Togo, West Africa -- Life & Death

I guess my emails so far have been quite emotional and I want to make sure that you guys know that I'm totally happy being here. I do want to say that I have been trying to write as honestly and openly as I could in terms of my experiences here. The drastic change in environment (in every way) was very emotional and tough in the beginning and I wanted to express what I was feeling in my emails. It wasn't meant to worry you, because I kept in mind that it's a normal part of culture shock. Now, a month later, the thought of leaving Togo is completely strange. Sylvain, a friend of mine from Lyon was talking about being at the airport to pick up a package and feeling excited about possibility to hop on a plane and see his family that same afternoon. When he said that, the thought occurred to me that I don't want to leave Togo at all right now and that I was having a great time.

Some of you guys have also been asking about my work here at Vivre Mieux, so, here it is. I'm working on the communication strategy for the NGO. The communication strategy is basically advertising designed for funders in the Occident and explains to them what, how, where, when, with whom Vivre Mieux does what it does. So, my job consists of two parts: first, to take the existing information brochures, newsletters, web-site, films, etc. and help improve them using professional software tools such as Photoshop, Dreamweaver, QuarkXpress. And second, pass on the know-how to the staff here, so that, when I leave, VM can continue to create and modify their own publications.

So, so far, I've been working with Steven (the dude holding the camera), a Togolese economics/IT major here at VM, who is learning about web design, not to mention learning very quickly.

We've been working on the old website, changing the content around, adding information, organizing, etc. We will also be re-designing the old brochure to be more catchy and readable for funding organizations or anyone who's interested in Vivre Mieux. Our other project involves taking film footage (that VM has filmed with a camcorder) of AIDS training workshops, water-pump building projects, community get-togethers, etc. and using it in a promotional DVD. I have to say, I've never worked so high-tech before. The computers that we are using are top of the line and the software is very sophisticated. Now, all that is left is for everyone to learn how to use them, including me. I'm new to stuff like film editing software, but I'm learning and the people here are learning with me. So that's my work in a nutshell. It's pretty fun and creative, just weird that it's so high-tech while the majority of the population lives in villages with no running water and electricity. I guess, in order to communicate with organizations in 1st world countries, we need to use their language and their technology. (If you are interested the site is at www.vivremieuxtogo.org or look it up in Google--what you see is the old site designed by last year's volunteer, Tim.) Having said all this, Vivre Mieux is certainly not representational of most local NGOs, here, in terms of its organizational and technological capacity.

A quick note on communication around here: From talking to all the other foreign volunteers (there are a few here in Kpalime and surrounding areas), it seems to me that out of the gazillion local NGOs here, only a few actually do good work or are organized enough to manage their funds to accomplish something for the community. In any case, the different organizations do not communicate with each other. Given the high cost of phone calls and Internet connections, there is no regular dialogue between organizations. And you can forget about TV ads because most people do not own television sets. The radio is probably the most accessible medium, but only near towns and not in villages. In villages, the peacecorps volunteers communicate with the community via "town crier" type messengers, who walk from one end of the village to the other, since there is only about one telephone station for each village. So, it's virtually impossible for all the different organizations to let each other know what they are up to in order to collaborate and to avoid overlap. The information age is obviously non-existent in villages.

This translates to the way people communicate on a personal level as well--if I may make one generalization. There is definitely no pressure for detailed information, much less additional information. There is no rush for efficiency and so, sometimes information is forgotten. Most things tend to work on a "we'll see" ad hoc basis with no fixed plans. Planning ahead happens rarely, unless it's a very big event. For instance, I asked my co-workers on Wednesday if they would be able to meet with me the following Monday to discuss a project. Everyone happily agreed. The Saturday before, I find out that Monday is a national holiday and people will not be at work. This is all not meant to be disrespectful in any way, it's just not that common to plan ahead. The people here also speak of African time versus occidental time. African time is a lot slower and more flexible than occidental time. There are no monthly calendars in African time and punctuality is not obligatory. I'm happily adjusting to African time, I have to say. So far, it has not really interfered with my work and I enjoy the laid-back attitude.

Other than the communication stuff, I try to observe as much as I can when it comes to the real grass-roots work that VM does. i.e. support for local HIV-patients, water-pump construction sites, monthly food-distribution meetings, taking care of AIDS-affected orphans and children, and HIV-AIDS education for local youth, etc. So sometimes, I get to hop on the back of a moped and join Odette and the other counsellors to visit HIV patients in the villages or see the current water-pump project. Oh yeah, mopeds here are THE way to get around town.

Otherwise, the weather is starting to cool down a bit, relatively speaking of course. It's still really hot and humid, and I have no idea what the temperature is since there is no such thing as the weather network and my family does not have a thermometer. Besides, it's not really useful to know it's 30 degrees today and 32 degrees tomorrow. The people here certainly avoid being out in the sun as much as possible, so it's not just foreigners that suffer from the heat. For instance, my family here doesn't really walk very much. People walk only when it's very close (i.e. 5 min) otherwise, they take a 'djzemi' (a moped-taxi). With the breeze on the djzemi, it's not very hot. There are hardly any people out walking around noon, except for the school kids that return home.

The school hours start at 7 in the morning and end around noon or 1pm. The junior- and high school kids have most of the afternoons off, where the elementary school kids go back for two hours at 3pm. The girls at my house attend private schools (mind you public schools cost money, too, just a bit less) and all the students wear some sort of school uniform of one colour on top plus khaki skirts/pants. So, no matter where you are in Togo, you'll always be able to identify a student, even university students wear uniforms. At school they learn through memorizing a lot of information. For instance, Bobo, at 9 years old has already memorized the different parts of the human anatomy that we would have learned in OAC PhysEd. While at 14 they do math at our grade 12 level, the kids here aren't really encouraged to think outside the box. Also, the teachers use caning to discipline the kids, sometimes with sticks across the open palm and sometimes over-the-knee style. The girls always tell me how amazed they are by the kids that manage not to cry when disciplined. Also, whenever something shitty happens, like the teacher was really mean or someone tripped and fell, all that is said is "du courage".

I suppose falling and hurting yourself is not so bad in contrast to death around here. My family has attended two funerals each Saturday since I arrived three weeks ago. People die young, people die in large numbers, and people die of what would seem to us a ridiculous diseases like the flu--nobody will say that a person died of the flu because they might have had AIDS. It's not really visible to me, but not a week passes when I haven't heard of at least 3 funerals. Death is very much part of life--even in humour. People joke about death all the time and laugh whole-heartedly when jokes about death are made. I suppose it makes a lot of sense when you have to deal with death on a weekly if not daily basis. At the same time, appropriately, the people here are some of the most joyful and life-loving bunch I've ever met.

Togo, West Africa -- Kpalime new home

Looking back the first night in Kpalime was probably the peak of homesickness. Since then, the sadness and loneliness has decreased over the period of a week. I can say now, that I am quite happy to be here. I am healthy, have lots of really yummy Togolese food to eat, made friends, and am very inspired by the work at Vivre Mieux. Everyday I feel like I'm living life to the fullest, which is the best part about being here. I wish you guys could be here to share this experience with me in person, but email will have to suffice.

Now, almost three weeks later, I have established a daily routine. In the morning, the roosters have a crowing competition around 4:30am, where they usually wake me up. I go back to sleep after their 10 minute-long saga. Mind you, this does not mean that the roosters don't also cry whenever they feel like. Sometimes, there is this heart-breaking and also really spooky crying noise in the night coming from the neighbour's new puppy. The people here buy dogs for guarding the house. Trust me, if you came across a dog on the road, the way they look, your first instinct is to ask "does it have rabies?" instead of reaching out your hand to pet it. Between the roosters and the neighbours starting their day at 5 am, I drift in and out of sleep. Around here you hear everything because there are no windows, as we understand it. Only a screen and shutters cover the windows, so I can hear the neighbours talking, sweeping, and cooking outside every morning.

When I actually get up around 6:15am, I do some yoga, and then take a shower with my trusty bucket. The yoga warms me up nicely for the cold shower--the mornings here are pretty cool. I'm spoiled in term of food here. My Togolese maman--Felicite makes the best food ever! Breakfast is ready on the table by the time I make my way to the dining room around 7am. For breakfast I have a few different meals. Sometimes I have this drink called 'Boullie' that consists of boiled unbleached flour, milk, and sugar--it's pretty thick and I can't think of an equivalent Canadian drink. This comes with bread (the bread is sold on the streets fresh and really good) and sometimes an omelette. Other times I have tea with bread and mango jam. And sometimes I have leftovers from last night's dinner. I eat by myself because the girls have already left for school by this time and Ernest (papa) is still sleeping. Maman is on a diet and doesn't eat breakfast.


On my 15-minute walk to work, I pass by many free-roaming chickens with or without babies, little goats, and the occasional duck. People here do not feed their chickens. They open the courtyard doors in the morning to let the animals out; the little creatures then look for food to eat all day; then, the animals come back home by themselves at night. Then, eventually, they are eaten. My family luckily does not have chickens roaming (this is very good for my bird phobia). They have a cage for chickens that they buy for eating. People kill their own meat here, except the larger animals like goats and cows which they buy from the butcher in the market. Even, Bobo, the littlest sister at 8 years old, has already killed a chicken herself. I haven't yet witnessed a chicken being killed. Also, I'm not averse to the idea of having to kill the meat you eat yourself. First of all, one can see if the chicken was weirdly deformed or diseased- looking in order to prevent eating a sick animal. But most importantly, if one eats meat, one should know and see how a living creature died for you to be able to eat and be nourished. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a vegetarian and I do eat the meat that comes frozen in the supermarket in Canada, but I think people here value and appreciate the chickens, goats, etc. and the meat they eat here a lot more. There is no waste: the meat, the cartilage, and even the bone marrow are eaten. But I digress.

So, I walk on the edge of the paved road because there is less dust when the 'motos' or 'dzemi-jons' (sounds like a variation of demi-john to me), as they call the moped here, pass me by two fingers width. The motos are pretty much the taxis here. There are people who pass by me and say "bonjour" and I salute back. On the side of the road there are everything from restaurants, fruit stands, popcorn poppers, to hairdresser (there are a lot!). Because of a few foreign organizations that started to train people in hairdressing back in the days as a means to create more skilled workers, most of the women who have no education train hairdressing and safe up money to open little hairdressing shacks. There are also a lot of tailors due to similar (originally) foreign training programs.

When I get to work, I've saluted about 20 people and have been called 'yovo' and 'chinoise' a few times by kids. 'Yovo' meaning 'white,' which is a bit weird for me because I'm not white. My Caucasian friends here say that no matter how long they've been here, be it a few months or even a year, they still cannot get used to the 'yovo' name and they are not at ease when walking down the streets because of the harassment. I suppose it would be like yelling "hey white! how s'it going!" For me, the situation is less disturbing, which I attribute to my childhood in Germany. There, I was used to people being curious about or discriminating towards me because I looked different. In my school of kids ranging from grade 5 to 13, two kids and I were the only non-Caucasians. So, I feel fairly comfortable sticking out like a sore thumb here in Togo and have pretty thick skin for the discrimination as well.

At Vivre Mieux, I work from 8am until noon, when I leave to eat lunch at home. For lunch I've had fufu, pate (both sticky lumps of pummelled potato, maize, or flour) eaten with different sauces that have different combinations of some of the following ingredients: died fish, chicken, mutton, hot peppers, ground palm nuts, peanuts, green beans, a local spinach-y plant, tomato, zucchini, and onions. I also get couscous, spaghetti, and fries (plantain, potato, or sweet potato). For dessert there is always fruit. The pineapple here is organic (well, everything here is organic. . .) and is amazing! After lunch, people usually take a nap. Except for youngest one, Bobo, who is a crazy energizer bunny. She'll jump around, act dramatic, or will do her homework in the afternoon. After napping a bit--I usually really need it after a night of rooster drama-- I go back to work for 3pm. Just half an hour before the sunsets, at 5:30pm I leave work. Sometimes, I go to hang out with my friend Jean-Marc, a New Yorker who is part of the American Peacecorps here. He lives by himself in a villa, has about 6-8 wild cats--they live, have babies, and die, so he's never sure how many there are. He's been here for a year and is leaving in another--he can't wait to go home. When I go home in the dark (which means after 6pm) I use a little flashlight in order not to trip over the rocky-sandy paths. There is no street lighting but very safe to walk in general before 10 - 11 pm. I have dinner with the family, chat a bit, take a bucket shower (so essential!) and go to sleep around 10pm usually. There is not much of nightlife here since people get up so early and it's pretty hard to navigate in the dark. The heat makes everything a lot more energy consuming, too. So, after a day's work, I'm pretty beat. So that was my lengthy account of an usual day in my life.

On the weekends, it's a lot more fun. I've been to an international dirt-bike competition, which was held here in Kpalime. It was really weird to see competitors race through the streets in their shiny, colourful uniforms with sponsors like Fox and Sony on their backs and their crazy dirt bikes. It was very out of place; probably equivalent to seeing a giant while elephant on the streets in Canada. Last weekend I was in Lome, the capital for the U.S. Marine Ball. I was a bit weirded out by the fact that it was a marine ball at first, but once I found out that there were only 5 marines, I relaxed a bit. It was really fun and I made a bunch of new friends. It was in a chi-chi hotel with air conditioning (!!) and an open bar. The entire U.S. embassy was there with a bunch of Peacecorps volunteers and a few marines, who are in Togo to protect the embassy.
All in all, the need to feel 'normal', in a pre-Togo sense, has gone away. I suppose the paradigm shift from Canadian to Togolese is almost done. The new 'normal' is gradually sinking in and I'm beginning to forget what the old 'normal' feels like. When I'm writing this email it is already becoming difficult to see Togo through a Canadian lens. Things here are becoming matter of fact rather than strange, and I'm finding it effortful to notice the differences between Togo and Canada.

Togo: Roosters crow even before sunrise

Now, almost three weeks later, I have established a daily routine. In the morning, the roosters have a crowing competition around 4:30am, when they usually wake me up. I go back to sleep after their 10 minute-long saga. Mind you, this does not mean that the roosters don't also crow whenever they feel like. Sometimes, there is this heart-breaking and also really spooky crying noise in the night coming from the neighbour's new puppy. The people here buy dogs for guarding the house. Trust me, if you came across a dog on the road, the way they look, your first instinct is to wonder "does it have rabies?" instead of reaching out your hand to pet it. Between the roosters and the neighbours starting their day at 5 am, I drift in and out of sleep. Around here you hear everything because there are no windows as we understand it. The windows are only covered by a screen and shutters, so I can hear the neighbours talking, sweeping, and cooking outside every morning. When I actually get up around 6:15am, I do some yoga, and then take a shower with my trusty bucket. The yoga warms me up for the cold shower--the mornings here are pretty cool. I'm spoiled in term of food here. My Togolese maman--Felicite makes the best food ever! Breakfast is ready on the table by the time I make my way to the dining room around 7am. For breakfast I have a few different meals. Sometimes I have this drink called 'Boullie' that consists of boiled unbleached flour, milk, and sugar--it's pretty thick and I can't think of an equivalent Canadian drink. This comes with bread (the bread is sold on the streets fresh and is really good) and sometimes an omelette. Other times I have tea with bread and mango jam. And sometimes I have leftovers from last night's dinner. I eat by myself because the girls have already left for school by this time and Ernest (papa) is still sleeping. Maman is on a diet and doesn't eat breakfast.

On my 15-minute walk to work, I pass by many free-roaming chickens with or without babies, little goats, and the occasional duck. People here do not feed their chickens. They open the courtyard doors in the morning to let the animals out; the creatures then look for food to eat all day; then, the animals come back home on their own at night. Then, eventually, they are eaten. My family, luckily does not have chickens roaming (accomodating my bird phobia). They have a cage for chickens they buy before eating. People kill their own meat here, except the larger animals like goats and cows which they buy from the butcher in the market. Even, Bobo, the littlest sister at 8 years old, has already killed a chicken herself. I haven't yet witnessed a chicken being killed. Also, I'm not averse to the idea of having to kill the meat you eat yourself. First of all, if the chicken was weird and deformed or sick-looking, you would avoid it. But most importantly, if one eats meat, one should know and see how a living creature died for you to be able to eat and be nourished. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a vegetarian and I do eat the meat that comes frozen in the supermarket in Canada, but I think people here value and appreciate the chickens, goats, etc. and the meat they eat here a lot more. There is no waste: the meat, the cartilage, and even the bone marrow are eaten.

I walk on the edge of the paved road because there is less dust when the 'motos' or 'djzemi-jons' (sounds like "demi-john" to me), as they call the mopeds here, pass me by two fingers width. The motos are pretty much the taxis here--an export of neighbouring Benin. There are people who pass by me and say "bonjour" and I salute back. On the side of the road there is everything from restaurants, fruit stands, popcorn poppers, to hairdresser (there are a lot of them!). I think there were a few foreign organizations that started to train people in hairdressing back in the days as a means to create more skilled workers, most of the women who have no education train hairdressing and safe up money to open little hairdressing shacks. There are also a lot of tailors and carpenters, too.

When I get to work, I've saluted about 20 people and will have been called 'yovo' and 'chinoise' a few times by kids. 'Yovo' meaning 'white,' which is ironic because I'm not white. My Caucasian friends here say that no matter how long they've been here, be it a few months or even a year, they still cannot get used to the 'yovo' name and they are not at ease when walking down the streets because of the harassment. For me, the situation is less disturbing, which I attribute to my childhood in Germany. There, I was used to people being curious about and possibly discriminating towards me because I looked different. In my school of kids ranging from grade 5 to 13, two kids and I were the only non-Caucasians. So, I feel fairly comfortable sticking out like a sore thumb here in Togo and have pretty thick skin for the potential discrimination as well.

At Vivre Mieux, I work from 8 am until noon, when I leave to eat lunch at home. For lunch I've had fufu, pate (both sticky lumps of pummelled potato, maize, or flour) eaten with different sauces that have different combinations of some of the following ingredients: died fish, chicken, mutton, hot peppers, ground palm nuts, peanuts, green beans, a local spinach-y plant, tomato, zucchini, and onions. I also get couscous, spaghetti, and fries (plantain, potato, or sweet potato). For dessert there is always fruit. The pineapple here is organic (well, everything here is organic; there is no money for fertilizer . . .) and is amazing! After lunch, people usually take a nap. Except for youngest one, Bobo, who is a crazy energizer bunny. She'll jump around, act dramatic, or will do her homework in the afternoon.

After napping a bit--I usually really need it after a night of rooster drama-- I go back to work for 3pm. Just half an hour before the sun sets, at 5:30pm I leave work. Sometimes, I go to hang out with my friend Jean-Marc, a New Yorker who is part of the American Peacecorps here. He lives by himself in a villa, has about 6-8 wild cats--they live, have babies, and die, so he's never sure how many there are. He's been here for a year and is leaving in another--he can't wait to go home. When I go home in the dark (which means after 6pm) I use a little flashlight in order not to trip over the rocky-sandy paths. There is no street lighting but very safe to walk in general before 10 - 11 pm. I have dinner with the family, chat a bit, take a bucket shower (so essential!) and go to sleep around 10pm usually. There is not much of a night life here since people get up so early and it's pretty hard to navigate in the dark. The heat makes everything a lot more energy consuming, too. So, after a day's work, I'm pretty exhausted. So that was my lengthy account of an usual day in my life. Here is the short account of the weekend:

On the weekends, it's a lot more fun. I've been to an international dirt-bike competition which was held here in Kpalime. It was really weird to see competitors race through the streets in their shiny, colourful uniforms with sponsors like Fox and Sony on their backs and their crazy dirt-bikes. It was very out of place; probably equivalent to seeing a giant while elephant on the streets in Canada. Last weekend I was in Lome, the capital for the U.S. Marine Ball. I was a bit weirded out by the fact that it was a marine ball at first, but once I found out that there were only 5 marines, I relaxed a bit. It was really fun and I made a bunch of new friends. It was in a chi-chi hotel with air conditioning (!!) and an open bar. The entire U.S. embassy was there with a loads of Peacecorps volunteers and a few marines, who are in Togo to protect the embassy.

All in all, the need to feel 'normal', in a pre-Togo sense, has gone away. I suppose the paradigm shift is in progress. The new 'normal' is gradually sinking in and I'm beginning to forget what the old 'normal' feels like. When I'm writing this email it is already becoming difficult to see Togo through a Canadian lens. Things here are becoming matter of fact rather than strange, and I'm finding it difficult to notice the differences between Togo and Canada.