to pump some air into my tires. For some reason the pump was just letting air out. I wasn't sure whether it was a problem with the pump or the air valve, so I kept trying. As my tire got flatter and flatter, I started to panic. Of course I was also surrounded by children who were laughing at my frustrated attempts. Distracted and exasperated, I tried to pull the pump off before my tire was completely flat and I forgot to loosen the lever that clamps the pump to the air valve. Consequence? I ripped the entire air valve out of the inner tube, completely ruined my tire and earned myself a trip to Lome tomorrow to exchange my bike.
Can't you just get a new inner tube? I know that's what you're thinking. I could, but our bikes are imported and the inner tube is a different size and I have been meaning to take my bike to Lome for several weeks because the gears don't work at all and it is too big. Also, I have to bring my passport to Lome to get a visa for Benin for the conference I will attend at the end of April. I was very frustrated for a long while this morning, frustrated at my stupidity and forced change of plans (I can't do anything without my bike), but I am trying to look on the bright side and make the most of the situation. My problem now is how to get my bike to Agbatitoe. Think you can wheel a bike with a completely flat tire? Think again.
3/25/08
I carried my bike like an over-the-shoulder purse with one wheel halfway to Agbatit. How? By using a luggage strap. By the by, these bikes aren't light, but, like I said, I only carried it halfway to Agbatit because as I was walking through Avovocope (the village in between Agbatitoe and Avassikpe, a moto driver took pity on me and offered to take me and my bike to Agbatit. At first I doubted that it was possible to put a bike on a moto, but I ended up balancing the bike on my lap between me and the driver and we made it without mishap to Agbatit. When I was once again on firm ground, I asked the driver how much I owed, but he refused payment - first two bits of good luck in what turned out to be a pretty luck, but nonetheless tiring, day. As I was carrying my bike over to the taxi waiting area, a man insisted on coming to my assistance even though I assured him I could manage. He wheeled my bike over to the mechanic who has his "workshop" (shack) right by the taxi waiting area. I told the man that I didn't want a mechanic, but rather to take my bike to Lome. He said, then you're in luck because we're going to Lome. As they were loading the bike into the trunk, I noticed that the license plate was white, not yellow, meaning that it was a personal car and not a taxi. I commented on my realization and the man said that they were stopped in Agbatit because they were awaiting a fourth person, but that they would take me to Lome as a favor. I weighed the risks in my head (getting into a car with three, soon to be four, strange men), against wasting time waiting for a bush taxi, the hassle of traveling with my bike, the uncomfortableness, the money . . . and decided to get in the car, but not before I memorized the license plate number and texted it to Ashley. We drove to Notse to await the fourth man and eat breakfast. The men introduced themselves as a port official, a customs official, and a gendarme. The man who helped me with my bike was the customs official and he seemed to have the most money because he was dishing it out here and there and everywhere – to send a moto to get the fourth person, to pay for everyone's breakfast, to pay for gas (Heather later remarked that it was probably because he gets the most bribes . . . =0) He seemed very familiar wit hPeace Corps volunteers and Peace Corps rules and policy and said that he is from a village near Pagala.
We waited for an hour before the fourth dude arrived. The wait was pretty painful in that I had to think of topics of conversation, but once we were on the road it was entirely painless – no talking, music at a tolerable volume, not too squished – straight shot to Lome. Once in Lome, three of the men got out at the outskirts, but the customs official instructed the port official (the driver) to take me all the way to my destination a good half an hour further through Lome traffic and completely out of the way considering that they all live in the same area just outside of Lome. The customs official seemed a little sketchy, as in that his motives weren't pure altruism, but I got to Lome faster than imaginable which was particularly important considering that I needed to get back to Notse before dark of the same day.
Once at the Bureau, I B-lined it to the people in charge of bikes. Lucky for me – the bike expert was present, but unluckily, he was extremely busy because he was preparing for a tourney around the country to fix volunteers' bikes and so I had to be a bit of a demanding customer before they finally chose a different bike for me and double checked it to make sure everything works. I did get a bike, though, and even before the time I wanted to leave (2:00). My otherbusiness in Lome was to turn in my passport so that Peace Corps can get me a visa to Benin to attend the FARN workshop there at the end of April, beginning of May, call hotels and make reservations for my parents and grandmother's visit, call Constant to arrange a car and driver and chat with Jorge online (yay!).
Heather was in the lounge when I arrived and we decided to go back to Notse together at 2:00. She arrived at the bureau on the dot with a car she had "loued" – rented out – meaning straight shot, no stops, no gar (taxi station aka "hell"), no other passengers, door-to-door service. I'm telling you, it was my lucky day. I paid more than I would have had we taken a regular taxi, but it was worth it to by-pass all the aggravation. Regina also rode up with us; I was happy to have the opportunity to catch up with her because it had been ages since our paths had crossed. Both she and Heather are SED (Small Enterprise Development) volunteers from my stage and we got into a conversation about the ethics of spreading capitalism and capitalist values. Glad I'm not a SED volunteer – messy business that is . . . money, money, money.
On the way into Notse, we stopped for pineapples, saving me from one of my errands, and after dropping my stuff off at Ashley's (she wasn't there), I biked to the market to get some food – fish, onions, tomatoes, etc. Then I visited Ashley at ADAC. Her moringa trees are already much taller than mine, but she planted earlier. Even though we are doing similar projects, we face different obstacles and challenges. For example, here people don't even have the necessary tools to work the filed because they are city-folk. I think she should tell everyone to find someone to borrow a coupcoup and hoe from – she can't possibly buy tools for everyone. I sat in on their meeting for a while, but got bored and decided to go to Heather's to start dinner preparations. Heather had all the ingredients to make eggplant parmesan. Normally I don't like eggplant parmesan – but I have only ever had it in Middlebury's cafeteria and it always seemed rubbery. Heather's eggplant parmesan was melt in your mouth delicious. Ashley joined us after her meeting and we cooked, ate and chatted until late into the night.
3/26/08
I biked out of Notse at 7:00 and gave my "new" (not new, different) bike a test run. It works pretty well, but I think some adjustments need to be made to the seat height – I feel like I am sliding forward, and the handle bars are sticky – some tennis racket tape would be handy . . .
Back in Avassikpe, I got busy making lunch for Jerome and myself. I made a Togolese dish – rice and beans cooked together wit ha tomato based fish sauce. I finished and was watching the cotton-weighing process taking place behind my house when Jerome arrived. There is a state-owned cotton company that brings in big orange box-car like bins (huge metal open-topped containers) and then the villagers weigh their cotton – the villagers have cotton associations – and fill the truck. I guess the cotton company pays in bulk and then the association distributes the money among its members at the village level according to their respective contributions. Jerome said that cotton used to be lucrative, but it isn't anymore. I asked why the villagers still plant it and he said that SOTOCO, the state cotton company, monopolizes the sale of fertilizer and will give villagers fertilizer on credit at the time of year when villagers are planting and therefore in need of fertilizer and lacking in funds. The villagers continue to plant cotton so as to have access to the fertilizer that, although officially destined solely for cotton fields, is siphoned off secretly to the other fields.
Jerome also told me about a friend of his who was hit by a car and killed. Apparently people come down from countries to the north and buy unregistered cars in Lome. As they are speeding up the route national in the middle of the night, there are a lot of hit and runs. The poor man was just coming back from going to the bathroom in the bush.
Our Ewe lesson was good – at least we have left the morality-based lessons derived from the Bible (for lack of a better inspiration).
It is pretty hot lately – I am soaking in sweat all the time. I don't really mind, but it is hard to look presentable. Biking to Agbatit at the hottest part of the day (2:00) is painful, though.
My Peer Education class went really well today. We were starting the lessons on self-confidence and self-affirmation and I had them do some odd activities like try to represent (without movement) a situation in which one person is in a position of power and the other person disempowered, play a game with a ball to illustrate the meanings of attack and side-step (as descriptors for ways in which people relate to each other and approach conflict), and repeating a single phrase in a passive way and an aggressive way. The class was good because there was a lot of laughter and participation and activity. I stayed late to work with four students on mini-skits for the next class and then I raced home because I needed to get water for my plants. On the way, Effoh passed me on the back of Tseviato's dad's motorcycle. He said he planned to leave that very night and return to Notse, but I knew he would end up staying because it was already 6:00 and getting dark. I made two trips to a water hole near the school and then watered my trees in the dark.
In the evening, after showering and writing a bit, Effoh came over and we talked about the origins of lightning (among other things) – we were sitting outside watching a dry lightning storm in the distance. Effoh said that one of his teachers taught them that lightning is caused by rocks striking against each other in the sky . . . =0)
2/27/08
First thing in the morning I got up and made and ate an egg sandwich. I was watering my plants when Tsevi came to get me to go to the field. The whole community was supposed to come help prepare the field for the trees, but only ten or so people showed up – two women and the rest men. They each hoed two rows and then sat on the ground for a good half an hour before decided it was time to go home. We were in the field for less than two hours and I worked more than they did. Granted, I accomplished less, but if you compare effort, I definitely worked harder and I have two blisters and a splinter to show for it. I was annoyed and let it be known and so it was decided that we will have a community meeting (will anyone show for that?) to determine whether the villagers want to do this project or not. If they want to do it, they have to commit to doing the work; if they don't want to, I will find another purpose for my trees. Honestly, I don't know what I would really do if they decide they are not interested . . .
Home from the field, I made two trips to the swamp – it is essentially a swamp – the waster is mucky and there is cow dung right next to it – great nutrients for my trees, liquid fertilizer. As people pass by and see that I am getting water there, they ask what I am planning to do with the water – it is sweet – they are concerned and don't want me drinking it. Anyway, after getting water for my trees, I worked on my jar-frigo. I decided that the sand I used the first time was too coarse. The jars are a tight fit and pebbles were impeding me from insulating well with sand, so I collected more sand from the road, carried it back to my house in a bucket on my head and sat under my paillote sifting it. It took quite a while, but as I was sifting and looking at the fine gravel I was collecting, I thought about trying to build a make-shift water filter with sand and gravel. I think I will look in my toolkit for ideas, play around with it and see what I can do.
I sifted al morning, took a break for lunch, and sifted another bucket in the early afternoon. I then put my jar-frigo together by carefully pouring my now finely sifted sand in between the tow jars and wetting it with water from my cistern. Afterwards I wasted a good hour at the mill waiting for my turn to grind a small bowl of corn and an even smaller bowl of soy beans. Then I went to the barrage two times and watered my plants, showered, ate a pineapple and wrote until the sleepiness conquered me.
3/28/08
Today, first thing in the morning after preparing bouillie and leaving it to cool, I rode my bike to Midijicope to speak with Bebe or her husband about rallying Midijicope ot participate in the community moringa project. Neither were there – I think they both went north. I looked for a young man who is on the CVD and lives in Midijicope, but he wasn't home. Struck out.
I watered my plants and then go to work preparing my Peer Educator class for the afternoon. I worked on that all morning, wit ha short visit to the dispensaire greet Lili and get markers. Around 11:00, the children came by and offered to hoe my garden which is quickly filling up with weeds. I think they wanted to appease me and regain soccerball usufruct rights. I hadn't given them the ball the whole morning because I was annoyed. Yesterday, someone went into my garden while I wasn't there – I could tell because several things were not where and how I had left them – and because someone had pulled my carefully placed inner jar out of my sand filled outer jar. As they hoed, I redid my jar-frigo. It turned out not to be so bad because I wet the sand and was able to pack it to the sides.
After giving the children the ball, my Dad called from Ghana. It was so nice to hear his voice! I haven't talked to my parents since Christmas because of uncooperative phone lines and so it was a special treat. Then I went on a hunt for charcoal. Eventually, Tsevi helped me find and buy two bowls full for the same price as one guy wanted to charge for only one bowl. I made scrambled eggs for lunch and then, after receiving a gift of more wild bananas and ragout (like a stew made with wild ignam) from DaMarie, I left for my PE class. I half an hour earlier than usual because I wanted to go to the marked in Agbatitoe before hand and buy a hoe. It was easier task than I was expecting and I ended up have forty free minutes before my class started. My PE class was ok. Not as good as Wednesday's, but ok. Sometimes I feel as though the kids are tired or bored of me – I would ask them if I thought they would answer truthfully.
I biked home and made a trip to the barrage, watered my seedlings, and now I am making banana bread with the bananas DaMarie gave me. The director of the EPP (primary school) brought me four ignams which I am saving for when my parents are here and I will bring him, DaMarie and Tsevi banana bread tomorrow and safe the fourth cake for myself.
Tseviato is at the door and just commented on the fact that I have not yet bathed. Speaking of Tseviato, she told me the other day that she is second in her class based on the compositions (like mid-terms) that they just took. I knew she was smart. I have to write to the volunteers in charge of the Karen Waid scholarship to send girls to school and see if I can get them to take her on. That way I can make sure she has the opportunity to finish high school.
3/29/08
Today I got up early as usual (5:30) and made myself corn and soy flour bouillie. After learning that my "community-wide" meeting was again postponed, this time until evening, I made four trips to the barrage. Two of them with Tseviato, meaning she rode on the back of my bike on the way there and I walked with her on the way back, and two more after she called it quits. When I go by myself, I go much faster because I can bike back.
I then got busy washing my clothes. The children kept asking for the soccer ball, but I couldn't pump it up for some reason. I have learned the word for "gate-ed," "ruined," "spoiled," "broken" in Ewe, but the children have also learned how to say "Danielle, jouer le ballon" (to play ball) in French which they keep repeating over and over regardless of my tired explanations that it is "out of service." As I was washing my clothes, Effoh arrived on a bike from Notse. His older brother, the one who pays his school fees, had asked him to come help prepare the fields for planting. After saying hi, he rode out to his older brother's field. I finished washing clothes, made lunch by mixing the ragout (like a stew made with wild ignams) that DaMarie sent over yesterday with a mixture of split peas and red lentils. I ate lunch and puttered around my house until around 3:00 when I went to my garden and weeded my moringa seedlings. It was still pretty hot, but I knew I needed to go to the barrage and fill my water jar, so after weeding I loaded up my bike. Effoh was back from the field and he called me over to taste palm wine. I had already tasted it in Jerome's village, but I took a tiny sip. As expected, it was gross. I half expected it to be palm juice, straight from the tree and not yet fermented, because Effoh doesn't drink alcohol, but it was fermented. Yucky. I did learn, however, that there is a distillery in Avassikpe – perhaps my parents and grandmother would like to go see the distillery (although then they might be pressured to drink some sodabe).
I made three trips to the barrage with Tseviato in tow and watered my trees in between. I biked back with my canteen of water on the first two trips, leaving Tseviato to walk with other children her age, but on the third trip I wheeled my bike back as she walked. Apparently Effoh's older brother, Kodjovi, Tseviato's older sister's husband and the father of Robert, Charles, and Parfait, is paying the young men who are hoeing his field with water. I wonder if these are people who don't have access to the barrage because they live in Midijicope or what. I don't know why else they would accept payment in water. I will have to remember to ask Effoh. Tseviato made three trips to the barrage to get them water and so did Effoh and Tseviato's older sister, Kodjovi's wife.
After watering my plants, I showered and then Tsevi and the president of the CVD, Atchi (sp?), came to inform me that they were going to gongonne and tell everyone in the village to assemble at my house.
As I sat outside waiting for people to show, I noticed a tiny little lamb that was all alone. Usually newborn lambs are right next to their mother, but this little lamb was visibly lost and very small and skinny. He was evidently weak because he let me touch him. I mixed up some powdered milk and tried to feed it to him. He licked a little off my finger, but wouldn't drink it out of the tuna-fish can I had put it in. I got a pagne and dipped it in the milk to see if he would suck it off that. Unfortunately, I didn't think of the eye-dropper until much later. Tsevi stopped by and was amused by my efforts to get the lamb to drink some milk. DaMarie's husband was also amused, but when I tried to let the lamb, who came up to me and licked my leg, into my house, he picked up the lamb and removed him to the open space between my house and DaJulie's house. There were a lot of sheep there, and the little lamb was bleating for its mommy, but all the female sheep rejected him. It reminded me of the children's story "Are you my mommy?" where the little bird falls out of the nest and wanders around asking different animals and machines if they are his mommy. Only that story has a happy ending. I followed the little lamb with my headlamp as he wandered around and finally back to my paillote where he lay down and went to sleep. I got more laughs when I wrapped him in a piece of pagne to keep him warm and placed the milk next to him, just in case. It made me sad because I knew he was going to die. If only I could get him to eat.
The only people who showed for my "village-wide" meeting were the people who didn't need to hear what I had to say – meaning the members of the CVD and the people who were already participating in the project. We sat and lay (people brought mats and slept on the floor outside my house as we waited) around until 9:30 (very late in Avassikpe time) and eventually called it quits. About an hour before that, though, I took Tsevi's bells for gongonning and walked around my house gongonning and yelling "Agonami Avasikpeto, amesiame mivaloooooo!" – calling everyone to my house. I know people heard me because I could hear the laughter bubbling up around the village and the next day people made reference to my gongonning, but, nonetheless, no one came. =0(. I went to bed feeling discouraged. How do you mobilize a community if they refuse to even come hear what you have to say? If I could speak the language, I would go from house to house to speak with everyone – I have no problem doing that – but I can't speak the language and how can I ask Tsevi to give up that sort of time?
3/30/08
First thing in the morning I made myself some corn and soy flour bouillie (hot breakfast cereal sort of like cream of wheat) and let it sit while I watered my plants and made a trip to the barrage to leave Tsevi with enough water for the plants while I will be in Notse.
I saw my little lamb – he was sleeping under the huge metal cotton bin they placed in front of my house. I tried to feed him milk again with an eyedropper, but he refused to drink it – I think he was already too weak. He didn't move from his spot; I kept checking on him to see if he was still breathing, but I knew he was going to die and before I left for church, there were no signs in his skinny little belly of the rise and fall that equals life. When I got back from church, his body was gone. I couldn't help but feel genuinely sad and wished I could have found a way to make him drink the milk.
The men were bringing cotton to the container. They try to pack it down on green plastic tarps and then tie it into bundles big enough to require four men to transport them. They pack it down by sitting on it, stomping on it, and punching it down. Then they hang it from a special scale they have rigged up between two posts and weigh the bundles before putting them in the huge orange metal container. It is hard work for the men apparently, but fun for the children who climb on the bundles of cotton and jump from one to another and then play in the swimming pool of cotton that is the orange container as it is being filled. When I see them, I wish that I were young enough to get away with climbing in there and joining them – playing that much cotton must be fun. This morning they were piling the cotton bundles up around my house and using my paillote as a work space which of course was fine with me. Since SOTOCO (the state cotton company placed the container right infront of my paillote, it was a convenient work space.
Around 9:00 I left for church. It wasn't particularly exciting. I was asked to pray before the reading of the scripture and, embarrassed, I refused. I could probably have prayed in English, but not in French – it was an embarrassing minute that seemed much longer. Eventually the pastor just gave the prayer. He then bellowed out a sermon, the moral of which was: if you don't inform others of their sins in an effort to help them reform their ways, then their sins and soul are on your head, and you will be judged accordingly. Even though a young man was sitting next to me translating for me, I couldn't hear a word that he was saying over the roaring of the pastor and the man, Adjo's father, who was translating into Kabiye and doing a good bit of bellowing himself. What I understood of the sermon was from what I read of the scripture lesson for the day from the French Bible that was leant to me for that purpose, and what little I understood of the Pastor's Ewe. As if to put his sermon into practice, the pastor again "disciplined" a member of his congregation, something about a man who was looking for another woman when he had a wife at home.
The pastor is a very charismatic person, perhaps the most charismatic person I have ever met. When he is preaching, his demeanor is radically different from when you are speaking with him one on one. When he is preaching, he is scarily overbearing, but when you are having a conversation with him face to face he is soft spoken, thoughtful and extremely polite.
Yesterday Tseviato told me that they were going to celebrate a marriage in church today and I was excited to witness it, but actually it turned out to be kind of sad. They had brought the pastor from Agbatitoe in to perform the ceremony (perhaps our pastor is not authorized? I can't help but think that, nonetheless, he would have done a better job). At first the women's choir accompanied the girl down the isle, but the pastor from Agbatitoe made them go back and do it again because he said that they had done it wrong; the man and the woman are supposed to walk down the isle together, holding hands. And so the choir and the bride went back outside and they repeated the process, this time with the man and woman walking together, looking very uncomfortable and embarrassed, in the middle of the women's choir and the youth choir. The pastor then said some good things about choosing a spouse for love and not for material or physical reasons that might change. He spoke of unconditional and life-long love which I thought was good, but then he made the couple stand and hold hands a certain way (everything by the book) and he pretty much said the typical wedding vows "do you, -----, take this woman . . ." in a bumbling French, which Effoh later informed me was for my benefit, and then declared them married. It wasn't joyful, the couple didn't look at all in love or even in like, they weren't dressing any differently from the other members of the church, nothing. After they were "married," we collected a special offering for them and that was it.
I spoke with the young man from Midijicope whom I had gone to find yesterday, Amiri, about a meeting on moringa with community members from Midijicope and he suggested that I come back in half an hour and we would go talk with the community. I went home and changed out of my hot, seran-wrap, pagne clothing and ate some peanuts because I was starving. I started to prepare my beans for lunch, but then I had to leave for Midijicope. The meeting was going well – there were about ten men there (as much community participation as anyone can hope for around here) and I was explaining the basics of the project, when I realized that I had forgotten to turn my stove off. I got on my bike and raced home and sure enough, all the water in my pot of beans had evaporated and the beans were burning to a crisp. I turned the gas off, dumped some water in the very hot pot and biked back to Midijicope. I should have grabbed a branch of the moringa tree as I passed by, because I ended up biking back to Avassikpe a second time to bring a branch so that the men would understand exactly what tree I was talking about. My message was well received and they seemed to be impressed by the multiple properties of moringa that they were hitherto unaware of. They agreed to participate in the project and to organize for the gongonneur to alert the people of Midijicope of the communal work day on Thursday. I promised them that they would pick the representatives from Midijicope who would be on the Moringa committee and that a person from Chalimpota, from Avassikpe, and from Midijicope would have keys to the "strong box" where we will keep the funds generated from the moringa project so as to minimize the temptation to "bouf" (steal) the money. The meeting lasted until 2:00. I then biked home and tried to salvage my lunch. I ate it, but it wasn't the best beans and gari I have ever eaten.
I packed and got ready to go and then sat under the paillote beating a dead horse with Effoh – meaning debating gender equality. At first I was mostly doing it for the spectators, I thought the younger boys who were listening to our conversation might get something out of it (hopefully out of what I was saying and not what he was saying), but then we lost our audience to the football (soccer ball) and it once again became a debate between just the two of us. He used arguments like, your last name is? Naugle. Is that your mother's name or your father's name? My father's. See? And I used arguments like, at one time we thought black people were inferior to white people and then there was a movement to change that notion, was that a good thing? Yes. And now it is the same thing with women, women have been treated as inferior and now there is a movement to change that, so why isn't that a good thing in the same way that changing the way black people are regarded is a good thing? We didn't arrive at any mutually acceptable conclusion. I'm trying to get him to agree that women should have equal opportunity to men and he is trying to convince me that women can never be equal to men. I try to bring the argument back to opportunity and say that it isn't a question of men and women being one and the same or of assigning greater value to one or the other, but of thinking that men and women should have equal rights and opportunity. Even that, though, is a far leap for people here because they can always fall back on their same social rules – women can't have multiple husbands, a man can't go live at the woman's family's house, a woman can't pay a dowry for a man.
We then briefly got on the topic of dowries and Effoh said that a dowry doesn't mean that you are buying the woman as if she were an object, but rather that it is a demonstration of love to prove to the family of the girl that you are well-intentioned. Hm.
We didn't end up leaving until around 5:00, after Effoh had made his rounds to collect money from generous family and friends. We biked to Notse without incident and I arrived at Ashley's house just before dark. Ashley wasn't there, she was in Atakpame; my plan was to shower and then sit down and get busy typing my emails, but as I was in the shower the electricity went out. Luckily I found a flashlight. I sat reading a Newsweek waiting for the power to come on and eventually I got sleepy and went to bed. The power didn't come on until the middle of the night when the fan turned back on and saved my from my sauna. I don't know why, but it is so much hotter in Ashley's house at night than in my house; at least that is how it seems.
3/31/08 and 4/1/08
Yesterday was a Notse day – typing emails, trying internet to no avail, talking with Ashley, going to the market, but we did something out of the ordinary – we biked in a lightning storm accompanied by a steady drizzle to the field where Ashley is going to plant her moringa trees. It was a beautiful bike ride – the land is rolling and green with grey rock formations and huge baobabs as adornment. The footpaths were a little challenging to bike, especially in the rain, but it all added to the feeling of adventure, escape and release that we both needed. We got quite wet and cool enough to want a cup of hot tea when we got back to the house – a rare treat in a place where we are rarely cool enough to desire a hot beverage.
Today I biked back to Avassikpe and was in village by 9:30. My house reeked and at first I wasn't sure why but then I saw, or rather smelled, the pot of egg shells I had boiled and left to soak before I left. It was rank. I am giving up on my attempt to turn eggshells into a calcium supplement; here on out, they are getting composted. I checked on my seedlings, fixed the handle to the scrub brush I bought yesterday to scrub my floors before my parents arrive, removed the foul smelling eggshells from my house and made more numbers for the vaccination day coming up on Friday.
After making and eating lunch (macaroni with a vache-qui-rit and basil sauce), I prepared my Peer Educator class for tomorrow and then made three trips to the barrage and watered my plants before showering and sitting down to write. Not a particularly exciting day, but busy nonetheless.
Oh, I forgot to mention that as I was riding out of Notse after stocking up on pineapples, I crossed paths with the IDH (microfinance) dude who comes to Avassikpe every Friday. First, he wants a correspondante – someone (female) to "penpal" with – anyone interested? =0) j/k. He isn't a vile character, but any woman who did take him up on the offer would probably get a marriage proposal after a few short weeks. Secondly, he and his brother want to open a community pharmacy and for some very strange and incomprehensible reason, they want to name it after me. Whatever. I will deal with it when something comes of it. For all I know, they just came up with this brilliant idea yesterday.
I am wondering why none of the seamstresses around here have tried to make pagne teddy bears. I think they could be a great hit and there is plenty of cotton floating around to stuff them with. I think I will look for a simple teddy bear pattern and suggest it to Mana. I bet they would sell in Notse and Lome and even Avassikpe where childrens' toys are tires, cans, sling shots, etc. I should also get busy on my idea to build a sort of play ground or at least swings . . . Hum-dee-dum . . .
4/2/08
I got up at 4:30 this morning because the men I met with on Sunday after church said they were going at 5:00 – guess who never showed up? I got a head start (in the dark) on my sauce for lunch and then biked to Amiru's house (nothing) and out to the field (nothing). On the way back, some men asked me to work with them – they were using a special type of hoe to make raised beds for corn. I told them that I would help them today if they will come work in the moringa field tomorrow. They agreed (we will see what sort of agreement this was (a non-agreement as it turns out)) and so I did two half rows for them It was hard work and after five minutes, I was dripping, literally, with sweat. You have to dig, lift and dump the dirt. In the time I could do half a row, they could probably finish two. I can't imagine doing that all day; no wonder these guys are ripped. Luckily, they wanted their special big hoe back and released me after my participation lost its amusement value (I must admit, I wasn't being all that helpful, but you have to give me points for trying).
I returned home, showered and finished preparing my sauce. I called Jerome and asked him to bring me fish and then I made pâte – all by myself. I very nearly ruined it because I forgot to take out some bouillie before adding more flour and ended up wit ha very lumpy pâte that I quickly strained so as to remove the lumps and try again. The second attempt was more or less a success.
I spent the rest of my morning until 11:00 lying in my hammock waiting for Jerome to arrive. When he finally did, we had a good, but uneventful and short lesson. After we had eaten and Jerome had taken his leave, I brought pâte and sauce over to Lili and Mana at the dispensaire. They complemented my cooking over and over.
My Peer Educator class went well – sometimes I wonder, though, at the students' non-existent critical thinking skills . . .
As you can probably tell, I am tired and whizzing through my day which wasn't all that exciting or eventful. Tomorrow we are supposed to go to my field for a community work day. Tsevi is gongonning outside my house right now. I wonder if any more than ten people will show . . .
4/3/08
No offense, but lately I don't feel much like writing. I think I am starting to feel repetitive. For our communal work day, more people showed up than in the previous two weeks, but still not enough people or time/effort spent to get the job done. Most of the men left by 8:00. I stayed wit hone man who had been there since early morning and two latecomers until ten when the sun got too hot and I was near dead from thirst – I had shared my water with the first group of workers and they considerately finished it off before leaving. It is hard work hoeing the field and I am afraid this nasty grass that grows like the worst of weeds will keep coming back to haunt me. There is an herbicide on the market that kills it, but it is expensive and the lack of participation does not inspire generosity.
I came home, gulped down over a liter of water at once and almost made myself vomit and then made three trips to the barrage for water.
I was washing my clothes when Tseviato brought over baobab leaves. I had asked her to show me how to make a sauce with baobab leaves and so I brought out my little charcoal stove and made sauce and pâte with her. Baobab leaf sauce is made pretty much like every other pâte sauce except that you pound the leaves first wit ha mortar and pestle. I'm becoming an expert pâte maker by the by . . .
I didn't eat much of the pâte and sauce we made because DaMarie had given me beans and gari earlier that morning and I preferred to eat that. Instead, I brought her pâte and leftover sauce from yesterday. Tseviato ate a big portion of pâte and sauce and the third portion was consumed by the president of the CVD later that evening – he is starting an annoying habit of asking me for food. I thought about telling him that I am not his wife and it is not my job to feed him just like I tell children that I am not their mother and it isn't my ob to feed them, but on second thoughts, I should tell him to stop sitting around gabbing and go make himself dinner if he is hungry.
I finished my laundry, washed dishes and went to speak with Tsevi about going around from family to family to inform people of the community moringa project and ask them if they want to participate or not. This is my last (sure, that is what I say now . . .) effort to get people involved. I know people need to understand a project before they will participate and since they refuse to attend community-wide meetings, I'm obligated to go to them – poor, longsuffering Tsevi, he doesn't complain, though.
After watering the trees, Tsevi came by and together we went to speak with three families. The men were called, we sat down and I gave a brief explanation of the project and the lack of participation. It was successful in that more people heard the message (around 20) than ever did at any community meeting. Of course, everyone agreed to participate – we will see. I should ask everyone to contribute 100 cFA for the herbicide . . . then maybe they would feel committed . . .
Today I spent the early morning making pancakes and a fish sauce for my planned lunch of rice and beans. Today was vaccination day and I expected to not eat anything all day and be famished by the time we finished. Luckily, Lili had someone bring pâte and sauce over around 2:30 and so I was saved from sure death by starvation. Now I just hope that my fish sauce won't spoil before tomorrow.
It is Jorge's birthday today and I tried calling him after setting up at the dispensaire. I wanted to call him first thing in the morning – my 9:00, his 7:00 – but the call wouldn't go through. I was already a bit frustrated because my eye is irritated and sore, meaning I have to wear my glasses which I hate (not the glasses in particular, but glasses in general) and because the children were annoying me about the ball – I am trying to teach them to ask politely for the ball so they don't get on my nerves every time I hear "Danielle, jouer le ballon." If I can just get a "s'il vous plait" in there, it will be ten times better. I was frustrated that my call wouldn't go through, and then frustrated by the way the baby weighing registry is made and how Lili didn't understand that even if a child is gaining weight, he or she can still be malnourished and in the need of extra care/supervision. Then I was frustrated by the fact that Bebe fills the baby weighing cards in wrong so that they are meaningless. There is a slot for each month of the year; even if the mother misses a month, you still have to respect the time lapse and use the appropriate slot, not just the next blank one. When I finally got over my frustrations, I mostly enjoyed the task of weighing babies. It is less stressful than the vaccination registration business and the babies are cute and mostly still too young to be afraid of me. Only two infants were severely malnourished and that is because they had been severely ill. They both were older than a year and would have been great candidates for moringa powder – I wish I had some – and, of course, the is currently no follow-up in place. I had Lili come speak with the mothers of both malnourished children, but I stupidly didn't write down their info. The way this registry business works is terrible. We got a new registry, so all the babies from before aren't included in the registry. I have to ask why we can't just copy their information over. Too bad we didn't talk about it before starting to number the babies with 1 again.
The highlight of my day was a phonecall from Jorge around noon and so I was able to wish him a happy birthday. He also texted me with the right way to dial him and I was able to call him from the new cabine, "phone booth," in town. Avassikpe is rising up in the world! We spoke for less than a minute and it cost 900 cFA ($2.00!!), but at least now I know I can call him if I need to.
It was an exhausting day and I am ready for it to be over. I must admit to being relieved when Tsevi asked that we continue our individual family information sessions tomorrow. My eye really hurts and I am more that ready for bed.
4/5/08
I feel frustrated to the point of tears. Today I saw Tsevi and his brother take a cuvette (big metal basin) full of water away from an old woman who had walked all the way to the barrage to get it just because she is from Midijicope. Perhaps I am most upset because Tsevi was a primary actor or because the scene perturbed the ethical tranquility of my idealistic mind. I don't feel right about working on a community project that will only benefit a part of the community – namely, the people from Avassikpe, because they, the self-proclaimed "authoctones" will inevitably hijack the project. But who am I to meddle in affairs way beyond my narrow scope of comprehension? I am not pleased with my immediate reaction to the situation either, which was to tell Tsevi that their behavior disgusts me – a declaration which was met by laughter and mumblings of what I can only infer was something to the effect that I have not idea what I am talking about, a well deserved rebuttal.
In self-righteous indignation, I declared that I don't want to work in a community that can't even look for constructive solutions and that, with this sort of attitude, they will never "develop" and I stalked off teetering between anger and tears. I shut myself in my garden to water my plants and think of how to better approach the problem. I think the only possible course of action is to request a meeting between the elders from the two halves of the village and to try to come to some sort of agreement or compromise that lays the issue of the barrage to rest. Even if I could accomplish that feat, it would be naïve to think that the animosity between the two quartiers (neighborhoods) will miraculously evaporate. It is surely more deeply rooted than the barrage – that is just its current expression. Also, what do I risk in tackling this issue? What if it is so powerful and ingrained that it destroys all the relationships I have carefully cultivated over te past eight months? If people wanted to fix the problem, wouldn't they have tried already? Again, I ask myself, who am I to meddle? What do I know of the living history between the two parts of the village? At the same time, though, I can't rest easy knowing that my community project is only a community project as far as I am concerned; everyone else knows that it is really Avassikpe's project. I don't feel right about working on a project that will only benefit Avassikpe. I think I am angry at them for putting me in this difficult position, but what society doesn't have its divisions? If it weren't this, it would be something else.
This morning, the pastor offered to take some men out to the field and finish clearing it for my trees. Tonight I went to thank him and to refuse his offer. If he does the work for them, they will never appropriate the project and they will keep waiting for someone else to step up and do the work for them. I guess I have to take the risk that they won't do the work and devise a Plan B. For now my Plan B is to plan the trees at the dispensaire and make a powder for sale by the dispensaire and for the sole profit of the dispensaire. I am not completely pleased with that plan and haven't really thought it through, but at least there it would benefit a wider population indiscriminately of whether they are from Avassikpe or Midijicope, "authoctone" or "etranger." But, who would deal with it once I am gone and where would we get water to irrigate the trees during the dry season? Conundrum. Anyway, the pastor wishes me much "courage" and told me to read Joshua Chapter 1 in the Bible where apparently God give words of encouragement and fortification to Joshua who is trying to lead a people not yet ready to listen.
Before the incident, my day was fine, peaceful even. After making five trips to the barrage, I studied Ewe, ate lunch and lay in my hammock reading a book entitled "Cooperative Success." Everyone is going to the fields now so the village is awfully quiet from 10-ish til 4-ish. Eventually I may get lonely, but for now I am enjoying the solitude and down time.
Jorge's mom called me in the afternoon and we had a nice conversation – it is so sweet of her to call . . .
4/6/08
Life is just a little bit rosier today – I am back on good terms with Tsevi and his brother – there are just certain things about the historical baggage of this village that I can't understand and I need to try to work towards constructive solutions without judging. This morning I had a good meeting with some ten plus men about the moringa community project. They voiced the fear that the money will be bouffed as it has been in the past – both the barrage and the pump were mentioned in relation to bouffed money. I told them that I can't guarantee that the money will not be bouffed, that I can only promise that the money will not be in one person's control, and that it is their responsibility to choose reliable members of the community as project managers. So far, meeting with individual families seems like a really good decision. I am reaching far more members of the community than come to village meetings and in a context in which they can freely voice their concerns. So far everyone has voiced support for the project with varying degrees of enthusiasm and reticence, but support none-the-less. Of course, the real test will be whether anyone shows up to the field on Thursday or not.
Church this morning wasn't really out of the ordinary except that the pastor told all the married men to get up and go greet their wife or wives. When no one budged, he individually made each and every married man go over to his wife or wives and embrace them. It was hilariously awkward. Public displays of affection are non-existent here (between married men and women that is) – and some of them just shook hands with their spouse, put their arm around them in a half-hug, or kissed them on the cheek. Some of the wives recoiled from the forced "affection" in embarrassment. I'd like to be a fly on the wall to observe married men and women's interactions in private, not for voyeurism purposes, but because I really wonder if they are affectionate in private and if they actually talk to one another. It was pretty darn funny though. Other than that, I spoke briefly about Shisto and asked the people whose children are peeing blood to bring them either to the dispensaire or to the pastor so we can begin compiling a comprehensive list of the number and age of affected children and convince the hospital in Notse to send someone out to do a mass testing. Finally, the guest pastor preached about the second coming: "are you prepared?" and about the moral epilepsy that is ravaging young girls and causing them to "fall into Kodjo's bed one day, Koffi's bed the next day and Komla's bed the following day." No one mentions the "moral epilepsy" that has been ravaging "our men," of all ages, for centuries.
After church, I made popcorn, worked on my Peer Educator class for Wednesday and then chatted with Tseviato until we went over and made a sauche with dried okra for her older sister, Roberto, Charles, and Parfait's mom. Afterwards, I watered my plants and made two trips to the barrage with Tseviato. I also bought eighteen of the small ungrafted mangos for 100 francs – my first mangoes of the season. Later I will probably reject them for big, non-stringy, grafted mangos from the market in Notse, but for now they are delicious – like a mango juice box. In the evening, Tsevi and I went around to three more families and this tactic still seems much more successful than previous attempts at communicating our message and getting people involved. Like I said before, the real test comes on Thursday. For now, though, my optimism is restored.
Oh, how could I almost forget the highlight of my day? My Dad called me from Niger. It left me giddy with excitement because my parents' and grandmother's visit is really getting close – eleven days! It is going to be so unbelievably wonderful to have them here and so sad when they leave!
Tseviato is pretty funny by the way. Today she said: "I told the kids selling mangos to come to my older sister's house; maybe Parfait (her older sister's youngest child, a toddler) will cry and she will buy some. Parfait will only eat one and then I too will get some mangos. But Parfait didn't cry and my sister said she didn't have any money."
4/7/08
Jerome was supposed to come today for an Ewe lesson, but he called around mid morning, just after I put a huge pot of rice on to cook, to say that someone had died and he wouldn't be able to make it. Aside from all the food I had to get rid of, I didn't mind because it gave me a free day to myself. I spent the morning studying Ewe; Ewe is a composite language and so I am going through the dictionary looking for the root words that make up the language and then I am going to make word trees with those root words. It will take a long time, but in the process I am learning a lot and gradually piecing the language together. In the afternoon I played UNO with the children and then I read from a book called "Cooperative Success." Mine is going to be a Cooperative Failure I'm afraid. In the evening Tsevi and I went to speak with a large extended family that lives near the dispensaire. There were fifteen or so people, mostly men, present and they listened politely to my spiel and then told me that although they though my project was a good one, they will not participate because they know that any money that is made will be bouffed and that even if the project succeeds in creating enough funds for a community development project, that the end results will not benefit them because the "authoctones" will hijack the project in some way or another. They weren't open to negotiation, argument, reasoning, anything – their answer was simply, the project is good but we don't want to be involved and I don't blame them. From what I gather through conversations with Tsevi before during and afterwards and from the little bits that I understand here and there of the conversations going on around me, every time Avassikpe has tried to undertake a project for community development, funds are bouffed (stolen). When the pump broke and the community needed to dig into the savings from the pump, they found the "caisse" (strong-box) empty. Someone had bouffed all the money. Now, with the barrage, on principal, the people who come from outside Avassikpe (including the people from Midijicope) are supposed to pay for the water they take from the barrage because they didn't contribute to the original collection to dig the barrage in the first place. The money that they pay for water belongs to the community as a whole and there is a barrage committee that is supposed to manage the barrage and the incoming funds and when enough accumulates, that money is to be used for a community development project. It is essentially the same idea that I had for the moringa trees, but, wouldn't you know it, every time even a little bit of money builds up from the barrage, it is bouffed. Guess who is doing the bouffing? I can't name names, but I know it is the authoctones because they are the ones who control everything. If there is a "ruling class" in Avassikpe, it is the authoctones, because although they might not be visibly richer than the others, they are the landowners and therefore the local authorities if there are any. And guess what else? EVERYONE KNOWS EXACTLY WHO IS BOUFFING THE MONEY! Ask me if they do anything about it. Nope. Why? Well, the outsiders can't do anything about it because pretty much they have no voice and the authoctones don't seem to be all that perturbed by all the bouffing that is going on because they are essentially one big happy family. If my brother boufs money from the barrage savings fund to buy himself a moto, maybe he'll let me borrow the moto every once and a while. So time and time again, all the outsiders are screwed out of money and effort by the "authoctones" and I have the audacity to wonder why they don't want to participate in my project. Actually, it makes perfect sense to me and to be perfectly honest, I am not sure I want to participate in my project anymore. What I mean, is I don't want to create another opportunity for people to screw others out of money and time and effort and have it, once again, all come to naught. I don't want to be responsible for another project on Avassikpe's list of failed community initiatives and, frankly, I am not sure I can set up a bouff-proof management team. Perhaps I can keep people from bouffing money while I am here, but after I am gone, I am afraid it will fall apart, someone will bouff the money and all the benefits from everyone's sweat will go into one man's pocket. And why not? In Avassikpe, there are no consequences for bouffing money. Bouffing is stealing, that is what it is. When someone is caught stealing something here, even something little, they can be beaten and even killed, but when someone bouffs thousands and even hundreds of thousands of cFA from a community-owned and managed project there is absolutely no consequences. No one comes to confiscate your sheep or your goats or your harvest or your moto until you pay the money back and you're allowed to continue your peaceful existence only substantially richer. You'd bouff the money too! It is ridiculous and sad. I am at the point where I really don't want to go forward with my own project and essentially I don't think a CVD (Village Development Committee) has even a "raison d'être" in a village like Avassikpe. If people are so mistrusting that they won't even give a few hours of their time to a project that aims to generate a local source of funding for community development projects then they will NEVER give their money and so the CVD is destined to be forever fund-less. What can a fund-less CVD do? Clean up the village for starters, maybe do a bit of sensiblization on hygiene and maybe work on a latrine project in which villagers individual contributions are matched by an outside source of funds (the only reason that might work is that it is a finite project on a very limited time schedule that is already destined for the benefit of individual families and not, at least not directly, the community at large). Other than that, though, they certainly aren't going to be undertaking any sustainable development projects because they can't be trusted to manage them. As you can tell, I'm frustrated.
When I spoke with Dad yesterday, he said he wasn't surprised that my community project wasn't working and that I should consider investing in individuals. I resist the idea of doing a moringa project with individuals because I feel as though I am here for the benefit of the entire community and that I should try to do projects that will benefit everyone, but if those projects are destined to fail, then I guess the next best option is investing in an individual. I still really want moringa leaves and moringa powder to be available in the area so that when I find malnourished children I have a local solution ready and waiting for them. And so, although I am really reluctant to abandon my idealistic community endeavor, I also don't want to beat a dead horse.

3/4/08 through 3/19/08

3/4/08 and 3/5/08
I can smell roasting mice from where I sit outside my little house in Avassikpe writing. It is not a pleasant smell – a mixture of burning hair and burning flesh.
The past two days have been somewhat unpleasant and frustrating so I am just going to recap certain aspects.
I was sick on Monday, fine on Tuesday and sick again this morning. I think my sphincter is broken – I pooped my pants. Don't laugh, all the other volunteers in my stage suffered that embarrassment long ago. Monday I was terribly nauseous and today I had nausea and explosive diarrhea. I went to the bathroom like twenty times. Anyway . . .
Ashley had another sick house-guest as well. There is a volunteer here visiting for a month; she COS-ed (close of service) a year ago. She was in a village between here and Notse called Akame and stayed for three years. She was a NRM (Natural Resource Management) volunteer and when people yell Ablavi at me as I rice down the Route Nationale, they are mistaking me for her. We don't really look alike, but even Jerome insists that we are the spitting image of each other. It was interesting to get a chance to talk with her – I found it particularly interesting to ask her what it is like to date a Togolese man because she is in a relationship with one and has been for four years. It isn't that the Togolese are so very different from us, but the overwhelming and ingrained gender inequality and rigid gender roles makes it difficult for me to see how an American girl could be happy with a Togolese man. Of course, I am sure there are exceptions – Togolese men who don't think God made women to serve men, but I think it would be easier, in any case, for an American man to find love and happiness with a Togolese woman than an American woman with a Togolese man. I think this ex-volunteer found, perhaps, one of the exceptions, but I don't think she is sure she wants to marry him and problematically, that is the only way she could get him to the States. I think sometimes volunteers here get themselves into complicated situations because they are lonely here, find a nice guy, start a relationship and then, all of a sudden, as the COS date approaches, they essentially have to chose between marrying the guy and breaking up with him. I don't think Togo is all that bad, but volunteers don't even want to leave their dogs here, so imagine how hard it is to leave someone you love on any level here. I think that sentiment sometimes leads volunteers to get married for perhaps the wrong reasons.
On Tuesday, I spoke with someone at the hospital about the shisto (shistosomiasis) problem in Avassikpe and ended up talking about latrines. But one thing at a time. . . for the shisto I have to figure out what age range is most affected so that we can try to organize a mass testing of the target population. Then the problem will be how to make sure everyone who is infected gets treatment. Money, money, money. I wonder if shisto can survive without the human host? So then we got on the topic of latrines because shisto is transmitted by infected people peeing in or near water sources. I mentioned wanting to work to build community latrines and he immediately said that family latrines are much better (because then the latrine is a family's property and responsibility and they will try to maintain it) and that my estimated cost for public latrines was insanely low. Go figure. He then explained a new sort of latrine (I actually don't think it is new, just newly introduced in Togo) that grabbed my interest. It is called an EcoSan Latrine and it is all above ground. The only part that needs to be of cement is the bottom – the base/containers of the fecal matter. The latrines are designed for use by 8-10 people and there are two stalls. First one is used for a year and then it is closed up and the second latrine is used while the poop in the first is heating (with the help of a slanted painted black hatch that attracts solar heat) to a temperature that kills all the dangerous microbes and makes the poo safe to use as fertilizer. When the second latrine is full, the poop is removed from the first and brought to the fields and the first is again opened and the second one closed. Another interesting and important detail is that the toilet has two holes – one for poop and one for pee. The poop goes into the concrete holding tank and the pee down a tube into a bidon. Apparently, after being left a certain amount of time (45 days I think) the pee is also safe and beneficial for the soil. The separation of the pee and poop also apparently reduces the smelliness of the latrine. The idea is to get people to consider their excrement as a resource that they are currently wasting foolishly. My interest is piqued. I will look into how much they would cost to make. The base needs to be of cement, but all the rest (the toilet stall and roofing itself) can be made of local materials – mud brick, paille roofing). I wonder about the divided pee/poop toilet itself. I will have to ask. The other good thing is that the hospital's hygiene and sanitation department would bring a mason out to teach local masons how to build these latrines and then leave them to it – capacity building – yay! I'm on it, I'm on it, I just have to convince the pastor to get on board. I would still like my church, people at home, to collaborate if they are willing. Maybe we could still somehow encourage families to scrounge up the money to build their own EcoSan latrines by contributing a percentage of each latrine. The cost will be for the outside materials – the cement and that is it – the rest they can figure out themselves – a good dry season project as that is when all the construction takes place.
I am seriously loading up on projects. Now – PE classes, moringa, winning the shisto battle; Planting Season/School Vacation – baby weighing in villages, garden, health coloring book for children, sensiblizing against child trafficking; Next Dry Season – moringa drying and selling, class in primary school, latrine project.
I was supposed to have an Ewe lesson Wednesday morning, but I woke up nauseous and with liquid diarrhea so I frantically tried to contact Jerome. His cell phone batter was apparently dead, so I ended up having to send a moto driver out to his village with a hand-written note. I couldn't have him going out to Avassikpe in vain, but I didn't think I could make it as planned in my state.
I spent the morning lying on the couch watching movies (R.V., Stepmom – again – hey you've gotta make do with what you've got) and dashing to the bathroom every fifteen minutes. Like I already said, once I didn't make it.
I ended up feeling good enough to bike back to village by late afternoon. Had it not been for the community work day and the CVD meeting scheduled for Thursday morning, I probably would have stayed in Notse another night, but wouldn't you know, neither took place because half the village is in Kpedome (right outside Notse) for a funeral.

3/6/08
I keep doing stupid things that lead me to do gross things: eating bugs, reusing toilet paper and the latest? Today I scooped water from my cistern (in the dark) with the wrong bucket, with the pee, spit and waste water bucket. I scooped it into my shower bucket and even though I realized my mistake before showering, I couldn't see wasting the water and so I used it anyway. TO make matters worse, I did a lot of Togolese cooking today, which means a lot of fishy cooking and a lot of fishy waste water. I'm not sure if it is my imagination, but I think I (including my hair which I probably shouldn't have washed) smell like fish. I am trying to decide if smelling like fish is better than smelling like pee . . . At least I've never pooped in the bucket!!
From what Tseviato tells me, it hailed here the other day and she was so scared she cried – I have never seen this girl cry; I guess hail isn't a frequent sort of precipitation here. Today, as usual, I was busy from sun-up until sun-down and beyond (because it is dark out and I still have a lot to do).
I made pancakes and then started digging a hole for my compost. It is time and labor intensive because once the topsoil is removed, the dirt is really hard and I have to pick out all the trash – glass, metal, batteries, plastic, shoes, clothes – you name it – it is in my garden.
I took some time to police children's soccer games to make sure the little ones got a chance to play and tried to put a small child on my back like the women do here (a one year old – Raymond), but took him off almost immediately because I was afraid he would fall off.
I ended up staying out in the sun too long and getting burned and the children were making my job more difficult. The easiest thing would have been to give them the soccer ball to get them to go away, but I was trying to teach them a lesson which probably frustrated me more than them. I was annoyed that they don't bring the ball to me when finished playing and that instead, they stash it in one of their own homes (probably because they know that I allow the older kids to keep their ball). I told them that if they couldn't listen to my words and bring me back the ball when finished, that they couldn't have it at all. Of course they begged and whined and blamed each other and ultimately got in the way because they were trying to be "helpful" to convince me to give them the ball. I didn't. Not until later anyway.
I made a trip to the barrage, but I should have gone earlier – it was too hot. I think watering 1,000 seedlings twice a day is going to be a much more difficult and time/energy consuming task than I imagined. I think it will take four trips to the barrage to water them all once (ONCE!) and I say I think because I didn't even manage to water all the dirt once today. I know, I'm a failure of a tree mother. =0( Lucky for me it is raining now.
As if I didn't have enough work to do, I decided to make fufu for lunch and get the last two ignams off my floor (they have been occupying space since Christmas) and eliminate one more mouse-sustaining element (no sooner than I got rid of my ignams, Lili brought me a gift of four more – great). Fufu is a lot of work. Physical work. Tseviato was helping me and eve so I was exhausted by the time I had peeled, cut, boiled, crushed an pounded. I gave Tseviato a huge amount and shared an even larger quantity with DaJulie and her sister who were resting under my paillote. It was actually really good. And then I made pâte sauce to speed the cooking process tomorrow – not a quick process let me tell you (BTW, I need to reheat it now to make sure it keeps well). I think I put too much water and palm oil in, but I am proud of myself for dealing with the fish all by myself. The big smoked fish are actually really really good. I might just get addicted – I am already salivating at the thought of fish and rice with a spicy tomato-onion sauce. I even broke the heads and tales off the little fishies, washed them and threw them in, but I am not a fan – they are all scales and bone and not worth the effort.
By the time I finished cooking it was 4:00. I then tried to fill my jar-frigo with a sandy layer of insulation between the two jars which was more challenging than expected because it is too tight of a fit. We will see if I can make it work. And of course I have little children bugging me all the while about the soccer ball because the older children (no matter what the age range) inevitably monopolize the ball.
I managed to make two more trips to the barrage and water ¾ of the trees before dark and shower without getting hit by the lightning that was streaking between clouds.
Oh, I completely forgot: while I was working in my garden, my APCD called and told me that the lady from UNICEF who gave me the scales requests my presence at a formation on child nutrition taking place in Tsevie next Monday through Firday. While I am touched to be included and interested in attending, a little more notice would have been good and now I will really put my village to the test and see if they can manage to continue clearing the field and watering the seedlings daily without me there to prod them along.
3/7/08
Once again I am exhausted. It seems I never have enough time in a day to do everything – the unbarred items on my "to do" list go on and on. Today I prepared my Peer Educator course first thing in the morning and then went to see about my 1,000 cFA that this guy who was supposed to make my bongos (woven paille fencing) and never did has yet to return to me – a pain in my ---, that is what it is. I would just forget about it, but I can't just on principle. Aggravation; waste of precious time; no luck. Apparently he travels a lot and when he was here, his mother was sick . . .
I made pancakes and policed soccer games and before I could make even one trip to get water for my dirt, Jerome arrived. He never gets here before 10 and he chose today to show up at 8:00. Of course he didn't leave any earlier. It isn't that I mind his visits, but today my list was looming and making it hard for me to concentrate on an Ewe less derived from the Bible. Jerome seems at a lack for good lesson ideas lately. Perhaps I should make a list of ideas.
He helped me make pâte again except this time I did most of it. Thank goodness I had prepared the sauce yesterday! I think it turned out well – not too lumpy and not too rubbery.
After he left, I meant to go to the barrage to get water for my trees, but I got side-tracked by a conversation with Lili. Apparently the "authocthones" – original inhabitants of the village – are gravely displeased that Bebe, a "foreigner," accompanied me to the formation in Pagala. Please! It makes me so angry! We picked a person that is involved in the activities of the dispensaire and who has proved herself willing to work and give of her time and energy. One of the main whiners, the president of COGES, Victor, is the kind of person that drives up on his moto on vaccination day, struts around in his "vaccination vest" as if he were a central component for the smooth-functioning of the work at hand and then disappears to "animer" the marché (drink Tchouk – fermented sorghum beer). I hope Lili can come to this next formation in Pagala because I will refuse to take one of those types. Roundly refuse. I would like to take Bebe again if Lili can't make it or no one at all. It makes me so angry – all this petty authocthone/foreigner crap.
I didn't get a chance to water my dirt before my PE class. Today the class was on gender roles (a continuation of the topic of debate last class) and what facilitates good communication. The kids just got done with a week of exams and I am tired, a little stressed and less well-prepared than usual I guess and the class was a little subdued. Even I was bored. The kids didn't seem in the mood to think or participate too much. I asked them what changes they would like to see in the gender roles in Togo and they couldn't come up with any ideas at all. I'm not sure if they didn't understand or if they were just being lazy and so I gave them a homework assignment. I wonder if they are going to be bored by the capacity building sessions now that we have finished with HIV/AIDS. I finished class half an hour early and biked to Avovocope, a village between Agbatitoe and Avassikpe, and stopped to pick up the cle (a barrier made of palm fronts) that I had ordered. I thought I would be albe to tie it on my bike (I don't know why I thought that – it wasn't dry yet and so heavy I could barely lift it, not to mention big, bigger than a door which is what it is – a door for my garden. Apparently when it dires, it gets lighter, but right now it is green and very heavy). And so I had to mess around with getting a moto driver to bring it to Avassikpe for me. I paid as much for transport as I did for the thing itself. Stupid, but I wanted my door. I need my door to keep children and animals out. Children because they like to test my patience and walk on my bags and stick their fingers in them. Animals for the obvious reasons . . .
And so, life goes on. I made two trips to the barraged and watered half my dirt and then brought pâte and sauce to Tseviato's mom 'cause she gave me some charcoal today (I wanted to buy some; she didn't have enough to sell, but she insisted on giving me what little she had). I also gave some pâte to DaJulie and her sister to taste and a pineapple to DaMarie who sent bananas over yesterday. And then I showered.
Yesterday I learned that Koffi (15 or 16) and Xola (12) and Gerard (10) and Isabel (1) are all DaMarie's children. She only looks a couple of years older than me. I even thought Isabel might be her first child – silly me.
Lately I have also been hearing a lot about Nigeria. All the children are talking about going to Nigeria and coming back with a moto and it has me really upset. Aparently the moto that brought me to Agbatitoe when my gas ran out was obtained by the kid who looked too young to drive it in Nigeria. That, and other "success stories' lure children into thinking that Nigeria is the promised land. Yeah right. I spoke with the director of the school and we agreed that I will come talk with the students about it.
3/8/08
I was thinking about trying to write while lying in my hammock, but on second thoughts, that might not be all that productive. I am exhausted. I know, I know, I whine that I am exhausted at the end of every day, but seriously, I am talking 6am to 6pm hard labor without a break. I got up, made breakfast – I finally figured out how my host mom in Agou Nyogbo used to make a cream of wheat like breakfast cereal – corn flour. I discovered it by chance because as you make pâte you first boil a big pot of water and then, in a small bowl of cold water you mix corn flour with hour hand so as to break up all the lumps. When your big pot of water is boiling, you pour the cold corn flour liquid in and stir vigorously. You then cover it and let it come to a boil for a second time. When boiling, you remove a bowl full of the now thickened mixture and set it aside. Yesterday, we removed too much and so, after adding corn flour and evening it out with some of the liquid we had set aside, we still had a bowl full. Jerome said I could put sugar in it and eat it as a bouillie (liquidy cereal) and so later in the day I did and realized it was the same thing my host mom used to make and that I have been wondering for ages how to replicate.
After making my corn bouillie (cream of corn cereal) I had no time to eat it because Tseviato was at my door asking if I was planning to go to the barrage. I was and so we went together. It was my first time going to the barrage in the early morning when everyone goes to get water. Tomorrow I plan to take my video camera and film it because it looks really neat (a long line of people with containers of all materials shapes and sizes filled with water on their heads) and will be useful in my moringa video if it ever gets made.
Tseviato and I went to the barrage three times in three hours. I could have done it a little faster alone because I felt badly riding my bike and leaving Tseviato in the dust and so I wheeled it. In between each trip, we watered the dirt. The children are no longer allowed unsupervised in my garden because yesterday I found a bag of dirt that had been purposely dumped out sever feet away and today I saw that someone tore the duct tape off the defective bags I had tried to patch. I tried to tell them that if they are going to do destructive things like that, they won't be allowed in the garden and I also refused to give them the ball all morning as punishment and had Tseviato explain each and every time someone asked me for the ball exactly why I was refusing. There is probably only one culprit, but this way everyone is forewarned not to mess around in my garden. I don't want to banish the kids, but I can't have them damaging the trees and later my vegetables.
I finished watering the dirt and brought my pictures over to show DaJulie's sister (Sofie's mom). I interrupted their morning meal, but that was fine because I was hungry and ate some pâte. Afterwards, Tseviato and I planted the moringa seeds that I had left soaking since yesterday afternoon. Not as easy as you might think/hope planning a thousand seeds – it too us until noon in the fierce sunlight, but luckily we had just enough seeds. I wonder what our germination rate will be. Ideally you would plan three seed in each back to be on the safe side, but I didn't have enough seeds.
I made Tseviato some popcorn th thnk her and then went to see Lili (mia) and Tsevi. He came to help me with my door and fill the space between the wall and my fencing. For lunch I made couscous and lentils with leftover fish sauce and after eating I did a bit of laundry and went to see Lili again and then I tried to deepen my compost pit, but the dirt is really dry and hard. At four I made three more trips to the barrage – it went faster because I was unaccompanied and therefore didn't feel guilty about biking there and back. I did dishes, showered and am writing. And I just got off the phone with Jorge – we spoke for 45 minutes! What a treat!
3/9/08
My meeting with the CVD was first thing in the morning and as I waited for them to assemble under my paillote, I packed and made corn bouillie for breakfast. The meeting was short, sweet and to the point – I informed them that I am leaving for two weeks and that they will have to water the trees and finish preparing the field for planting. They accepted the news easily for which I was grateful and relieved. I showed them how I water the plants – they brought over a metal colander to see if that would work faster and better, but we decided that it was too much water and would flood the trees. The soil was still quite damp from the night before and so we ended up only using one bidon and I was freed from having to go to the barrage for a second bidon.
I spoke with Bebe and a young man from Midijicope about the problems between the two halves of the village – it is so difficult to figure out what really happened because each side has their "story" of how it all went down well rehearsed, like a dialogue that over time has become truth and replaced any real memories they have of the conflict. When I talk with people from Midijicope, invariably they say they contributed money and Avassikpe bouffed (stole) it. When I ask someone from Avassikpe, invariably Midijicope refused to contribute money. Now the pump is broken and apparently people from Midijicope are being charged for taking water from the barrage. I feel like I have been plopped into the role of conflict solver– I guess trying to work through this problem with be a good learning experience for me.
Once the CVD members had dispersed, I started chipping away at my compost hole. I went back into the house to get something and surprised a mouse in my front room. It looked as though it had eaten of the poisoned apple (or poisoned fish and pâte) because it was no longer racing out of sight at lightning speed. Stupidly, I scared it from where I could see it to under my guarde-manger and then, even worse, into the bedroom. And then a second mouse ran over my foot and into my bedroom. I called in the ranks (Tseviato and Richard wielding sticks) and stepped outside while they tried to find and kill the mice and not get too distracted by the fact that they were in my bedroom, virgin territory for village children and a treasure trove for the eyes. They killed and removed one mouse and about half an hour later, as I was packing for my trip, the second one jumped out of my clothes basket, into my lap and under my bed. I chased him back into the front room, shut the door to the bedroom and called the children back in. Picture this: several children ages six through twelve wielding sticks and a coupcoup trying to wack a mouse running helter-skelter all over my relatively small and cluttered room; Danielle sitting perched on a chair back, afraid to come in direct contact with the mouse for yet a third time and children peeking in the windows and around the door to watch the circus. They caught and removed another mouse (still alive) from under my two-burner gas stove, but we lost the third mouse. I don't know where it escaped to; I was sure it was hiding under my guarde-manger, but Tsevi, attracted by the commotion, joined the hunt and moved my entire guarde-manger to prove to me that the mouse wasn't there. I was convinced it was squished as we moved it because, and this is really really gross so you might want to skip to the next line, when I was poking around under there with a stick, I swept out a mouse foot. No, not a lucky rabbit foot (although, if you ask me, that is just as disgusting) but a mouse foot. And so Tsevi, a wonderful man who wanted to humor me, then tilted up the guarde-manger to make sure the mouse wasn't smushed up underneath. I still wasn't convinced and only time and the stench or lack there of emanating from my house when I return will put my mind at ease.
After the mouse hunt, I decided to try to sweep out my entire house and leave it in some sort of order and cleanliness – that took a while considering I hadn't swept out my bedroom for months. Can that be true? With harmattan it is so easy to adopt the "why bother" attitude because everything is dirty again five minutes after you clean it anyway.
I finished cleaning and packing and showering around 12:30 which ended the debate in my mind over whether to take a moto or ride my bike. It was simply too hot to ride my bike, but in normal, not-rushed circumstances, riding my bike is a 100 times more pleasant. You have to wait for the moto and then, when I got one it was a small one so my backpack couldn't be tied to the back and so I wore it – big mistake. I'm never doing that again – fifteen hellish minutes in which I felt as though I was holding myself in a crunch position for a super duper abdominal workout without respite for the entire trip with the alternative being falling off the back of the moto. Sometimes I am stubbornly and stupidly proud. I don't know why I didn't just ask him to stop and put my bag between his legs. I honestly thought I as going to fall off and it took the cooperation of every muscle in my body to keep me on that moto for the excruciating 6 kilometers to Agbatitoe (my body is sore today, Monday, from the effort).
When I got to Notse and to Heather's house, I was pleasantly welcomed by four people from my stage (other than Ashley and Heather whom I expected to be there) and a feast that they had prepared. I arrived just in time to reap the benefits of everyone else's efforts and ate a fabulous lunch of spicy ginger grilled pintade and vegetables, rice and tortillas. It was amazing and so much better for not having cost me any effort.
At 4:00 I caught a taxi to Tsevie and found myself squished in the front seat with two other women, a toddler and the driver. I arrived in Tsevie around 5:30 and decided to test out the internet café while waiting for Maggie and Stephanie to arrive (two health volunteers from the Maritime region – Steph is in my stage and Maggie in the one before us). Amazingly, the internet worked and I was able to chat with Jorge and finish up my hour just as Maggine and Steph rolled into town. The first hotel we stopped at was, alarmingly, full, but we were directed to a hotel where, after discute-ing (arguing the price down) we got a room with air-conditioning, hot water and television! We didn't mean to pamper ourselves so much, but it was his only open room and it was getting too late to be wandering around looking for lodging. And so I had my first warm water shower since I've been in Togo.
3/10/08
Not knowing what time our formation started or where the hospital was, we decided to play it safe and leave the hotel at 6:30 in search of breakfast. Stephanie ate beans (I stocked up on beans for lunch) and Maggie and I had egg sandwhiches. We then walked for forty minutes and asked for directions three times before arriving at the hospital. We didn't get lost; the hospital just happens to be on completely the opposite side of town from our hotel. The hospital in Tsevie is actually impressively nice. I thought the Notse hospital was nice, but this one has a park with trees and cement benches lining a long driveway that ends in a roundabout in front of the main entrance and is adorned with a modern artish statue of a woman and her child. Inside there is actually a receptionist, plenty of seating, and even lounge-like nooks with reading material. The staff is dressed in crisply pressed white and blue uniforms and the hospital even smells clean. The bathrooms are stocked with toilet paper and soap to boot. We are duly impressed. The receptionist directed us up the stairs to the second floor – when we arrived at the conference room, a man informed us that our formation was elsewhere and that he would conduct us to our destination. He escorted us to a building at the back of the hospital grounds (which are huge and leave much room for expansion), past beautifully landscaped areas full of trees and greenery, past a resource center and some mango trees that insisted on pelting us with their unripe baby mangos. The room for our formation was being cleaned out; we were disappointed because the first conference room was air conditioned and equipped for a powerpoint presentation; this conference room looked like it was being swept out after a year of disuse. We waited around chatting for an hour while they readied the room and then followed all the other people inside. We sat down and realized quickly that we were in the wrong formation – this was a formation for community health agents on the Buruli Ulcer (also a serious problem, but not where we were supposed to be). And so, someone conducted us back to that air-conditioned conference room we had first stumbled upon. Luckily, it hadn't started yet, but we got stuck with terrible seats for the duration of the formation (because people here are too anal to accept the changing of seats; this morning, Tuesday, we were considering changing spots and pretending to be oblivious to all the confusion, discomfort and disorder our disruption of the status quo had caused – people probably wouldn't tell us to move, but they would certainly be upset by the change).
The woman who gave me the scales wasn't present, but we were given a pen, a pencil, an eraser, a notebook, and a big book outlining UNICEF's program for treating child malnutrition in Togo. We also learned that we are getting paid a per diem of 18,000 cFA a day (around $35.00) and so I calculate that I can walk away with about 90,000 or $170 – pretty good for a weeks work as a volunteer. Now I understand why people love formations hosted by big international organizations.
The formation is on an interesting topic (child malnutrition), but the pace at which the information is disseminated is extremely slow. Essentially UNICEF is teaching health workers how to implement its program/plan to rehabilitate severely malnourished children. The problem? It brings in enriched milk and some peanut butter paste to boost the child's weight and intake of important nutrients, but it doesn't teach parents how to better feed their children with the resources they have at their disposal or how to generate local resources; it keeps everyone dependent on UNICEF handouts and makes it likely that the same child will relapse into a state of malnutrition once they are no longer receiving the free nutrient-packed handouts. Big international organization sweeps in and saves hundreds of children from starvation; pictures of emaciated babies turned plump, happy, smiling. But what happens afterwards? What are the benefits for the children who follow? What behavior change or capacity building actually takes place? None. At least not that I am hearing. Totally missing is how families can improve child nutrition without UNICEF's high-handed intervention. I fully realize that they are focusing on sever cases in which the children are likely to die unless someone swoops in and saves the day, but without a parallel behavior change, information sharing and capacity building effort, it is a band-aid on a gunshot wound. They could easily make mothers attend workshops while their babies are being nutritionally rehabilitated, but I am not hearing much mention of that, only shiny silver packets of astronaut food (just kidding – powdered milk and peanut butter – but it reminds me of astronaut food) with spacy names like F75, F100 and Plumpy Nut.
Anyway, I'm learning a lot about child malnutrition and about the defects of huge international organizations. The UNICEF centers aren't in my region (because we have a child malnutrition rate lower than 10% apparently – UNICEF focuses their efforts in Savannes, Kara and Maritime which have acute malnutrition rates of 32%, 22.6% and 12.99% respectively). I really think they should be spending their money on developing local and sustainable resources – are they going to fund these centers and programs forever? (no, only for a year I later found out) They are only fomenting dependency.
Like I said, I am learning interesting information, but the pace is painfully slow. We get snacks, though, sodas and food . . . we are in session from 8 in the morning until 1 and again from 2:30 until 5:30. We have to eat lunch in and around the hospital because our hotel is way too far away.
Yesterday, after the formation ended for the day, I went to the internet and was able to chat with Jorge again – I am being spoiled! And then I met up with the girls at the hotel – we have been severely demoted – we were under the impression that our new room (our posh room was reserved for Monday night and the rest of the week) would be the same as the first except with fans instead of airconditioning. In fact, it is in a completely separate building a block away and just a bare room with two twin beds pushed together. Not only does it not have a nice bathroom with hot water, but it doesn't have a bathroom at all! The bathroom is communal and across the courtyard and the toilet doesn't have a toilet seat. Had we not spent the first night in absolute luxury, we probably wouldn't even have blinked – the conditions really aren't bad, it is the comparison that makes them completely unacceptable. And so I went to the manager and complained and convinced him to drop a thousand francs from the nightly price. I honestly don't mind the cold shower and I prefer the fan to the air conditioning, but I would like to have easy and exclusive access to the bathroom.
3/11/08
The morning session today was painful. Excruciatingly boring. The first part was tolerable because we were looking at pictures and talking about how to recognize a severely malnourished child, but the second part consisted of several hours of reading out loud from the book and discussing. In the afternoon we were supposed to practice the diagnostic techniques that we learned (measuring the circumference of the middle upper arm, the weigh to height ration, the appetite, etc.) and it would have been interesting except the groups were too large and the children weren't at all malnourished, so it was a little bit of a mute point – just going through the motions. We didn't actually participate (the three volunteers) because we aren't really medically trained and the kids are scared of us to bood. Now we are going over the "field" experience in our groups and writing up a report which we will present tomorrow. Unfortunately, it is only day 2 of this seminar. I don't know why everything, every learning situation here has to be so long, drawn-out and painful.
3/12/08
Have I ever mentioned the clapping? Here they have all these claps (with different names and rhythms that they call bancs) that they use to make sure everyone is paying attention, to thank someone for their contribution, to energize everyone, etc. It is interesting to see adults joyfully clapping in unison.
I forgot to mention yesterday how ridiculous some of the protocol crap is here. For example, each morning participants are assigned to summarize the events of the previous day. They recap everything as if they were a secretary taking the minutes of a meeting, complete with "at 11:27 we . . ." And then the other participants correct the summary (the grammar or vocabulary, for example, or make stupid, inconsequential comments or corrections just to say something). Then, (yes, I know I am griping, but I am going to continue anyway) we all took turns reading out loud and the woman net to me seems to have difficulty seeing or reading and the others in the room impatiently corrected her pronunciation and pausation - very obnoxious and condescending. And they are always correcting people's grammar – there is such an emphasis on form here and a lack of attention to the content. It is really frustrating and tiring.
Our formateur for the day was a very energetic, wiry man with a curly mustache and a big toothy smile. He was a huge fan of the clapping I was just telling you about and had us repeating the same banc over and over again all day. Triple: xxx xxx x! The sessions were somewhat interesting because it was a lot of information about complications that can arise while treating cases of sever malnutrition like dehydration, intestinal problems, heart failure, hypothermia, hypoglycemia, anemia and convulsions. It was a lot of information, but at least it was useful information and not a waste of time.
In the evening we were liberated half an hour early and I went to chat with Jorge at the internet café. Everything was going fine until it got dark and these flying termites came out. I was sitting right under the light, unfortunately, and the bugs were flying and crawling all over me – in my hair, down my shirt, up my skirt – it was driving me crazy – disgusting, torturous – I couldn't hardly concentrate on our conversation and ended up having to leave because I couldn't stand the bugs any longer.
3/13/08
Today has also been a torturous day of reading out loud from the book and confusing people who are supposed to implement UNICEF's program with mixed protocol messages (miscommunications between UNICEF and the World Food Program who is also funding the project).
Breakfast this morning was interesting. We went to an egg sandwich stand – a little shack where a man makes egg sandwiches. There was an Imam there and then the pastor arrived and afterwards other men. The Imam was really getting on my nerves; he chose Maggie as his wife and asked the other men which one they wanted as if we were cattle lined up for sale. I got annoyed and said, "excuse me, but we are not available to be chose by you. We don't choose to be chosen, you can't just divvy us up as if we were your loot." The problem with people like that is that they don't listen to your words and everything you say that they don't like turns you into a racist. Here men's favorite explanation/reasoning for why we don't want to marry them or have sex with them is that we are racist. Not because we just aren't interested and they are rude, obnoxious, and sexist, but because we are racist.
Someone must have figured out somewhere along the way that nothing will provoke some sort of reaction from a young American woman like calling her racist for ignoring your overtures and so they constantly play that card. Racism has nothing to do with it; culture is a much greater issue here. If the men here knew how to treat women, they would have a much better chance with American women (not me, but American women in general). They are never going to be seriously considered as a romantic interest by an American woman if they continue to treat women as objects to be claimed and partitioned and owned; they annihilate their own chances the first time they open their mouths. And the main perpetrator this morning is an Imam. Fantastic.
We got our money today – 108,000 cFA – yay! That is a lot of money – I am thinking of using 60,000 of it to apply for a multiple entry visa to Ghana. Dad said we could go to Ghana in the extra days he will be here after mom and Mimi leave and I am excited about it because all the other PCVs talk about Ghana as if it were the Promised Land.
We wanted to go out for a nice dinner to celebrate surviving four days of Togo Learning Torture (TLT, makes me think of a BLT – I'm hungry), but everywhere we went only had couscous, spaghetti and fish and fries; not a very celebratory menu. We ended up back at the hotel with street salads in black plastic bags and sending a moto to get us French fries that we ate with the ketchup that Maggie had bought in Lome.
3/14/08
The session was again torturous today, but luckily it was the last day and the thought of a quickly approaching liberation helped us make it through. To boot, the session didn't concern us at all because it was all about the paperwork and documentation so that UNICEF can easily calculate how many children's lives they save. We took the post-test (did I mention that we took a pretest the first day? I only got one question right because I had no idea what PB, P/T, F100, F75, Phase 1, Transition, Phase 2, CRENI, CRENAS, CRENAM, ATPE, or Plumpy Nut meant – all parts of UNICEF's program. Now I at least know the jargon, although I am not sure how much good it will do me) and left the torture chamber around 10:45. A Peace Corps Vehicle full of other volunteers picked us up around 11:30, dropped me in Notse, and continued to Pagala.
When I arrived at Ashley's house, one of the women who works at the internet café informed me that they were having a cultural celebration at the Soke private school (right in front of Ashley's house and the affiliate of the internet café) with singing and dancing and skits. I went over around 1:00 when it was supposed to start, went to the internet café when the electricity came back on, Jorge wasn't on gmail and so I went back to the school (still nothing interesting going on except a lot of really nicely dressed school-kids), went back to the internet café, left when the power cut out, went back to the school (still nothing, now à cause de the powercut), went to Ashley's house, showered, changed, went back to the school (still nothing – they tried to find a generator, but the generator wasn't working either), saw Effoh and chatted with him for a while, went to buy water and sit and chat with Hevihevi and wait for something to HAPPEN which it never did. The electricity only came back around 7:00 and I went to the internet café and had a chance to chat with Jorge for an hour.
3/15/08
Today I got up early and biked out to the really fancy hotel at the other side of town. It might arguably be the nicest hotel in Togo. It is called Hotel Berceau and it isn't even that expensive (it has rooms for roughly $28, $32, $50, and $70). I reserved a room for my parents' and grandmother's visit and was really impressed by how nice the hotel is (and it has a pool that would be fantastic for swimming laps! – nonguests can swim there for 1000 cFa ($2.00) hm . . . ). I then biked to the market, but it was too early to get all the ingredients for my planned lunch of lemon, garlic, herb fish and rice and so I may have to bike back, change my plans, or go hungry.
I also picked up my computer cord which I brought yesterday to be fixed and it is working so that should hold me over until my parents bring my new powercord and I brought my Tevas to someone who fixes shoes because, and I think I forgot to mention it before, they broke the first day of the formation. Now I am typing up emails and hoping that internet will open. I went around 10:00 and it was all closed up. Maybe I will be lucky in the afternoon. The problem is that it is Saturday and they need at least three clients to connect to the internet.
In the afternoon I had no luck with internet and so I typed responses to the letters that a third grade class from my school district in Pennsylvania wrote to me. Their questions include: "what is the weather like?" "what food do you eat?" "are you the only Peace Corps person there?" "are the kids nice?" "do the kids go to school?" "do the kids do the same things we do?" "do you live in a log cabin?" "what do you do?" "what animals are there?" I enjoyed answering their questions.
I received a visit from Yaovi – I passed him on the road this morning as I was biking out to the hotel and so he knew I was in town. I also picked up my Tevas and received a phone call from Jorge's mother. The layover in Notse provided me with some downtime between the two formations I am attending this week, although I heard that I missed some fun times at AllVol (All Volunteer Conference) which was taking place in Pagala as I was taking my respite.
3/15/08
It wasn't a particularly remarkable day. It took a while to find a car heading this far north from Notse, but once I was in the right car, it was a pretty straight shot to a town on the route national called Langabou and I got lucky and hopped in a Peace Corps vehicle just as it was leaving for Pagala.
Upon arrival I met my friends, all the girls from my stage were already here because they had been here for AllVol. We ate lunch and then watched a strange movie called "Into the Wild" about a young man who goes off into the wilderness to escape modern materialism and ends up dying of starvation – not exactly a pick-me-up movie. It is based on a true story to boot.
Television. Food. More television.
Lili didn't arrive until around 10:00. Apparently her taxi had a flat tire en rout – she must be exhausted. I hope to find this formation somewhat interesting and useful and not to torturous. I'll let you know tomorrow.
3/17/08, 3/18/08, and 3/19/08
What can I say about three days of in-service training at Pagala? The food was good. The sessions, were long, tedious and boring, although I did learn a few things about methods of birth control and family planning that I will impart to my peer educators and I bought around 3,000 moringa seeds. It is nice to be with the girls and have a chance to get to know some of the GEE (Girls Education and Empowerment) volunteers who arrived in this last stage and are here having PDM at the same time we have IST.
I have been a little anxious for multiple reasons that have been impeding my concentration at this very worthy (sensing a little bit of sarcasm?) formation, but one of them is the fact that my APCD informed me that I am one of four CHAP volunteers that he has chosen to attend a FARN formation in Benin. Nothing wrong with that you say? Well, normally, no, there wouldn't be (unless you take into account that I have had a bit of an overdose of formations lately). Actually, it seems like a pretty good opportunity because the FARN method is for treating malnutrition at the local level and provides a good alternative (a more sustainable, capacity building alternative than UNICEF's swoop in and save the day approach). So what's the problem? It overlaps with the last two days of Dad's stay in Togo. We are supposed to leave mid-day on the 28th of April and the formation starts on the 29th. If Dad weren't blacklisted from entering Benin, we could switch our Ghana plans to Benin plans, but . . . and you know me, I like to have my cake and eat it too. Maybe I arrive late, but I am a little afraid that if I suggest that to my APCD he will just choose someone else for the formation who can go for the whole thing (considering that he is only taking four volunteers). And then again, maybe it isn't such a big deal and I should tell him to choose someone else. One of the sources of my current angst.