July 27th
This past week was our post visit – the first time you go to
your village of service, see your house, and meet your work partners.
Originally, it was scheduled to be from the 20th to the 27th, but because of
the political elections on the 25th, we only stayed through the 24th.
This was done as a precaution in case any unfortunate events were to take place
on election day.
We left around 8am Saturday morning. In our Peace Corps
vehicle was Malcom, Funmi, and I, along with our three homologues (work counterparts
we met the day before). Malcom was the first to arrive in his village. There
was a huge community gathering outside the school he would be working in with
music and dancing. After he stepped out of the car, they dressed him in a
traditional shirt and hat. Funmi was next and had a similar homecoming
celebration. We dropped her off in her village’s market with an equally as
overwhelming community gathering, complete with more traditional clothing, more
music, and more dancing. After our
departure, we were finally headed to Kemerida, my village. It’s located in the
Kara region just off the border of Benin. My homologue warned me that there was
not a grand “fete” waiting for me because I was not the first volunteer in my
village. I’m a replacement for the guy that left a week or so before. Instead,
he told me they’d have a huge celebration once my “mission was complete”. Fine
with me. I was happy to avoid all the awkward attention. Only downside is that
there wouldn’t be an opportunity for me to showcase my dance skills as a way to
break the ice like with the people of Davie…
The drive from Funmi’s village to mine took us through Kara,
the regional capital. It is nestled into a cluster of mountains, one of the
most beautiful parts I have seen of Togo thus far. I live about 30 minutes on
the east side of it. Driving through this region as the sunset, made me very
optimistic for my two years here. I had Radical Face’s “Welcome Home” playing
in my mind as we got closer and closer to our destination.
We arrived at my compound shortly before 7pm, just as it was
getting dark. I was greeted by my neighbors and a few of the healthcare workers
in the village. They brought a batch of Tchuk (the local alcohol) as a
traditional way to welcome me. We each drank a calabash(?) and then my neighbor
brought out a bottle of Sodabe (a liquor popular in the South that’s similar to
moonshine). He makes it and sells it himself. I tried to decline, but they said
it was, again, a means of welcoming. I sucked it up and took a shot with
everyone. We all hung out for a bit and I learned that my Kabiye name would be
Koumealo. Like in Ewe, it just means I’m a female born on Friday. From this point on, no one would let me
refer to me as Shea. I was now Koumealo of Kemerida. Shortly after assuming my
new identity, I was able to go inside and prepare to spend my first night in
village.
When first walking into my house, I was pleasantly surprised
by how big it was. I have four rooms: a huge living area, small kitchen,
bedroom, extra room, and small closet space to use as an indoor shower. It was
also full of unpleasant surprises…
I won’t go into detail, but I’ll give a brief summary:
I had been in contact with the volunteer I was replacing
prior to my arrival. He offered to sell me all the furniture and kitchen stuff
in his house for 70 mil. I wasn’t able to see the condition everything was in,
but it sounded like a pretty good deal to me. He did tell me the couch and bed
were broken, but that he’d fix it before I came. He didn’t fix them. He’d also
told me he didn’t clean it like he had wanted. I was okay with that. I can
handle dirty living spaces. However, after exploring my house a little more, it
was worse than I could have ever imagined. I ended up sleeping on an extra
mattress with my mosquito net pulled over the couch and two chairs because I
refused to touch the bed in the condition I found it. I tried to take a bucket
shower in the space available inside, but the drain was so clogged there was
still standing water (I hope it was water) from when he last used it. I decided
to save my bucket of water and locate a new shower space in the morning.
I
could say more, but I’ll focus on some of the positives:
All the furniture is easily fixable, so I’ll just do it myself.
Though it all needs to be cleaned, he left me some pretty sweet stuff. I don’t
need to buy any more furniture or kitchen supplies for a while. I have a
collection of books and health promotion materials to use. I have a small
fridge that smells terrible, but just needs some bleach. Also, between repairs
and cleaning, there are plenty of projects to keep me busy during my first few
months at post.
After spending the night on a mattress in the living room, I
woke up the next morning and got busy cleaning. I swept the entire house and
started a pile of all the stuff I needed to throw out. After a couple hours, I took
my bucket to look for the outdoor shower. I found it… with no door. My neighbor’s
informed me that my spot was inside. Reluctantly, I returned in my house and
rinsed off as quickly as possible in my foul-smelling indoor shower space. (I’d
later find a second outdoor shower space behind my compound. Again, there was
no door, but it was private enough that I’d risk it. I don’t plan on showering
inside that little room anytime soon.)
I met my homologue, Ben, for lunch at his house. He had
invited a few of the most important men from the village and told me it was
good to network with them. I agreed and when I tried to introduce myself as
Shea, my homologue quickly corrected me and said I had to go by Koumealo. They
all started speaking to me in French very quickly and when it was obvious I
didn’t really understand, they asked my homologue how I was going to work there
if I didn’t even speak French. I was frustrated with myself and my language
level, but even more so now that they now took to treating me like a child. I
fell silent as we shared more Tchuk and they carried on in local language. I
was anxious to get home to study so that I could avoid feeling this way in the
future.
Instead, we then took a walk around the village and met up
at a local bar where a political meeting was taking place for the upcoming
elections. We were offered dog and I declined by just saying “Non, merci.” They
offered it to me several more times and told me how delicious it was. Each time
I refused and gradually got more and more uncomfortable. At the end of the
meeting, they held up the remains of the dog and asked who wanted it. I don’t
know if I’ve ever tried harder not to cry than in front of all these African
men. Immediately after, my homologue took me home and I called my mom saying I
wanted to leave. I just didn’t know how I could ever fit in and make a home for
myself in a place where they drink around the clock and feast on dogs. After relaxing
the rest of the day by just studying and reading, I chilled out and knew I
wasn’t going to leave after one bad day. It was just overwhelming and I over
reacted. It doesn’t help that my French isn’t strong enough yet to fully
express my thoughts and be more assertive. I understand I will feel a lot more
comfortable here as I gain confidence.
The second full day went a lot smoother and my spirits were
lifted again. We visited the dispensaire (local clinic) in the morning and a
lot of the village women seemed happy to see me. It made me excited about
working with them in the future. We took another walk around the village so
that I could meet the chief and the gen d’armes (police). We even walked to the
border of Benin (3k down the road) and met the officials there so that I could
go to the Benin market for the next two years without obtaining a Visa. On the
way back from the border, we stopped at a house for (surprisingly) more Tchuck.
There were puppies I played with and a woman told me she’d sell me one once I
was back at post! (I’d thought previously about getting a dog here for some
company, but I’m paranoid, for good reason, that someone will steal it and eat
it…) I was home by lunch and again, spent the rest of the day reading and
studying.
That evening, there was a political rally at the school
across from my compound my homologue came by and told me I should attend. I
declined because the Peace Corps advises us to avoid being associated with any
political activities for security reasons. Instead, I moved a chair outside my
door to read and watch from a far. I figured this way people in my community
could see me out of my house without making assumptions about my political
opinions. It turned out to be a great idea. People would wave to me as they
were coming and going from the rally and a couple came over to meet me. One
woman I met returned later, after the event had ended, with food for me to eat.
I told her I’d eaten already, but as soon as I opened my screen door, she
rushed in, shut the door behind her, sat on the floor with the plate and told
me to eat. I was hesitant, but it was clear she wasn’t leaving until I put some
food in my mouth. It was a plate of bean/pancake things that seemed okay, but
with each bite, I just kept thinking, “Please don’t let this make me sick.
Please don’t let this make me sick.” After I’d tried it and we awkwardly sat
staring at each other for a while, I told her I was really tired. She
understood and got up to leave. On her way out the door, she pressed he finger
to her lips as a sign to be quiet and told me to be sure to lock my doors
immediately and that I shouldn’t trust my neighbors. That’s always encouraging
to hear… (However, I want to note that my neighbors are very nice people though
and lived here with the previous volunteer. I don’t feel threatened by them in
any way and just assumed this woman was just trying to be overprotective.)
Happy to be alone again, I read until I fell asleep.
The next day, after lunch, my homologue and I made plans to
walk to the Benin marche. Along the way, we stopped to “saluer” more people in
the village. My homologue insisted that I greet people in Kabiye. I knew a few
phrases already, but the dialect here turned out to be slightly different. He
told me the ones I needed to know and the appropriate responses for things
people may say to me. Each time I messed up, he would seem impatient and told
me I needed to listen better. It was stressing me out and causing me to have
more reservations about visiting the marche. Once we arrived, instead of
looking around at the different booths, we went straight for the Tchuk huts. I
wasn’t feeling well that morning and was already not in the best mood from the
walk over, so I declined the offer of alcohol. It did not go over well. Since
it’s supposed to be a way of welcoming, I apparently offended some people with
my refusal. I tried to explain I wasn’t feeling well, but they didn’t seem to
be phased by that reasoning. A man started yelling at me in French and told me
I was being rude. We left that first Tchuk hut for another, and then another,
and it was the same scenario at each. I felt similar to my first full day at
post: incompetent and like I would never be accepted. At one of the last places
we stopped, a man came over to me and started tapping me on the shoulder. He
would ask me questions, I would answer politely, and then turn away. He would
not leave, kept tapping me, and telling me that he loved me. I turned to my
homologue, obviously upset, and told him I wanted to leave. I was heading to
Kara that afternoon to meet up with other volunteers to stay the night there
and leave early the following morning. I could not get out of there soon
enough. He walked me back and told me he’d return on his moto in an hour to
take me to Ketao and from there I could get a taxi to Kara. He asked me to
explain what was wrong and, as best I could, I told that I don’t drink very
much and was afraid I wouldn’t be accepted. He told me I just need to be better at standing up for
myself and to be patient.
During the moto ride, the sight of the mountains immediately
improved my mood. Once we reached Ketao, I thanked my homologue for everything
and waved down a taxi for Kara. I crammed into a car with 8 other people. As I
took the spot of the guy getting out, he slammed the door, leaned down to the
open window, and jokingly said, “This is Africa.”
During the 20 minute drive, practically sitting on the lap
of the woman next to me while two other strangers held onto my belongings, I stuck
my head out the window and reflected on all that happened the last couple days.
I concluded that this was going to be hard, but not impossible. I also realized
that most of the problems I encountered could be mitigated by being better at
French. I was not going to let my post visit apply as a generalization for my
next two years. I would finish training, and return in two weeks with an open
mind. I got out of the taxi with weird yellow shit on my pants and an improved
perspective.
I vented about my experience to the volunteers I met in Kara
and enjoyed the rest of the night with them. We returned to Davie the next
afternoon after a 7-hour bus ride. My host family rushed out and hugged me and
told me how much they had missed me. I remembered how awkward I felt first
coming to stay with them, and now it was actually like they were my family. It
took over a month to get to this point with them, and I think Kemerida has that
potential too. I just need to be patient.. and less stubborn. Rather than being
offended that people refuse to know my real name, don’t understand my drinking
habits, and insist that I start speaking Kabiye, I need to appreciate how much
they are trying to accept me as one of their own. I know it’s still going to be
very hard and that future frustrations are inevitable, but there’s a lot of
room for it to get better over the next two years.
I’m sure I’ll have more interesting stories than this to
come. After all, “This is Africa.”
Best,
Koumealo
No comments:
Post a Comment