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.