Togo Holidays

The photo above I took at the Folklore Festival that Vivre Mieux held this past weekend. Together with Steven, we've made a holiday card out of it and are sending it to all of Vivre Mieux's partners. The festival consisted of 8 groups that wrote lyrics about HIV/AIDS to traditional music. First, we had a parade through the busy parts of town in order to advertise the event. Then, we proceeded to the municipal soccerfield where the event took place. There, each group performed their music, dance, and even skits, where people acted out scenarios to illustrate the pertinent issues. Some performed skits involving people having protected sex, using a wooden penis attached to someone's crotch; some acted out stigmatization and discrimination scenes towards HIV-positive people; and some illustrated the use of sterile needles in doctor's offices. During all this lively bands and tamtam players accompanied the performances. It was very interesting and colourful.

The attendance at the festival, however, was scarce. At first I attributed this to the great size of the soccerfield in comparison to the space we actually used. After some consultation, I was told that people probably thought that the parade was some form of political demonstration and decided to better stay away in light of the recent events organized by the regime (i.e.. Lome a month ago). Also, the fact that the event took place in the municipal stadium had too strong an official connection. Even though we had banners throughout the whole day that explained the purpose of this event, which is to raise awareness of HIV/AIDS through folklore and song, I suppose the majority did not read and simply observed that the parade resembled a political event.

After being here for a couple of months, I have had so many experiences that I don't know how to come to terms with. Sometimes I feel that no matter what I do and how much I want to adapt to life here, I will never be accepted as an 'insider' by the locals. This is more obvious some days and non-existent other days. In my encounters with strangers, especially, it is difficult to stay open and trusting. Often strangers approach me because they see me as a means to an end, a walking dollar bill, and a marriage opportunity that might lead to a better life. With adults I can sometimes explain that I am not rich and am only a volunteer. It is with kids where it's tough because they've been told by someone that 'yovos' will give them money and it is difficult to convince them otherwise with an explanation. Fortunately, there are a few Togolese friends that make me feel appreciated for who I am, which allows me to feel 'normal' as opposed to a giant white elephant. Steven, my buddy and co-worker (we are pretty much attached at the hip), is really insightful and understands. I can ask him questions about anything and he'll give me an honest answer. I can tell him about shitty encounters, such as bratty kids who get angry at me for not giving them money, and he'll empathise but will also tell me if I have been too harsh.

The colonial history of Togo comes up from time to time as well. Here is where my ethnicity plays a role and puts me in a tricky situation. For instance, if I'm out at a bar with my German friends and a drunk Togolese man begins expressing openly his contempt for the former (I use this word loosely) colonizers of the country, his bitter comments are usually not directed at anyone, but he makes sure I know he's not talking about 'my' people. This puts me in a really awkward position. I can't help but have two trains of thought simultaneously. One, that my German friends want the same liberation and emancipation for the people here as much as the Togolese man wants and cannot be lumped into the group of 'colonizers'. Two, that the colonizers really fucked up this country and the Togolese man has every right to voice his discontent. How should I reconcile these two trains of thought? Furthermore, where do I fit into this picture with my Chinese heritage? Also, truth and reconciliation are necessary in any healing process, this I know from all the polisci courses, but how is it actually done in practise, in everyday encounters? It's been too confusing, so far, to sort it out inside my head, much less trying to explain it to anyone else, drunk or not.

On a brighter note, I'm spending Christmas with my host family. They bought a really cute goat today . . . and they're going to kill it tomorrow, so we can have it for breakfast on Christmas morning. Apparently I'm supposed to document this slaughter. Slightly weird. I'm very excited for my Togolese Christmas because I'll be hanging out with the family. They've already decorated the house and put up Christmas lights on the two coniferous trees in the courtyard (I have no idea where they came from; they are certainly not local plants). I had a traditional Togolese dress made recently that I'll be sporting to church on Saturday. It's kind of poncho-shaped but made of this really beautiful brown, relief cotton. I'm going to church for the sole reason of showing off my new outfit--at least this is what my host mom insists on. Apparently one absolutely has to show off new outfits at a big gathering--what better place than church! The service is a 2-3 hour long service all in Ewe, so I won't be able to understand a thing. The things I'm willing to endure for vanity. . .

Togo, West Africa -- Definition of Beauty

So, it's Harmattan season in Kpalime right now. This means that the humidity has disappeared and a cool dry wind from the Sahara has now enveloped the valley of Kpalime in a constant fog of fine sand dust. I cannot believe that I actually didn't sweat for one day. I got home one night after work and Aquelle was wearing a wool sweater; it must have been maybe 26 C, as opposed to 32 C. Maybe I'll move on to another topic since my mom (my real mom) reported a heavy snowfall in Ottawa recently.

From walking around the streets and judging by my short trips so far, the poverty in Togo has not really struck me as devastating. I know it's a really weird thing to say, but the people's attitudes here are so joyful and bright that it makes the material poverty insignificant. It seems to me that the devastation in people stems from the political oppression rather than the material poverty. One striking example that I can offer is a visit to Amele's house.

Amele is a woman who is HIV-positive who lives in a room with her 3-year old HIV-positive son and her mother. I went with Odette, the HIV-counsellor here at Vivre Mieux, to do a house visit at Amele's. When we walked into Amele's compound--made up of a few one-story, tin-roofed houses facing a courtyard--, the other inhabitants--three other families with grandmothers who cooked topless, a brother who ploughed the small garden, and children ran about--stopped what they were doing, looked up at the obvious outsider, and continued to stare until Odette and I entered Amele's room. As we entered, Amele lifted herself up from the double bed and pulled her wide-necked dress up at one shoulder.

The room was very warm and stuffy, the only furniture in it was the bed with a few chairs and small tables with pots and jars on them. The only window in the room was stuffed with old dirty rags and pieces of stained cardboard to block out the light. The cement floor had many cracks in it and everything else in the room had a shabbiness to it. Amele's dress was shabby, too, as she sat on the side of the bed and offered us two wooden chairs to sit on. The whole time I was in the room, however, the poverty that this environment represented was contrasting the glowing beauty of this woman who sat on the bed. I couldn't take my eyes off her. Despite her thin physique, her attitude and aura was magnetic and beautiful. Her hair was done up in many small twists, her cheekbones were beautifully defined, and as she talked, her deep voice resonated with confidence and strength. Her eyes had a fierceness to them, which impressed her words on her listeners. I didn't understand a word she said because she spoke to Odette in Ewe, but, yet she held my attention the entire visit. The room, the sick child in dirty clothes wandering about, her old and tattered dress that seemed too big for her--the poverty surrounding her made her beauty stand out even more.

She explained, with Odette's translations, that she sold home-made, natural hair gel to afford food for her son and her. She spoke about her disease and its effects on her without sadness or defeat in her voice. With a bright smile, she explained that she was grateful and looking forward to the small loan that VM was going to forward her to expand her hair-gel venture. She showed me the product and laughed as she rubbed the gel into my hair.

I was completely in awe of this bright, confident woman. To think that this woman was living this life, too poor to afford nutritious food much less ARV drugs for herself and her son, and yet, lived full of grace, made my jaw drop. To pity her, to feel bad for her situation, or to lament her life in any way would have been such an insult! I felt so empowered by her! Then I realized how pointless it would be to feel bad about poverty or feel guilty for what I have. If Amele can live her life the best way she knows how and with such grace, then I owe it to her, if not to myself, to, at the least, live my life to its fullest and the best way I know how. The point is not to wallow and feel bad and thereby project helplessness on someone; the point is to do something positive about it. If I cannot do that with all my privileges and riches, then the true pity is on me.

The last time I saw Amele at Vivre Mieux, she flashed a beautiful, confident smile and waved with recognition. I want to take a picture of her, but I can't because it will not do her justice.