7-9-08
Yesterday wasn’t exciting. After spending the whole morning typing and retyping emails I lost when my computer screen clouded over and out, I went to internet, did errands and biked back to Avassikpe, arriving just before dark.
The two best parts of the day: chatting with Jorge briefly and macaroni and cheese for lunch (made with Velveeta that Ashley’s mom sent).
In the evening, the young teenager who manned the phone at Tsevi’s petrol stand and who is now in Modojicope came to say hello. He commented that there seem to be a lot of mosquitoes where he is now and I asked if he sleeps under a net. I told him that I would ask how much they cost at the dispensaire. I did and they are 500 cFA, but only for pregnant women and infants. Everyone else has to go to Notse and buy a net for several thousand cFA. I get that pregnant women and infants are the target population for subsidized nets, but doesn’t anyone care that the bulk of the population still goes largely unprotected? And who is going to go to Notse and pay 2,000-3,000-4,000 cFA for a net that they know a pregnant woman only pays 500 for?
This evening, the infirmier cam to say hello and suggested that I front the cost to bring subsidized nets to Avassikpe so that they could be made available to everyone who wants one. I suggested 5,000 cFA worth; he said he was thinking more like 100,000 (100,000 cFA!?!?! = $250). First of all, I don’t understand why they can’t foot the bill themselves and second of all, I am not sure I’m willing to take the risk that they won’t be sold. And when would I get my money back anyhow? Once all the mosquito nets are gone, more should be purchased and so on. I don’t know what to do . . . I think people should have access to affordable mosquito nets, but I don’t understand why I have to be the one to front the money.
Other than that, today I swept my garden – the beds have flattened considerably with the rain, but they are holding up ok. I debated planting, but decided to wait until I get back from my week of biking so I can keep a closer eye on my tiny plants. I am going to take a risk and direct seed everything. We will see how it goes. Also, I want my crops to be ready as we are nearing dry season so that I will have less trouble preserving a portion through drying.
After sweeping a while, I brought the pagnes to Mana. Lili’s sister was there already and we chatted and ate pâte. After a bit I came home and started laundry. Halfway through I took a break to make lunch – curried rice and red lentils and Moringa leaves. I cut a whole tree so that it will sprout two stalks (at least I hope that is what it does!) put some leaves in my lunch and the rest I spread out in the bedroom to see if they will dry there. I did more laundry, baked spice cakes to take as a thank-you gift for the Director of the CEG in Abatit (tomorrow is our PE party) and finished sweeping my garden.
7-10-08
I am exhausted and a little worried about my wrists and hands – granted I haven’t given them much rest but they still hurt and riding my bike is quite painful. Doesn’t bode well for seven days of biking. Oh well, I’ll deal.
This morning I went to help “clean” the village – cut the grass along the road so that it can eventually be hoed and mad neat. I wasn’t particularly motivated to go; I would have preferred to work in my garden, but I figured that considering how much I complain when no one participates in my community activities it would by hypocritical not to go and help in a necessary community activity (snakes are surely hiding in the brush as overgrown as it is now).
Cutting grass and small bushes with a coupcoup is hard work. After Tsevi cut me a crooked stick to hold the grass with my left hand and chop with my right it was a little more efficient but still tough. I kept thinking what a wonder a weed-wacker would be. It is funny how eventually the machines that you have start shaping your life. Almost all buildings and even landscaping are designed with machines in mind. Here none of that is taken into consideration because there are virtually no machines to facilitate your daily tasks.
I worked cutting grass for about 3 hours and only cleared a small 3m x 3m patch. At first there were only three of us – me, Tsevi, and the president of the CVD. I was hoping my presence would shame more people into participating. Eventually some fifteen men showed up. I was the only woman. At one point someone spotted a mouse – you should have seen all these grown men diving (literally) after this mouse. It was hilarious – even funnier than watching grown men trying to catch a chicken. The mouse eluded them for more than five minutes until they finally whollopped it with a force that would kill a cat and then swaggered off with their prize. It amazes me that a mouse and the tiny bit of meat it provides is worth such effort by so many men. Or maybe they do it more for the fun of it than the meat. Perhaps that is why they don’t eat house mice: no chase.
After working, I cut some Jatropha and used it as an excuse to leave. I think Jatropha can be grown from cuttings and so I decided to give it a try. After planting them (I don’t know how well it will work, they look pretty wilted), I worked on improving the drainage in my garden. It is a bit of a challenge because I’ve slanted the whole garden towards the far end, but the problem is that outside the garden the land is higher and so my water won’t have a final outlet unless I dig forever. We will see. Waiting for a rain is going to be my excuse to be lazy.
I made lunch – spaghetti with wagash (I bought two wheels from some Fulani children yesterday), made popcorn and fried up the remaining wagash for another day. I prepared the little gift bags – popcorn, 2 pieces of candy, 2 cookies, gum . . . and made sure I had everything ready for my PE awards ceremony. I then showered and biked to Agbatitoe.
The ceremony/party, whatever you want to call it, went fine, although the only reason it was anything special was because I brought goodies. The Director heavily chastised my students for not organizing themselves to prepare something and make it more of a fête, but promised that next year after another round of Peer Educating we will have one big party (I will believe it when I see it). I was missing two students, so that was unfortunate, but I handed out copies of Lève-toi jeune fille, pens and goody bags to each student and then let them pick prizes from my spread – toothbrushes, toothpaste, chapstick, soaps, shampoos, lotions, etc. – for participation, never missing a class, always arriving on time, etc.
I made a mini speech thanking the students and the Director and then he made a speech thanking me. He praised my punctuality, preparation and teaching style and gave me a 20/20 on all accounts. I should have asked my students if they had anything to say, but I didn’t.
I also spoke to them about the possibility of selling condoms to their peers. PSI makes it possible for Peace Corps volunteers to make a bulk purchase of condoms. They have special Rebel condoms for youth that are half the price of their condoms for adults. I would purchase boxes of condoms, each interested student would get a box to sell (only to other young people) at 50cFA for four condoms. The box costs me 1,000cFA and they would sell all of the condoms for 2,500cFA. If they want a second box, they will have to pay 2,000cFA (1,000 for the first which I will have given them on credit and 1,000 for the second), and the 500cFA is theirs to keep as profit. On the second box, however they will make 1,500 profit which they can then reinvest again in another box and so on. Unfortunately, if they do the math, they might conclude that they might just as well run with their 2,500cFA from the first box.
We took pictures and then the Director insisted on taking me out for a drink. Next school year he wants me to train more Peer Educators and help with a garden. I didn’t really want to work at the CEG next year, but I should take advantage of having such good people (the Director) to work with, so . . .
One of the boys just asked me to please attend their soccer match tomorrow in Avovocope. I am touched – that is sweet. I have never seen them play a match so I am excited. I will have to take pictures.
7-11-08 through 7-17-08
Invariably when I defer writing for a day because I am too tired, I am more tired the next day. Then I am tempted to defer for a second day.
Yesterday I don’t know what reason I had to be so tired; I think my excuse is more that I had a killer headache which stubbornly persists albeit in a more mild, ignorable form.
Yesterday morning I cleaned up my house a bit, nagged the president of the CVD to come fix my paillote (the paille thatch is sliding off the wooden frame) and made pâte rouge in preparation for Jerome’s visit.
As I was wandering about greeting people after tracking down the president, a teenage boy of one of the primary fetish families asked me if I have chameleon eggs in the same way you might ask if someone has salt, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary but none-the-less a little tricky to come by. Later Jerome informed me that in fetish circles, chameleon eggs are reputed to help you get rich with little or no effort. I can’t help but wonder if I personally (or even white people in general) am perceived as being wealthy with little effort and therefore assumed to be a likely source of chameleon eggs. Jerome said it wasn’t that, but rather that I have a lot of strange things in my house, why not chameleon eggs?
I crushed piment on my crushing stone and afterwards my hands burned almost unbearably for a good two hours. I put aloe lotion on them to see if it would calm the pain – it didn’t. If the piment has that effect on my hands, I’m not sure it can be any good for my esophagus or stomach.
I made pâte rouge and then prepared mini-lesson plans to guide Jerome’s son in making coloring-book style drawings to accompany health classes at my EPP (primary school).
Jerome and his son arrived late, around 11:30 (they had a flat tire en route) but our lesson was good and his son seems nice. I will be curious to see how the drawings turn out. His son also says that they have a 3 person hip-hop group that composes and sings (raps?) about HIV/AIDS and child trafficking and would be interested in trying to make a Moringa song. That’s cool. I wonder if they are any good . . .
After my lesson, I changed clothes quickly and biked (with Patrovi on back) to Avovocope (about 3 km, between Avassikpe and Agbatitoe). The kids were so cute – they all wore mismatched white shirts and stopped to organize themselves on the outskirts of the village before marching to the soccer field military style in two columns. It was a little uncomfortable when the other team swaggered in wearing shiny new florescent green uniforms. I felt badly for my kids, but learned later that the Avovocope team had worked to earn the money to buy their uniforms. If they really wanted to, my kids could probably to the same.
We lost 1-0, but I was very glad I went because the kids from Avassikpe had no other adult (this is perhaps the first time I have ever referred to myself as an adult) there to support and represent them. I felt that having me there as a supporter gave them a much needed boost in confidence in face of the shiny uniforms, nicer ball, and multiple coaches of the other team.
It was also a good opportunity to hang-out in a village that I normally just bike through at high speeds to avoid yovo-yelling children. I met some people in the village, informed the children of my name and took advantage of an opportunity to talk about Moringa.
I had agreed to go plant soy with Tseviato and her older sister on Saturday and so I did. We left the village mid-morning and with several other children – Robert, Richard, Sherida - planted soy until late afternoon. It isn’t as hard as hoeing, but neither is it pleasant. One person pokes holes in the raised rows with a stick as others follow along dropping two or three seeds in each hole and covering them with dirt. Unfortunately the ground was hard and dry, making the task more difficult than necessary and again I was reminded of the incompatibility of farming and perfectionism. At some point you need to sacrifice quality for quantity. Tseviato and I were working as a team; she would drop seeds in the holes and I would push dirt back over them with a stick. Every few minutes she would get far enough ahead that she would just start filling and covering the holes herself. We took occasional breaks in the shade, but none-the-less worked through the hottest parts of the day, leaving me with a lovely red glow. Our sustenance was composed of pâte and sauce (actually quite palatable when you are hungry and tired) and freshly harvested corn-on the cob grilled in its husk in a roaring fire. Apparently there is a second variety of yellow corn and to me it tasted sweeter than the regular white corn.
On Sunday my departure from village was delayed by various tasks around the house in preparation for leaving Gizmo alone for a week and giving Effoh a key. Saturday night, after many tries I managed to get through to Effoh on his cell phone and ask him if he would be willing to check in on Gizmo every day, replenish his food supply and change the sand in his litter box. He agreed, and so, though I trust that he would never take anything, I preferred to put things away and out of sight and neaten up a bit. I closed off the bedroom and left Gizmo in the front room with one open window and biked out of Avassikpe around 10:30.
Upon arriving in Notse, I stopped first at Effoh’s house, but he wasn’t there. I left a message that if he “beeped” me (made my phone ring once) when he arrived home, I would come meet him to give him the key. When I got to Ashley’s house she was sitting amidst piles of “things” and looking overwhelmed. She had just arrived from Atakpame and we were planning to leave bright and early the next morning to bike the first leg of our practice AIDS Ride route: Notse to Tohoun (54 K). I think she was really nervous about the trip and I teased that I didn’t have to worry about a thing because with the way she was worrying excessively and double and triple checking our packing list I could rest assured everything would be taken care of. She groaned and rolled her eyes in response.
After an hour or so I left Ashley to her packing (mine had mostly been done in village) and biked to Effoh’s house. He told me all about the BAC, the five day long exam he had just finished two days before that will determine whether or not he will receive his high school diploma. He showed me the exam papers for each subject and I can’t help but wonder if I could pass the BAC. I know with enough studying and preparation that I could pass, but even with a university education under my belt, I am not sure I could spontaneously write the BAC and pass. He was tested in math, English, French, geography, history, philosophy, accounting, marketing and I don’t know what else, oh, drawing. There were eleven subjects, so I am obviously forgetting a few. He has to get at least 10 out of 20 points on every exam (or more on some to make up for lost points on others) to pass. There are two ways of passing: either your score is good enough for you to pass non-categorically or you’re on the fence and have to pass an oral exam the day after the results are proclaimed. According to Effoh, however, it is just a distinction of degrees of achievement because everyone who shows up to take the oral exam passes. He also told me that the results of the BPC (the general test after troisième which identifies the students who are ready to go on to high school) had been proclaimed on Saturday. I was aware because the Director of the CEG in Agbatit had called and elatedly informed me that all of his students had passed (Selom, one of my Peer Educators, was scored, as the Director predicted, first out of all the students to take the exam in Notse and second out of all the students in the entire Plateaux Region – I feel undeservingly proud), but Effoh informed me that Hevihevi (otherwise known as Titi) had passed but that Adjo, Marie, and Etonam had failed. He also informed me that Yawovi had passed the BAC 1 allowing him to progress from premier to terminal, the last year of high school. I already in the know, though, on that account because Yawovi had called to inform me.
I returned to Ashley’s house and we consolidated our supplies onto our bikes: three pairs of biking clothes, one pair of Prefet clothes, pjs, toiletries, medical supplies, a sleeping bag, tent, tarp, random tools, bike-repair equipment, maps and letters of intent, water and food. It doesn’t seem like a lot, but we managed to stuff our saddlebags full and each strap a bulging package to our bike rack. Most of it was food and water – we wanted to make sure not to lack either. Again, Ashley was doing all the worrying so I was able to be chill and just have fun, although, after a while another person’s nervousness starts to affect you as well.
Yawovi stopped by while we were packing up our bikes. It is so funny how you can talk to some people so easily and with others even simple conversation is painful. With Yawovi it was of the torturous variety and he pretty much just watched us pack our bikes for an hour.
On Monday we left Notse around 7:00. We would have left earlier, but we were waiting to stock up on bread. I felt that the ride was very do-able and we made it the 54 K to Tohoun in four hours with a stop at the half-way point for some rice and beans. It was a picturesque ride on dirt roads over stout hills and through what we will pretend are enchanted forests with majestically tall trees. At the time, we weren’t planning to include Notse to Tohoun on our AIDS Ride and so we didn’t stop in all the villages with CEGs (middle schools) along the way as we should have. I surprised myself by my endurance. I guess biking a couple of hours a week has paid off, because, although I was tired when we rolled into Tohoun I was by no means completely exhausted and could have biked further had it not been for the life-draining force of the sun. Ideally we would have started earlier and avoided the more intense heat. Throughout our three day ride I also came to the conclusion that your physical state depends a lot on your mental state. If you give in to being exhausted and start focusing on how tired, hot, and sore you are than you will feel tired, hot and sore. If you give yourself encouraging pep-talks, you won’t feel as though you are over-exerting yourself. My only major difficulty was the alternating shooting pain and numbness in my hands and wrists that I had wrapped in ace bandages in an attempt to minimize discomfort with extra support (I think it eased even though it didn’t eliminate the pain).
Jake (a fellow volunteer) met us in the center of Tohoun (only a couple kilometers from the border with Benin) and after inhaling some more beans and rice, we followed him to his house where we showered, did a bit of laundry, cleaned up the eggs that had broken in our food chest (what possessed us to bring raw eggs, or eggs at all really, on a four-hour bike ride is beyond me), and sat in front of his fan. After “repos” (for us and everyone else) we walked to the prefet’s house to ask his authorization to execute a part of AIDS Ride in his prefecture. The prefet is a very interesting character who spent several months in military training camps in the United States, speaks fluent English, is a fervent supporter of George Bush and all other military men, and calls Jake a “greedy American punk.” Apparently he was chosen for the Tohoun prefecture because it is a remote and underdeveloped part of the country that draws cement smugglers and other undesired types trying to take advantage of the weak border controls. He seemed extraordinarily chummy and informal for a prefet (he received us in his home with beer and soda), but I got the impression that the alcohol induced friendliness masks a very hard-ass interior. Several years ago the same prefet was responsible for the administrative separation of a Peace Corps volunteer who mistakenly thought he would be receptive to her concerns that people in her town were being killed in politically related violence. Not only did he get her booted, but another Peace Corps volunteer in the prefecture was forced to change posts as well. So . . .
Afterwards we went out for a cold soda and met with some of Jakes homologues who helped us identify the villages on our route with middle schools. To Jake’s dismay (he doesn’t often get PCV visitors) we turned in early and, to his even greater dismay, got up at 5:00 to beat the heat.
The first five of the fifteen kilometers to Tado were killer – huge sandy hills that we finally surrendered to; we got off and pushed our bikes to the top. It was the only time in our ride when that was necessary; even the Togolese were pushing their bikes up these hills. Had it been just steep hills and no sand, we probably could have made it, but the combination required a much stronger biker than I.
Jake’s dog followed us all the way to Tado. Jake had assured us that he would just “show us the road” and then turn around and go home, but he loyally jogged along for the entire 15 kilometers. In Tado we met with the Directors of both the public middle school and a private religious middle school to ask permission to do sensibilizations in their villages and to get contacts. We also met with the infirmier (who had been Kate’s homologue, a CHAP volunteer from my Stage who ET-ed a couple of months ago) and the president of the CVD who would then inform the chief of our impending bike tourney.
From Tado to Saligbe was another, remarkably more pleasant, 15 K high up on a plateau. Again we met briefly with the Director of the CEG and the infirmier to explain our intentions and get approval and contact information. After Saligbe we found a shaded spot to sit and have a picnic. That morning we had opened the package of sharp cheddar cheese that my parents brought in April. It was still could, albeit, perhaps a little sharper than normal. I made delicious sharp cheddar and apricot sandwiches. It was a treat that I was glad I had saved for such an occasion.
It was another 15 K to Kpekpleme and we arrived at the volunteer’s house around 12:30, just before it started to pour. We sat out the rain in her house and then decided (for better or for worse) to get a head start on the next long day of biking and try to make another 25 K (on top of the 45 we had already biked that morning) to Nangbeto. That was a very lofty (and unrealistic) goal considering the state of the road (or should I say river?) after the rains. We stopped in a village called Atome and spoke to the Director of the CEG, the infirmier, and the chief and then arrived in a village called Ountivou. Some people led us to the director of the CEG’s house. He brought out chairs, had his wife serve us water and listened receptively to our spiel. We indicated that we had hoped to make it to Nangbeto that evening (it was 5:00 and Nangbeto was still another good 17 K on bad, water-logged roads), but our hosts quickly informed us that that would be impossible unless we wanted to ride after dark (which we didn’t). We asked if we could set up our tent in one of the classrooms of the CEG, but, as Effoh had warned, the Director refused. The hospitality codes here would never allow “prestigious” white foreigners to sleep in a tent. Immediately the entire household went into hospitality prep mode. The salon was turned into a sleeping quarters for Ashley and I, water was fetched, we bathed and changed and, after a shot of sodabe (Ashley, as she likes to remind me, “took one for the team”) were escorted off to meet the chief and the head gendarme who received us with soft drinks. Ashley and I marveled at the fact that we, total strangers, were able to show up and be taken in at a moments’ notice; a show of hospitality that would not be replicable in the States. Back at the Director’s house we were served a dinner of pâte and sauce (the Togolese option) and fried spaghetti (the “American” option – Togolese would never eat spaghetti alone) with slices of mango for desert. We were then graciously allowed to indulge our exhaustion and go to bed, but not before a (very urgent – for Ashley) trip to the latrine. I hadn’t expected there to be a latrine . . . Even though Ashley was about to explode, she made me go first. Distracted by the swarming cockroaches, I squatted and missed the hole and then made Ashley find me a stick to push my rebellious poop into the latrine while she danced around outside trying not to poop her pants and begging me to hurry up. After both of our bowels were refreshingly empty, we laughed ourselves sick at the fact that I had actually missed the hole while pooping in the latrine.
We slept on a traditional mattress (made out of woven plastic sacks and perhaps cornhusk stuffing?) on the floor, and except for the fear of having to get up and go to the bathroom (it reminded me of girl scout camp and dreading having to pee in the middle of the night), slept well.
Wednesday morning we got up around 4:30, got ready, fixed a flat tire on Ashley’s bike, ate a belly-warming breakfast of rice bouillie (like rice pudding), took pictures with our hosts, expressed our undying gratitude and thanks and hopped back on our bikes. The riding wasn’t too difficult and we stopped in a couple big villages to get contact information even though there was no CEG (the most convenient location to sensibilize because the audience is already assembled and translators (in the form of school teachers and directors) are already present). After an hour or so, the road suddenly became paved complete with red and white road markers, street lights and signs. It was very strange, but only got stranger. We took a wrong turn and ended up biking unnecessarily down a hill to a dead end at the base of a HUGE dam. We biked back up the hill and over the dam (which I think provides much of Togo’s electricity). We thought we could do a sensibilization in Nangbeto and biked off the road a bit to what was not a normal Togolese town, but rather a gated community that Ashley and I christianed “the cult.” It was creepy. I guess it is just a town for the people who work at the power-plant, but it is very odd. We actually didn’t make it past the gate before we were sent back to the “headquarters.” We got contact information and ran (or biked, rather), neither of us too keen on the idea of doing a sensibilization there.
The next 25 K or so was paved and the streets lined with huge red-hot peppers drying in the sun. I decided that the volunteer who had assured us that the route wasn’t hilly had never biked it because it was constant ups and downs (with more ups than downs as we gradually climbed in altitude towards Atakpame). We made it to Akpare around noon. Over the course of our three day ride, our game plan had gradually changed to eliminate the Atakpame-Badou segment and include the Notse-Tohoun segment. We thought perhaps we could have our final big sensibilization and fête in Akpare, a big town with two CEGs, one public and one private. We scoped out the town, spoke with the Directors of both schools and then biked out, anxious to find a shady secluded spot to sit out the hottest part of the day undisturbed. As we biked up a hill we saw what might have been a mirage. Do you see what I see? Fanmilk. It was like a pat of encouragement from God. It was market day in Akpare and the Fanmilk vendor had biked from Atakpame. He wanted to charge us 25cFA extra for each of our 6 FanJoys (like orange flavored ice pops), but I convinced him that we had ridden further than he and deserved the FanJoys for the regular price. We then cashed our bikes behind some tall grasses and laid our tarp out under a mango tree on the edge of a corn field. We prepared our picnic, ate and then rested until the strength of the sun abated.
Around 3:00 we set out again for what would be, for me, the hardest leg of the trip. The road had degenerated back to dirt and the not-so-stout hills refused to let up. It was another 25K to Atakpame, 25K that we don’t plan on biking for AIDS Ride because after our final fête in Akpare we will pile into the chase car. We had no stops to make along the way and I think I felt that biking it was somewhat superfluous. In addition, somewhere in the middle of the 25K I pulled a muscle in my thigh that made it hard to pedal with force (or at all for that matter). As we neared Atakpame my mood was degrading and the last hill actually made me quite angry (oddly enough). We finally made it to the transit house: water, food, showers, bed.
On Thursday Ashley and I went to see the prefet in Atakpame. We actually met with his General Secretary. The differences between the Tohoun prefecture and the Atakpame prefecture are striking. The Tohoun prefet doesn’t even have a secretary, while the Atakpame prefet has a Prefectural Secretary, a General Secretary and Secretaries of the Secretaries. Afterwards we made up little informational blurbs about AIDS Ride 2008 in Plateaux to encourage volunteers to sign up (or discourage them from signing up). Our region is the most Peace Corps populated region. I think we have some 38 volunteers and only 12 spots on AIDS Ride, so we might have to farm volunteers out to other regions which isn’t necessarily a bad thing – I enjoyed being in Centrale region last year – it just makes things a little more complicated.
For the rest of the day I rested, watched a movie (Blood Diamonds), chatted with Jorge on the internet, and ran errands. I was debating biking home from Atakpame, but wasn’t sure how the muscle in my thigh would tolerate the ride and so Ashley arranged for a car.
7-18-08
I can’t write a lot today because I have to catch Giz up on five days of lost loving.
I’m also five days behind on my chronicalling, but I will catch myself up when I go to Notse.
Today we packed up our bikes in Atakpame and loaded them into a car. We decided not to try biking home, but we paid attention to the hills and I don’t think it would be that bad biking home from Atakpame because it is mostly downhill, but biking to Atakpame from Notse or Agbatitoe would be pretty challenging.
Upon arriving in Agbatit, I went to see the Director of the CEG. Today is the last day of school, the day they receive their report cards and learn whether or not they passed. The Parent-Teachers Association in Agbatit had ordered food for a little fête and the Director insisted that I eat. It was fermented corn, called kom, but luckily not too fermented. I managed to polish off the four corn patties, but couldn’t stomach the piece of goat skin and fat I had been served. I left it on my plate and just sheepishly smiled at the Director, willing him to understand and not be offended.
I biked home. On the way I realized that it was vaccination day at the dispensaire in Avassikpe. Bummer. I was sort of hoping for a relaxing afternoon.
When I arrived I cuddled with Gizmo for a few minutes, staked two of my Moringa trees that had blown over with heavy wind and rain, and thanked Effoh for taking care of my baby.
I then went to the dispensaire to help and spent the rest of the afternoon weighing babies. They handed out the report cards in Avassikpe too today. I wish I had known that it was a public event, I would have gone. As is, I only saw the masses returning after the ceremony. Tseviato was first in her class. I am so proud of her and really want to find some way to fund the rest of her schooling all the way through high school. Not only is she smart, but very spirited.
I guess they just read out the names in order of achievement. The first, second and third in each class, as I understand it, get notebooks as prizes. Tseviato got five notebooks. Patrovi was eighth in his class. Koffi was second and Xola third. Barthe failed, but most of the other children I hang out with passed – Richard, Robert, Cherida etc. Effoh said about 70% of the students passed. He also commented that more boys than girls passed and that the Director remarked that disproportionate domestic responsibilities interfere with their studies.
The vaccination took an extremely long time today. I am not sure why. It is a little discouraging to note that when I am not there, they don’t put up the tent or use the numbers. Fine. Whatever floats their boat. If they want to work long hours amidst total chaos, that is their choice.
A young woman interning for part of her degree in social work accompanied the team from Notse. I chatted with her a while and we exchanged numbers. She will be in Notse for a couple of months until classes start back up in June.
After receiving their grades, all the kids who passed ran to the market, yelling joyously all the way. Those who failed slinked home, trying not to be noticed. I went to the market to see the kids, but came home quickly as there really wasn’t much to see.
Tomorrow I hope to plant my garden. I hope a torrential downpour doesn’t wash all my seeds away.
7-19-08 and 7-20-08
Yesterday I planted my entire garden – green beans and cucumbers around the outside, a row of eggplant and spinach, beets and cabbage, next a row of carrots and lettuce, tomatoes and basil, then a row of broccoli, sweet peppers and salad mix and a row of zucchini, squash and peas. The last thin row was already planted with the piment plants that Jerome gave me.
It took all morning to plant and I was just finishing when Ashley arrived. I want Ashley to come to my village all the time, but when she does, my village seems boring and I can’t seem to figure out how I fill my days.
We made macaroni and cheese with the left-over sharp cheddar from our trip. Effoh came by to greet Ashley and I gave him a piece of cheese. He tasted it, said it wasn’t good and gave it back. I guess cheese is an acquired taste, but I bet some cheeses are more acceptable to the Togolese palate than extra aged sharp cheddar.
After eating lunch, we rested under the paillote surrounded by wide-eyed children – wow, two yovos. We then took a walk out to my Moringa field. The trees are doing ok, but the weeds are almost as tall, causing the lower leaves to fall off the trees.
Other than that, we greeted people, made a sign-up sheet for AIDS Ride, took showers and went to bed. In the late afternoon, though, I received two phone calls, one right after the other: one from Jorge’s mom and the other from Jorge himself. Of course I was happy to hear from his mom, but I was delighted to hear from him. Lately we haven’t talked hardly at all and it is wonderful to hear his voice. I can’t even express how happy it made me.
Today, Sunday, I went to a wedding. It was in Kpegbadja and so I biked with Tseviato on back. It drizzled as we biked, but we arrived right before it started pouring.
This marriage was better than the last, but according to Effoh, it still wasn’t a great marriage. There were a lot of people. Kpegbadja’s choir was dressed in matching purple shirts and black bottoms with pincushion hats for the women. The ceremony moved out under a tree when the rain passed. First the choir marched down the aisle singing, followed by a flower girl (12 years old or so) dressed in a pretty lacy pink dress and matching hat. Then came the bride dressed in a lacy white long-sleeved wedding dress with a hideous flower flopping at the waist. It was too big and probably a hand-me-down from a grandmother, mother or older sister. She was also wearing a makeshift lacy veil, baggy white gloves, white socks and Dorthy red-ruby slippers. The groom was dressed in a suit (also not a great fit) and white gloves and was attended by another man in an identical suit. Women were throwing confetti on the couple, spritzing them with perfume and lolololo-ing joyously, but the couple was quite solemn. They marched in one by one and then sat down in chairs facing the pastors for a sermon that I didn’t understand. After the sermon, there was the exchanging of vows and also the exchanging of rings. Both the bride and groom received rings. Then the man lifted the woman’s veil and put his cheek next to hers. I was hoping to witness my first Togolese French kiss, with the way the crowd got noisy with anticipation, but no such luck. The bride then gave the groom a cheek kiss (cheek to cheek, no lips involved – the crowd whooped and cheered as if it were a real kiss) and then they knelt in front of the pastors who laid hands on them and blessed them.
The now married couple sat down again, this time facingthe crowd and, still looking sternly solemn, listened to the choir from Avassikpe. Then the choir from Kpegbadja sang while the groom and bride’s families paraded in with gifts – metal basins, metal bowls, metal molds for pâte, plastic storage containers (buckets, baskets and an insulated container), metal storage pots, cooking pots, pagnes, a chicken and money. At this point I left the inner circle because I was getting claustrophobic with all the steaming bodies pressed together, each person trying to maximize their view.
There was lots of food to buy on the outskirts – rice, soja, kluklui (crunchy sticks made of either corn or peanuts and fried), beignets, etc. and as Iwas leaving I was invited to stay and partake in rice made by the couple’s families (probably the bride’s family). I tried to gracefully decline because it seemed as though the rain was coming. As it turned out, it never rained.
When I got home, I sewed the gaping hole in the knee of my workpants and then I fixed the screen in my door because Gizmo had destroyed it to the point of being able to escape through the hole.
My neighbors informed me that while in Kpegbadja I had visitors: four men from Lome including Emmanuel – the man who gave me a lift with my bike several months ago. He calls me frequently to the point that I blocked him on my phone so that I no longer hear it ring when he calls. Sometimes, though, he tricks me by calling with a different number. I am very glad I wasn’t home, that would have been awkward and uncomfortable. The next time he calls, I guess I am going to have to ask him not to call and not to visit. I thought he would get the message from passive non-responsiveness, but I guess I will have to be more assertive.
In the late afternoon I sat and chatted with Tseviato and Effoh. I learned that you can’t buy land around here – the villagers will refuse to sell which I think is a good thing. Their land is their only real long-term asset. If they sell their land, they will become entirely dependant on others.
7-21-08
I went to the field today. I was supposed to go plant soja with DaMarie and her gang, but she postponed it until tomorrow and so, as I was already lathered up with sunscreen and had nothing else to do, I decided to plant cotton with Tseviato and her family. Cotton in more fun to plant than soy because you don’t have to bend down. I was advised to wear a long-sleeve shirt and was glad I did because we planted the cotton in between the corn and I bet you would get some nasty paper-cuts from the corn leaves. They plant cotton like they do corn, by sinking a heel into the raised row, dropping several cotton seeds in the hole and sweeping dirt back over them with the ball of the food; all in three smooth motions. I, on the other hand, awkwardly plant my heel, step back, carefully drop seeds that I struggle to separate from the mass I am cradling in a flap of my shirt, and then step forward again to kick dirt over my hole; three or four jerky, almost lose your balance motions. No wonder Tseviato would help me finish my rows and when Effoh was loftily assigning rows in the late afternoon he gave Tseviato 25 and me only 15. No one finished their rows, though, because the dark storm clouds that Effoh assured just looked menacing decided to release their fury upon us. While we were waiting out the rain, Effoh and his older brother, Kodjovi, were having a conversation in Ewe. Of course I didn’t understand and perhaps if I had I wouldn’t have gotten upset, but it seemed to me that they were talking about me and perhaps laughing at my failed attempts to do community projects in Avassikpe. Again, I could have totally misinterpreted the conversation, but it just reinforced the sentiment that no matter how friendly I feel with the people here, I will always be a yovo, a stranger, practically a different species and that made me sad.
It was a solemn sunset march back to the house after the rain stopped. I came to understand why Effoh picked up a stick before we set out; not to ward off snakes as I first suspected, but to provide balance in the slippery mud and to rid the grasses of their coating of rain before swishing through.
Effoh told me something disturbing today: that they published on the radio that only 25% of the people who took the BAC (high school end of studies exam) will pass because the two universities in country are already overflowing. That is one of the most ridiculous policies I have ever heard of. First of all, it assumes that all the students taking the BAC plan to enroll directly in university and second it discourages students from even striving for the BAC (encouraging early dropouts). How can a country even hope to develop with such stupid policies. Make the universities more selective if you have to, but don’t randomly decide that on 25% of students should receive their BAC this year and throw all semblance of fair scoring out the window. Students who rightfully earn their BAC can go on to more productive things like jobs and families rather than squandering another year in a futile attempt to receive high school diplomas that are jealously guarded by the state. It makes me so angry; it is unbelievably stupid and I hope just a rumor.
--
So, right after talking to almost all my family members on my mom’s side of the family, I dropped my cell phone into my latrine. Just kidding. About my cell phone, not about talking to my family, but both happenings are equally unbelievable. I mean, here I am sitting at my table reading Peace Corps Togo publications and waiting for it to be a reasonable hour to blow out my lantern and go to bed and I get a phone call in which, one after another I get to speak with at least twelve family members. Not it is an appropriate bed-time, but I think I am too hyped up to sleep.
7-22-08 and 7-23-08
Again I was supposed to go to the field to plant soja with DaMarie’s family, but it started to rain around four in the morning and didn’t stop until 1 pm. I read some documents on Moringa and then passed the time with Effoh, Tseviato and Xola. I gave the girls (eleven and twelve or thirteen respectively) extra copies of Lève-toi Jeune Fille and had them read one of the articles aloud. Then Effoh went back through and explained the article to them – a very appropriate article about the obstacles facing young girls like beliefs that girls are born only for domestic work and baby-making. He then asked them questions about the article and it was fun to see the satisfaction they got from answering the questions correctly. We then moved outside and played UNO for a while under the paillote with more children. I eventually left the game, tired of the boisterous yelling of the children, and returned to my Moringa readings.
It was a weird day for me. I think I was a little bored – I had been planning to go to the field and so didn’t have other activities lined up for myself – and the boredom gave way to sadness and a feeling of depression. I miss Jorge with a deep and constant ache in the core of my being and when not distracted by my daily activities, I tend to dwell on the pain of missing him. To escape my sadness I walked around village after the rain let up and greeted people. Some kids were digging a huge hole and harvesting rocks to pile around the bases of their houses to keep the walls from collapsing (a real danger during rainy season), many women were doing laundry, the young men were playing soccer . . . I spent a couple hours circulating and holding babies – I first rescued Anani from a four year old who looked like she was about to drop him, and then I held Rodrique – one of the fattest babies in village – and walked around with her. We visited Tsevi’s wife and her newborn, Espoir, and I held her while a small boy balanced Rodrique on a bench. When Tsevi’s wife finished preparing the sauce, she took Espoir and I took Rodrique back and wandered around for an hour longer with her in my arms, giving her mom a chance to shower in peace. It was a distraction at least. Children were still playing UNO under my paillote and so I watched and wandered and greeted people. Rodrique pee-ed on me, but other than that she was super good and didn’t cry at all. In my wanderings a woman pointed out a chameleon in the brush – the first chameleon I have seen in Togo. Dad had said that people are afraid of chameleon’s here, but when I asked if it was a good thing the woman responded yes.
After returning Rodrique to her mother (another of Tseviato’s older sisters), I lay in my hammock reading a Newsweek until it was too dark to see at which point I just lay in my hammock. After a while Effoh came to join me and we talked until late about the BAC, gender relations, children, sex. He told me that most of the kids here start having sex at eleven, twelve, thirteen years of age. I was shocked. I had been under the impression that my Peer Educators could still be virgins and realized that all my talk of “saying no” was probably wasted on kids who had already said “yes” too many times. I was shocked and dismayed. I also learned that traditionally, fetishers would perform a ceremony that would determine whether a young girl was a virgin and officially authorize her to start having sex, but that that practice is falling out of use and there are no controls on young people’s sexuality. I asked if virginity was not prized or valued and he said that you would have to marry a twelve-year old to find a virgin around here and so most people just accept that a virgin spouse is an unrealistic expectation. I was disappointed to learn that both his brothers – Victor and Kodjovi – had taken second spouses. Up until that point I had respected them for being some of the only non-Christian men in village to have a monogamous relationship.
At 4:20 in the morning I was awakened by the sound of a collapsing wall. Afraid someone might have been hurt, I went outside and was relieved to see that it was only the wall of an already abandoned building that had collapsed. I couldn’t fall back asleep and as I lay awake in bed I heard the unmistakeable barking and whistling of a fetish ceremony. I debated going to check it out, but decided to stay in bed, wrapped in my fleece blanket.
When it was light out, I got up and got ready to bike to Notse. The power was out and so I decided to run my errands. I went to the market and bought wire mesh form my door so that Gizmo doesn’t keep tearing up my screens, wire for the food dryer that I hope Mana will finish sewing soon so that I can dry Moringa leaves (they aren’t drying in my room – they haven’t molded or gone bad, but they definitely haven’t reached the point of dryness necessary to pound them into a flour), and food staples. I then sat in the house reading a book on Muslim women called Nine Parts of Desire and waiting for the electricity to come on. If it didn’t come back by 4:00 or 4:30, I was planning on biking back to village, but it came back at exactly 4:00. I started typing up my emails until the electricity went out again. I showered and then read until it, fortunately came back. I typed emails for several hours and then gave into my fatigue and desire to watch episodes of the L-word. I watched four episodes and have no idea what time I finally went to bed but it was far after midnight.
This morning, Thursday, I am finishing my typing and then will bike back to village. I plan to do laundry, fix my wire mesh to my door, work on the drainage in my garden, perhaps go see Mana about my solar “dryer,” and make a pâte sauce replacing ademan with Moringa leaves for tomorrow’s Ewe lesson with Jerome.
7-24-08
After typing my emails I left Notse and biked to Avassikpe. Everybody and their brother passed me on the way. I later learned that half the village had been summoned to Kpedome (a “suburb” of Notse) for a judgment. Effoh’s father had leant land to a man (a “brother,” but I’m not sure if he was a blood relative or not) through a verbal contract back in the day. The man died recently without making the terms of the contract clear to his sons. The sons want to sell the land and Effoh’s father has refused as he is the rightful owner. I guess the sons don’t recognize him as the owner because it has turned into a big problem requiring the presence of the chef de canton and pretty much everyone in village.
Once in village, I did laundry, made an egg sandwich for lunch and made a pâte sauce with okra and Moringa leaves. Happily, it turned out pretty good. The Moringa leaves don’t have a very strong flavor and so they don’t alter the taste hardly at all.
In the late afternoon, I did little things around the house. Some of the green beans, broccoli, gboman or gombo and sunflowers have sprouted already. I think some of the plants may take up to two weeks to germinate.
After showering I took the last of my corn to the mill. It costs 125 cFA to mill a small bowl of corn. That is quite expensive and I think the price has gone up a lot in the past months because of the price of whatever fuel they use to power the mill.
I waited at the mill until dark for my corn to be milled and then I brought Moringa sauce to DaJulie, Effoh and their mom. I am trying to encourage people to use Moringa in their sauces. I’m not 100% sure if they liked it or not, but at least I don’t think they disliked it. They thought I had mixed Moringa with ademan, but all the leaves were Moringa. I sat with them as they discussed the meeting in Kpedome to determine land ownership. When it started to drizzle, I went to bed.
7-26-08
This morning I went to Midojicope to see Mana. She wasn’t there, but I took advantage of the walk to greet people. I went to the dispensaire where the infirmier said he had suggested to Tsevi that he become responsible for the community Moringa field and that all profits would go to him. It made me a little angry. I don’t know why the infirmier thinks he can make an offer like that especially without talking to me first. I told him that that wouldn’t be feasible considering the fact that the land doesn’t belong to Tsevi and that even though they don’t participate regularly, many people have participated and would be angered by a heavy-handed decision to turn the filed completely over to Tsevi.
Once home I made pâte, neatened up a bit and lay in my hammock reading until Jerome arrived.
Our lesson was unremarkable. A bit short. Jerome brought me his son’s drawings for my health class coloring sheets. They are ok – his people could use a bit of work, but you get the idea. I was neither overly impressed nor overly disappointed.
The team from Avovocope came to play soccer against the kids today, but the match got rained out. It was just as well because there was a disagreement as to the height/age of kids allowed to play. As age is difficult to determine (no one has a birth certificate or reliable documentation), we agreed on a height limit and called it a day.
I just got back from the market where I spoke for a while with the Director of the EPP and the infirmier. We got on the topic of having another PCV of a different domain, probably NRM, in Avassikpe. I told them frankly that I’m not sure I will recommend it because Avassikpe isn’t very motivated as a community and doesn’t know how to take advantage of the presence of a volunteer.
Then a teacher arrived and informed us that the pregnant woman the infirmier had evacuated to Notse because of birth complications had asked (more likely, her husband asked) to be taken to a charlatan (traditional healer) instead. The problem with traditional healers is that quality control is difficult.
7-26-08
I forgot one of the most interesting parts of yesterday. DaMarie asked me to accompany her to the dispensaire to get the 3 month birth control shot. She said that she had been taking the pills, but that she got pregnant with Isabel (her 11/2 year old baby and fourth child) whle on the pills. She said she cried and cried when she realized that she was pregnant. She said her husband has five wives and many many children. She looked rather disgusted. I wish my Ewe were good enough to really understand everything. I would like to know what a woman in her position thinks.
Today we went back to the dispensair because the woman is supposed to get the shot at least 5 days after her period. I was touched that she would ask me to accompany her. It shows at least some level of trust and confidence. I wonder if she would have asked me if Lili were there (Oh, I learned something disturbing. Effoh says that Lili raises the prices of medicines and then skims off the margins. He said that Lili charged DaJulie 700cFA for the birth control shot and the infirmier charged DaMarie 500 for the same shot. Seems like something fishy is going on and I have to look into it).
Before and after going to the dispensaire with DaMarie, I worked in my garden trying to improve the water drainage. Jerome had suggested that I try a channel to the side rather than the ends, so I did. I also fertilized my piment plants with 15-15-15.
I was going to see Mana to get some pagnes that I have to return to the girls in exchange for better quality choices for our stage pagne project, but before I got very far her sister informed me that she was on her way to Notse. I went chez le carpentier to ask for some pieces of wood to affix the wire mesh over the window in my door so that Gizmo doesn’t keep destroying my mosquito screen. HE must have gone to the filed, so I asked Tseviato to bring some palm stalks instead – they are usually pretty straight and flat and should work.
Tseviato’s sister left her four and two year old in village today when she left for the field and I felt a certain responsibility to watch over them so after I chopped tomatoes, onions, garlic and basil in preparation for lunch, I brought out crayons and paper and had them color and then I made paper airplanes with our papers. We flew those for a while, but I cut the fun short because I was afraid it was going to rain and wanted to collect sand for Gizmo’s litter box before it got all water-logged.
I got two bucket’s of sand with help from my bike and then I showered, made lunch, ate and repainted my toenails.
I looked over the drawings Jerome’s son made for my “health” coloring book and noted the modifications to be made. Some are fine, others need some minor additions/subtractions and others need a complete makeover.
Afterwards I read about Moringa. The amazing thing about Moringa is that it has the power to excite me all over again every time I read about it; it is just too impressive.
Now I am sitting in my hammock with Gizmo on my lap writing and taking advantage of the waning sunlight. It is chilly and preparing to storm and so I am enjoying a rare opportunity to snuggle in an oversized sweatshirt.
7-27-08
I learned a lot last night about fetish practices. I asked Effoh about it because I heard the whooping and found it curious that they would have a ceremony in the rain. I guess there is a difference between evoking the spirits with drumming and singing and when the spirits spontaneously take over a fetisher to communicate a message. I guess last night was that sort of occasion. When they hear the whooping, people congregate to hear what the spirit has to say. Effoh says the spirits are not ancestral, but rather devilish spirits. I bet a non-Christian wouldn’t consider them devilish. Only the people (I forgot to ask if only men can be fetishers, but I suspect so) who cut their arms and chest can be possessed by spirits because through the ritual cutting they buy spirits from more experienced fetishers. I asked if a non-fetisher could be randomly possessed and he said no. He explained that to be released from the spirit, helpers have to tear the fetisher’s grass skirt (what gives him strength, “la force”) before he swallows a sip of corn flour mixed with water. If he swallows before they rip the skirt off, he will be forever possessed. Yikes. I also forgot to aske if that has ever happened in Avassikpe. The whistling, I learned, was traditionally thought to call serpents, but it is also used to call spirits. I learned that there is a ceremony to become a fetisher in which one is left alone en brousse. The next day people join the person for sacrifices. If a spirit possesses the person, he “graduates” to the rank of fetisher and al lthe animals are left in brousse, untouched. (Earlier in the day I saw some children playing fetisher. They had ripped up banana leaves to make grass skirts like the fetishers, smeared some corn flour on their faces and were drumming, dancing, waving around gourds (as if they were maracas) and tree branches and trying to whistle. It was too cute. I should have gotten my camera).
I didn’t sleep well last night – I dreamt that I had just given birth, but I forgot to feed my baby and they wanted to take him away from me. When I recounted the story to Tseviato’s older sister, she interpreted it as meaning it is time for me to have children. I interpret it as meaning I am not yet responsible enough to have children.
It started raining around 4:30 in the morning and didn’t stop until 1:00. I spent the bulk of the morning with Tseviato, her older sister, Khosoivi, Julie, Richard, Robert, Barthe, Charles, Parfait and Effoh. I taught the kids how to limbo. Tseviato is really good at it, like at everything else. We decided to hold a limbo competition one day complete with music and little prizes to amuse ourselves.
Other than that, we defied the pastor’s declaration that today is a day for fasting and prayer by eating beignets made of soy flour and pâte in Kodjo’s one room house and then moving to my house to make sugar cookies (after we hammered my wire mesh screen to my door with a palm stalk frame). We picked sugar cookies because most of the ingredients are available here. I had never tried the recipe before, but they were pretty tasty.
I spent most of the afternoon reading a book on Muslim women and baking cookies.
I just finished showering – it was a heavenly shower because I heated the water. Even though it isn’t too too cold out, the water from my cistern was freezing. It was a luxury that I might give myself more often.
Tomorrow I am heading to Notse and on Tuesday we will bike to Agou Avedje. I can’t wait to see Tig!
7-28-08
Other than being reunited with Ashley, today isn’t particularly interesting. After cleaning my house up a bit, I biked in to Notse and after chatting with Ashley and catching up on the last week of her life, I started typing emails. I plan to go to the internet, the post office, the hospital, and the prefet and then having class, aka trying to get through as many episodes of the L word as possible. I hope the electricity doesn’t go out.
