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.
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