Journée Mondiale de Lutte Contre le Paludisme

Journée Mondiale de Lutte Contre le Paludisme

April 25^th is World Malaria Day. 

For my health club at the CEG, April was our Malaria month. 

Week one, we reviewed how malaria is transmitted. Week 2, prevention methods. And Week 3, why it’s important to receive proper treatment. 

Week 4, we painted a mural, planned a skit, and on (what was supposed to be Friday, April 25^th) hosted a community event to celebrate World Malaria Day. 

This would be their first presentation and they’d get to wear their new health club shirts (courtesy of Wharton Rotary Club). 

It went.. well. But I definitely learned a lot about event planning in West Africa..

This thing was planned to a “T”. I don’t know where that expression comes from, but it’s appropriate here. 

LESSON #1: The more you have planned, the more you have to go wrong.

Besides prepping the health club, I had a few more things up my sleeve (not really sure where that expression comes from either… magicians maybe?) 

I had bought tons of needles and thread to make a bed net repairing station. Complete with a sign, illustrated with pictures and why repairing your bed net is important. 

I asked the dispensaire to borrow their buckets and key to the pump for water to set up a net washing station. Also complete with a sign, illustrated with pictures and why washing your bed net is important. 

I even bought string to tie up in between all the trees so that people could hang their nets to dry in the shade (direct sunlight is bad for them). Plus tape that they could write their names on and use to label their nets so they didn’t get mixed up. 

I made small demographic sheets to give to the ASCs (community health workers) so that they could help me count the number of people attending. Each would have one sheet and be responsible for the people attending from their quartier (neighborhood). This would also give me an idea of how the event location related to the event audience. 

I planned to buy a trashcan worth of tchouk (that’s a lot). Every person that brought a bed net would get a ticket for a free calabash. It provided motivation and allowed me to count the number of bed nets brought. I’d simply pick up the tickets from the tchouk lady after the event. 

I planned to give my health club kids questions to ask the community after the presentation was over. If they got the questions right, they got a ticket to go in a drawing. After 30 minutes, we would take the tickets and draw for prizes. This way I could see how many people took away the important information from the event. 

I had spoken with the director of the CEG 2 weeks prior to the event to see if we could host the event on the actual Africa Malaria Day – April 25^th. If not, we’d have it Saturday, April 26^th. 

I was told we couldn’t have it April 26^th because that was a day reserved for killing cows (the fete du boeuf mentioned in my last blog post: Fetes on Fetes on Fetes). The director said he’d be willing to move devoirs (homework sessions) from that afternoon to a different time so we could have our event then. 

Great. All the preplanning was complete. Time for execution. 

I printed and sent out invitations to all the notable people in village and told the ASCs (community health workers) to spread the word. 

If only it had been that simple…

When I returned the Monday before the Friday of the event to remind the director, he had completely forgotten. (Reminders, calendars, scheduling notebooks, those aren’t really a thing here..) He told me they scheduled a BEPC (middle school exit exam) practice that afternoon and couldn’t cancel it. And Saturday was, of course, already out of the picture because of the cow party. He brought up the next Monday, but that would require moving devoirs again. He finally suggested Wednesday, April 30^th. There’s no school Wednesday afternoons so it wouldn’t have any scheduling conflicts (well.. ideally anyway)

I was a bit worried that it was market day, but he assured me if we started inviting people this week, every one could plan there market time around the event.

LESSON #2: Never. Ever. Have an event on market day. 

I “knew” that. But didn’t really “know” that until the day of the event. We’ll get to why in a bit. 

I spoke with my homologue and we decided to have it at noon. Just when kids got out of morning classes so that the health club could stick around for their presentation before continuing on with their day. We also figured noon was early enough that people could go to the market afterwards.

I asked him if I needed to print new invitations and he said not to worry about it. He would inform the people of interest about the changes. 

LESSON #3: If you’re making changes to written, distributed information. Write it and distribute again. Word of mouth is great at the moment, but when people forget what they talked about 2 days ago, they read whatever is right in front of them. 

I continued on with my week. The health club got more practice time for their skit and I finished some outlines on the mural. 

The original Friday date came and went, with everything in place for the next Wednesday. 

After church on Sunday several people stopped me to stay they came by the CEG Friday but no one was there. I apologized profusely and explained the new date and the reason for the change. They said they understood and they’d come out on Wednesday.

LESSON #3: If people make the effort once, they’re not going to do it again. It’s like the boy who cried wolf. But they only needed once false alarm to be too wary about the second one to make the trek.. especially in the midday sun. I’ll jump to the conclusion: they didn’t show. 

I set a time with my homologue to meet up Wednesday for set up. Event was at “noon” so we’d meet at 11am. The music guys would be there by 11:30. Class would get out at noon and the dispensaire would close at noon, so by the time people showed and we get the desks out of the classroom, it’d be more like 12:30 by the time we started. 

LESSON #4: Everyone is late. To everything. 

Another thing I “knew”, but didn’t really “know” until this event. 

I show up at 11am with my buckets and baskets, full of nervous excitement. I figured my homologue would be 10-15 min late so I’d do what I could without him. That took all of 5 minutes. I really needed help hanging the string in the trees because I was too short. 

11:30. No sign of him. 11:45. Nothing. No music guys either. 

Ben shows up at noon. While kids are already leaving school. Music guys show up at 12:15 to set up. And we are done setting up the desks outside by 12:45. Dispensaire staff shows up at 1. 

So an hour later, where’s our audience?

Because they certainly weren’t at the school. 

I had 35 faithful, blue outfitted, health club kids there and two adorable little old women with their bug nets in hand. 

Even the community health workers (ASCs) were absent - the people who were supposed to come help me keep track of the population. Though, I guess it would have been pointless since there wasn't exactly one to be kept track of..

I think the most disappointing thing was that none of my close friends in village came. If I can't expect the people I spend the most time with, who know my efforts better than anyone else, to care about my work, how can I can get anyone else to?

LESSON #5: Know the soccer schedule. Apparently there was a game at 4pm that day. So.. everyone we expected to go to the market after our event, went during it instead so they’d be back for the game. 

LESSON #6: Know the Togolese holidays. May 1st, Premiere Mai, is a HUGE holiday in Togo. The day immediately following our event. People were gearing up for that and had no interest in attending a malaria “party” when they’d have a real party the very next day. 

The universe had conspired to make Wednesday, April 30^th, to be THE ABSOLUTE WORST DAY to plan a community event in my village. Between the market, soccer game, and the day before a holiday, it’s no surprise the turnout was so poor. 

LESSON #7: No one tells the Yovo (foreigner) anything. IF I HAD KNOWN ALL OF THOSE THINGS I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN DUMB ENOUGH TO PLAN AN EVENT FOR THAT DAY. I was already skeptical about market day. I certainly wasn’t on an event suicide mission. 

It’s like when church is cancelled and I show up anyway. Or when I hear drums one night and the next morning people ask why I missed the fete. Or I show up to work at the dispensaire and the staff asks why I missed the polio vaccinations the day before. I am not God and all knowing. Nor am I Togolese. YOU GOTTA TELL ME THESE THINGS, PEOPLE.

Despite the poor turnout, the event went as well as anyone could have hoped. My homologue gave a brief introduction about why we were having this gathering. My health club performed their skit and presented their mural. The major of the dispensaire gave a causerie on malaria and I got to wonder around and take pictures. Plus, with so few people, everyone got free tchouk!

In the end we had about 40 people show up -- some of the other school kids who had left returned, a few parents of the health club students showed up late, and every one within earshot of the microphone being used at the school walked over to see what was going on. 

We washed 10 nets that day and I personally repaired 3. 

It wasn’t the “party” I was hoping for, but it was something. I really wanted it to be a huge success and something that my village would adopt for every annual African Malaria Day. I guess those expectations were a little too high. 

LESSON #8: Celebrate the small victories. 

Really I was just worried about my kids. They had worked so hard. They had these snazzy new shirts that made them the envy of every kid at school. And they painted this amazing mural and planned a hilarious skit. I just wanted them to feel like what they had learned really mattered and be proud of presenting it to a big group of people. 

In the end, I think they really really enjoyed the experience. Even the kids that act like they’re too cool for the club (though they show up every Wednesday) turned out to be some of the club’s biggest assets that day. They asked to keep the shirts for the holiday the next day and I agreed (The shirts are property of the school, not the kids. That way as the health club continues each year, they won’t have to have a Peace Corps volunteers to buy them new shirts). 

That’s when they planned their surprise for the Premiere Mai parade (also in my last blog: Fetes on Fetes on Fetes). 

Things here aren’t always going to turn out like I expect. Or ever like I expect. 

It’s easy to tell yourself that, but it doesn’t mean you don’t still experience the disappointment when that proves to be true. 

I feel that’s one of the biggest challenges of Peace Corps service -- comparing what you want the results of your efforts to be to what they actually turn out to be, and accepting that there’s almost always going to be a deficit. 

But surprises by my health club, having people beam with gratitude at the one big hole in their bed net being repaired, and watching teenage Togolese boys, who don’t seem to have a sense of responsibility for anything, man a bed net washing station without being asked are the things you don’t expect. 

And the things that make it all worthwhile.

(And I've been sick in the med unit for 3 days with time to do THIS. Finally, some visuals to bring life to all these words...)

Thanks again to the Wharton Rotary Club for their contributions after my presentation back in March. Their support bought the supplies for the mural and the shirts for the kids. (If any of you read this, my mom should have emailed you a picture…)

To the little things! (a cliché phrase that is often oh-so-true)

Kumealo

FETES ON FETES ON FETES: Part I

May 3rd

So there’s been a lot going on in my village for the last month. Lots of occasions for partying. Initially, I wrote one blog describing all of them. But. It was 6 pages long.

Thus, here is Part I – fetes unique to my village.

If you have the time to kill, read it along with Part II – a national fete and one in a neighboring village.

If you’re a bit occupied. Digest it as two pieces…

FETES ON FETES ON FETES: Part I

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

(previously sleeping girl fumbles out of her room and answers the door)

“The party has started!”

“What party?”

“The party of cows.”

So this conversation wasn’t in English ..but this is a real instance (occurring in a quite literal French translation) that happened when my homologue woke me up from a Saturday nap about 2 weeks ago. 

Now, I can’t speak for the entire country of Togo, but based on my experience in the Kabiye village of Kemerida, people here like to party.

I’ve already written blogs about Hiling (the huge coming of age fete for Kabiye men in which they take part in whipping duels) and Bonne Annee.

But turns out there are several more celebrations I can add to that list with an account from first hand experience. Instead of doing separate blogs for each, I figured I’d give you a big summary right here:

Fete du boeuf

Or party of the beef. Also known as Fete de vache. Party of cows.

When the father of a wife dies, her husband is required to buy her a cow at some point in the future to honor him. This could be up to 5 years later depending on how long it takes the husband to save money. He can also buy a sheep in the grandfather’s honor if the outlook of affording a cow isn’t too promising.

Each weekend in March and April is reserved for a specific quartier (neighborhood). During that neighborhood’s designated weekend, all the cows bought for the deceased who lived there are prepared. Saturday night the family (not a 4-6 person family, but more in the range of 30-40), along with all their friends and neighbors parade their cow through the village.

This is about the time Ben showed up at my house.

I quickly changed, grabbed these metal finger clinker things I was told to buy and stepped out of my compound. People were running down the street and yelling at me to hurry. Drums were beating and metal was tapping in the direction they were headed. I followed them with my eyes, which found their way to a mass of people running down the road leading to the chief’s compound. They were chasing a cow…

So, I ran too.

When I caught up, women were waving tree branches back and forth and miming how to use my clinker things. Once I got the pieces situated on my fingers, they encouraged me to dance/run with the mass behind the animal.

The cow had a string tied around its neck and one to each leg. Men holding them were running alongside it, keeping the animal supervised. Occasionally the cow would charge, the crowd would scatter, and the men maintaining its constraints would tighten their grip.

Following the parade as it turned down a hill, you could see another mass of people coming straight towards us, chasing another cow. I learned there were four cow parades going on at the same time that night. Four cows had been bought for that neighborhood this year, so all were being shown off to the village during the same evening.

The individual crowds would merge when coming across the same path in village. Everyone would pause for a dance, and then the parades would continue down their separate routes.

After the parades finished for the evening, more drinking and dancing went on through the night.

The cows would be slaughtered at 7am the following morning.

Sunday afternoon, my friend Augustin who was honoring his wife’s father with a cow this year, asked me to come celebrate with his family and photograph the occasion.

He was very insistent I take tons of pictures of the massive cow carcass they had yet to butcher. It had been cut into 2 large pieces and skinned. The bulk of it just lie in a huge basin, collecting flies as it awaited the evening’s ceremony.

After getting lots of pictures of the mass of meat and drinking plenty of Tchouk, the family geared up to transport the cow back to the quartier of the grandfather. (It was killed at Augustin’s house in a different quartier.) A woman, with the assistance of two men, hoisted the cow carcass onto her head. People followed with basins full of salt and rice. There was drumming and dancing all the way to the final destination.

Each family with a cow to offer took over a housing compound. Here they cut the meat, divided it amongst family members and began preparing some of it to be eaten that night. There was also a short ceremony to honor the grandmother.

She sat in the middle of all the family members and close friends and drums would play. The surrounding people were singing and would take turns giving her money. They would stick coins to her forehead and try to put bills into the pagne wrapping her head.

Many families wanted it documented, so I was able to get into the action to take pictures.

Again, this account is from one weekend. And it happens for about 8.

Valeur

Every Friday of February and March in my village, there’s a coming of age fete for the boys turning 18 that year (pre-Hiling dueling).

They are required to catch, kill, and eat a dog.

Sadly (not sadly at all actually), I missed all of these ceremonies this year with my vacation time.

My friend Judith encouraged me to go next year, but I told her I was only attending the drinking and dancing portion. One dog and I’m headed home. She understood. One reason I really like her… most Togolese would laugh at me.

Other fun fact: I mentioned in my blog on Hiling that the boys in the final years of the duels wear headdresses. Turns out the headdress marks the men who have completed Valeur.

Read Part II for the Sola Circumcision Fete and Premiere Mai.

FETES ON FETES ON FETES: Part II

FETES ON FETES ON FETES: Part II

As continued from Part I. More fete-ing below.

Circumcision fete

I will preface this by saying it was not nearly as grotesque as I had imagined..

Also that some of the information I write below is merely conclusions I drew from observation. I am not the volunteer of this village. I was merely a guest and and sharing with you what I witnessed.

This fete takes place in Sola, a village about an hour north of me where another volunteer lives.

The men of Sola, once they come of age, undergo a public circumcision ceremony in which they are not permitted to show any pain. This is to prove their strength and courage.

It happens once every two years.

Alicia invited me to attend this year’s ceremony and, although most fetes in Sola don’t allow photography in an effort to keep their villages traditions sacred and private, I was lucky enough to be allowed to take pictures. With that privilege also came a lot of front row seating..

In the early part of the day, the men who are going to participate in the ceremony march in a procession around the houses on top of the mountain (the designated area for Sola ceremonies). They wear feminine accessories and what I can best describe as a diaper made from traditional pagne. Apparently this “diaper” shows every one that they are a participant this year. If you have already gone through the ceremony, you are allowed to wear nothing but a cup on your penis made from woven palm fronds..  I only saw about three of these guys..

During the parade, the participants carry something along the lines of a fan or plate with them that they can hold out for people to put coins or small gifts on. This continues for several hours, all the while people are drinking and socializing.

There are several areas all over the mountain where the circumcision takes place. Some had it done leaning against trees and others situated their bodies in a clay pit shaped like a crucifix. There was a wide vertical area for the torso and two short horizontal impressions extending off it for the arms. When they weren’t being used, these clay pits were covered with palms to keep them cool for the next person.

I saw three circumcisions. One against a tree and two in the clay pits.

Before both events, the men were stripped of all their female accessories. I assume it’s a representation of shedding everything feminine before embracing the purely masculine. They then leaned against the tree or placed themselves in the shallow pit. In both scenarios the boys held a branch over their eyes.

A traditional priest would hold their … goods while another priest prepared the knife. The boy would lie perfectly still for the few seconds the cutting lasted. You could see their eyes closed, jaws clenched, and hands tightly squeezing the branch.

Just moments later, the priests would stand and the family would come to carry to boy out of the crowd. They’d inspect everything and if it was complete, the now-man would push his way back through the crowd, jump on the place of his cutting and have baby powder thrown on him. He’d continue off with a crowd of people to be cleaned, bandaged, and enjoy the rest of the party.

I was allowed to photograph one man immediately after he had been cut. He didn’t seem to be in any pain. (I’m not saying he wasn’t. I’m sure it was excruciating. I’m just pointing out he seemed very calm for just having something cut off a very.. sensitive area.)

You know that rush of adrenaline you have when you do something crazy? Like cliff jumping for example. It just builds and builds and builds until you launch yourself over the edge. Then, once you break the water and resurface, you look back up at the cliff and you can’t really believe what just happened. You’re happy you didn’t die, surprised by what you just did, and don’t really have a grasp on how to process it. Coming down from that adrenaline high, your body is kind of dumfounded for how to react.

That’s how this guy looked. He seemed relieved, but like he had just done something he couldn’t quite get his head around.

A woman rinsed the now-man with clean water. After the bleeding subsided, she wrapped his.. goods in a large leaf and tied it with straw.

After the third circumcision, we’d been on top of the mountain in the sun for about 5 hours. I’d seen all I could and gotten more photos than I could have ever hoped for so I headed back to village.

Premiere Mai

National holiday for all the hard workers here in Togo.

Schools close and every one gets 2 days off.

Oh, and of course there’s a fete.

Thursday morning, May 1^st. A few kids from my health club showed up in the t-shirts I had made for them. On the front it said “CEG de Kemerida” and below it “Club de Sante”. On the back, “La santé avant tout.” Of course.

I welcomed them into my house and asked what the visit was for. They told me that they were getting ready for the parade for Premiere Mai and everyone agreed to meet at my place. After about 20 minutes, there were 30 kids in my courtyard. They told me to get dressed and that we were going to actually walk in the parade.

Some of the boys picked up sticks and empty plastic containers to serve as drums, the girls picked flowers to carry, and a guy wanting to serve as the “conductor” made a hat. We formed two lines outside my compound and starting marching towards the main road. The guys played a beat and all the students started singing.

They’d made a song out of our health club slogan!

Highlight of my service so far. Right there.

I was beaming with pride as we marched through the street. We were joined by tons of children clapping and trying to sing a long. Lots of older Togolese people I knew were giving us a thumbs up.

 I think they were as surprised as I was to see an organized group of Togolese students taking initiative to come together and represent themselves at a community event. Outside of soccer games.

We were definitely a crowd favorite.

The parade went to the border of Benin and reversed back towards the other side of town. We ended at the chief’s compound where he made a speech for Premiere Mai.

That was the end of the parade. Or so it should have been.

My students were so hyped up that they wanted to continue marching around town as a single act. We visited the major of the dispensaire and a few more teachers houses, singing and dancing at each. Finally, after a 45 minute extension, we headed back to my place and called it quits. We were hungry.

That night there was a huge dinner at the school. There were four large circles arranged with desks. A food serving station at each.

The separate circles represented different organizations/occupations. I was invited to sit at the school employees’ circle. I was served 3 plates of food, most of which I snuck to the kids behind me. With the exception with what tasted EXACTLY like BBQ chicken. And I’m from Texas. I don’t consider just anything BBQ.

Pirette, my friends Judith’s youngest daughter, and I wore matching pagne (dress fabric). She sat with me and pretended she was my child for the evening.

Afterwards, I made my way through the various groups. Sharing drinks and dancing with a group in each circle.

Surprises from my health club, BBQ, and an adopted daughter. This might be my new favorite holiday.

As always, life stays interesting here in West Africa.

Stay tuned for a blog on my hosting a community malaria fete.

Kumealo

Points for Accuracy

April 30^th

This one’s short. And unpleasant.

But unfortunately one of the realities Peace Corps volunteers have to cope with.

At some point in (what I’m assuming) every volunteer’s service, they’ve been really sick. It’s kind of inevitable with the conditions we subject out bodies to.

I’ve had parasites for about 6 months now. After a recent 10 days of medication, I hope to now be rid of them. Fingers crossed for that stool sample to come back negative. It’d be the first time since arrival…

Those little guys are nothing compared to having food poisoning in Togo though.

I was lucky enough to have a bout of that my first week back in country from America.

I bought an egg sandwich my last night in Atakpame – the city in the center of the country with a volunteer house. I had a meeting there immediately following my return that postponed my reintroduction to village. It also provided a nice buffer for the readjustment back to Togo.

The next morning, the day I headed back to village, I ate it. Without having refrigerated it. I KNOW. I deserve this.

It tasted all right. But within 30 minutes I started feeling queasy. I thought once I got settled on the nice air-conditioned bus and drank some water, my stomach would settle.

There was no air-conditioning.

And my stomach did not settle.

An hour in I knew it was only a matter of time. Fortunately, I had both seats to myself and a couple of sachets (plastic bags) with me.

I won’t go into more detail than that.

I used the bags and then Ryan, another volunteer sitting across from me, handed me a few more. No questions asked.

It’s interesting how desensitized we become to bodily malfunctions as volunteers. Just part of the job description.

I neatly tied up my product and through it off the bus upon arrival in Kara, my final destination, 4 hours later.

I made it to my house just in time for round two.

For two days I couldn’t keep down anything. Even water. I was so dehydrated I thought I was going to have to go to the hospital. I lost about 5 pounds and my lack of energy consumption kept me in bed for almost a week.

I’m not telling you this so make you realize how hard my life is here or discourage you from ever trying egg sandwiches. They’re delicious.

I just don’t wont everything in my blog to be focused on work or shocking cultural differences. I want to give you a first hand account of what it’s like being in the Peace Corps.

I also want to share with you how I change and grow throughout this process.

What I learned from this experience is that,

Well first, never eat unrefrigerated leftovers in a third world country.

But also, I survived! Despite my two days being confident I was dying. Yes, I’m away from home, with hardly any amenities, so being here feels waaayyy worse than being in air-conditioning with DVR and your mom.

In the Peace Corps, you learn your limits. You figure out what you really need to make it through hard times and you gain an overwhelming feeling of independence.

Those lessons come through hardship.

I’m also happy enough here in Togo that I can take these unpleasantries and know that they don’t impact my outlook on my life here.

I hope that I don’t have that experience again, but if do, I’m confident I’ll get through it. Just add it to the list of silver linings. In addition to discovering my projectile accuracy is quite impressive.

Hope I didn’t gross you out too much.

Stay healthy,

Kumealo