Workin' hard in West Africa

I just worked more in the last week than I have since I got to post (unless you count biking as work).

My peer educators are trained! I don't know how well I trained them - most of them missed some, if not half, of the questions on the final exam - but training ended Sunday and everyone survived. Over the three days, I rollercoastered from extreme satisfaction and joy to impatience, frustration and near tears. I considered firing (not possible) Azembe, an instigating 10th-grade student. He had a comment on everything the women's rights speakers said and tried to argue both that things were better when women had to beg their husbands to travel and that we should isolate HIV positive people. I get fired up about both those subjects. Instead of grabbing him by the neck and shaking him, I babbled on in my best angry French about tolerance and gender equality. Then my counterpart translated.

A quick tangent on that – I’m learning, a little belatedly, that if I want to increase comprehension during activities, I need a counterpart to translate. I mean translate from Linda’s Non-African French to African French, not translate into local language. Fortunately, for most of the weekend, I had a great counterpart, Karim, who is the president of the moto syndicate. I think that means he’s the boss of Sagbiebou’s moto drivers.

After we finished training on Sunday, Saibou (nurse counterpart) and Mr. Tairou (teacher counterpart) told me we needed to motivate the kids with Cokes. I’d offered to take those two, Karim and another teacher who helped me out for beers, but it ended up being the whole group – you can’t expect people to participate in anything if they’re not going to get anything out of it (no, certificates and homemade sugar-cookies are not enough). It was fun, and we split the bill three ways. The kids did a “banc” (a cheer) for me, and when they left, I engaged in two beers and lively conversation with the counterparts and one of the girls’ fathers. Beers in Africa are twice the size of American beer. I slept very well.

On Monday, I headed south. I spent the night in Kara, then came down to Lome on the bus Tuesday morning. After two and a half days of editing, our Perspectives-GAD Newsletter combination issue is complete. I’ve forgotten how tedious producing a publication is. Still, it looks good (mostly thanks to Amanda) and come next Friday, volunteers will have something new to read.

On Wednesday night, the ambassador extended an open invitation to volunteers to attend a 232nd birthday reception for America, which took place in his very large backyard. We went, partook of the free drinks and finger foods, mingled, then moved on. Kind of fancy, except it was clear who the non-Lomé volunteers were (Amanda and I), based on our grungy attire. I don’t even own a nice pair of shoes anymore. Anyway, it was interesting to hang out with ex-pats and meet non-Peace Corps people.

Camp Espoir “Training of Trainers” starts next Friday. Rather than going back to village (an all day affair) and then repeating half the trip next Thursday, I’m going to visit friends in Kpalimé and outside Pagala. Hopefully I can see my host family. I heard rumors that my host mom, Esse, is pregnant or has already had the baby. So we’ll see.

Enjoy the photos.

In Benin. Awaiting your praise for this one.

This canoe trip (Benin) was much less harrowing than crossing the Komoungou with bike bags.

Sagbiebou: an antennae surrounded by mud huts.

The mosque. And a lizard.

(l-r) Mr. Tairou, peer educators with their certificates and Saibou.

Rachidatou's dad, Rachidatou and Mme Awa.

I Like Fufu

When I got here, I never thought the words, “I really want some fufu” would ever pass from my lips, but… it’s true. I now like fufu (for those unversed in West African cuisine, it’s pounded yam. Not sweet potato, although that would be delicious, just a big, white yam).

Now that I’ve made that confession, we can move on. My peer educator training is this weekend, and I can’t help feeling anxious. Here are some of the challenges I’ve encountered during the planning process.

1. After announcing the students selected to attend training I heard that one girl was upset because she wasn’t chosen. We based selection on their quizzes and input from guy I’m working with, Mr. Tairoo. So this girl had let her friend copy her quiz, and the friend was picked (not by me. Tairoo suggested her). Girl One came to see me, so we decided she could attend. Everyone has to pass the exam at the end of the weekend, without cheating, to officially become a peer educator. Except I have a hard time saying, “No,” so I hope they all pass.

2. Last Friday, Mr. Tairoo told me he was going to be in Dapaong for exam corrections Wednesday through Friday. He might be back on Saturday. The training is from Friday until Sunday. I need a new counterpart for student-related activities. He always does this! He would never tell me when he had to leave town on a Wednesday afternoon, so I would wait around for him to start health club. I don’t know how to replace him without offending him, though.

3. Yesterday, a student told me she was going to Mango until Sunday. I told her she couldn’t become a peer educator if she missed training. I really want her to attend - she’s the girl who brings my water, and I’m sending her to camp. I told Tairoo and he talked to her. Now she says she’s coming back Thursday morning.

That’s a glimpse of the frustrating planning process. I should also add to the list my own procrastination. Apparently I intend to plan my sessions in the two days before the training begins.

I spent the weekend in Mango. We had a goodbye party for Cliff, which gave us one last chance to enjoy his delicious curry pasta. On Sunday, Amanda and I did our nine-mile run. We ran out to the hippo reservoir, and this time we got a great look at the hippos. They were already in the water but very close to our path (not dangerously so. No worries, I’m not going to provoke hippo rage). As we ran past, they yawned and gnawed on each others’ heads. Looking at hippos took up about two minutes, at most, of a 90 minute run. I hope the marathon route includes distracting scenery, because if it’s 26.2 miles or rice fields, I’ll just quit.

"Et les activités?"

So I thought maybe I might spend about 10 days in village after returning from my Sokodé meeting, maybe do a few day trips to Mango and Gando (if you spend the night at home, it counts as being in village. Says me). Then I ran out of cooking gas mid-meal. And since there’s a constant shortage of gas in Togo and when we get it in Dapaong, it sells out in about half a day, I took my empty tank up that weekend. So much for 10 days in village.

In Dapaong, I bought a little coal stove for about three dollars. Someone in village gave me a huge bag of coal. For my first village-style cooking session, I made hard-boiled eggs. After some fire-starting tips from my brother (the first time I got fed up and just added kerosene), I moved on to lentils and rice and pasta salad. Then I got a new gas tank. But now I’m a coal-fire genius… with a stove and a huge bag of coal that I won’t use for another nine months.

I’ve been semi-busy. Last Wednesday I gave a quiz to middle-schoolers interested in becoming peer educators. They did, oh, pretty abysmally. I was especially disappointed that no one got the family planning question, including the three girls who attended the family planning talk the week before. But we’ve selected students and hopefully I’ll be able to train them over a weekend in June.

This Tuesday and Wednesday, I was in Kara for a Camp Espoir meeting. Espoir is a camp for kids infected and effected by AIDS. Our camp is in July, and in the meeting, we went over logistics and started planning sessions with the Togolese counterparts from the different associations that send the kids. I’m really looking forward to camp.

I got back to Sagbiebou Wednesday evening. I spent Thursday doing peer educators stuff and working in the clinic, then biked out again on Friday. In Mango, I planted a small moringa nursery with the environment volunteer there. We only did 16 trees, but it’s for the AIDS groups I work with, which only has about 10 members. Everyone will get a tree. At our meeting on Sunday, I invited everyone to come help. One woman came in time to help plant, one came late. I made a coffee crumb cake the night before, so after planting, we had cake. Then, after going to the on-time-lady's house to greet her family, I biked to Barkoissi and had lunch with Amanda. I caught a car for the rest of the Dapaong trek. 40k is enough biking for one day.

Official marathon training started last week – I’m training for the Accra International Marathon at the end of September. Today was supposed to be my “long” seven-mile run, but I woke up feeling… indisposed. I’m hoping that goes away by tomorrow. Unlike my heat rash, which apparently is never going to go away, at least as long as I’m sweating in my cement house in village. I actually have started missing cold weather. Just a little.

So, this week I managed to stay in village for about four days. I'm in Sokode for a Gender and Development Committe tomorrow (I'm the communications coordinator or chair or whatever - that just means I edit a newsletter), then back to village on Sunday.

But in those four days, I planted 52 moringa trees by the clinic and gave two family planning talks to a total of about 56 women. One of them even got a Depo shot. And before you go thinking planting 52 trees is hard work, let me tell you that it's not. Bila hacked holes into the ground with my machete (yes. I have a machete and it's very useful for digging holes) and I dropped two seeds into each hole. Then we watered the mounds in the evening. The plan is... well, I'm not sure what the plan is, but it has something to do with getting women to start feeding their kids moringa leaves or powder made from the leaves. For those who don't know, the moringa tree is basically a miracle tree. You can use all its parts for something - the leaves are super nutritious, you can eat the flowers, the pods, the seeds (or use the seeds to grow more trees), the roots... it's great. And it's really hardy - a tree near my house got crushed by something. There was nothing but a stick left, and now a new tree is growing in the same spot. Google it. So I'm planting with the hopes of starting a trend.

That's about all I have to report for now. Rainy season moved in this week - I got to use a blanket a few nights and I even wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt one day! But I still have heat rash. One thing at a time.

The Grass is Always Greener

After four days in Benin, three of which were largely spent in a hotel conference room, I’ve decided that Benin is a more advanced version of Togo. Then again, the Benin volunteers heard Togo was a better version of Benin, but I bet none of them ever tried to get from the south to the north of Togo in one day. And we did that almost effortlessly in their country.

The conference was interesting, and I’d like to incorporate some of what I learned in my work. One afternoon we prepared recipes we created, which had to contain a certain amount of calories and protein. My group made mango porridge, which is less delicious than it sounds, but better than I expected.

The evening the conference ended, some Benin volunteers took us to see hippos. One of the volunteers, Holley, works with a guide there who does these tours. For about $2.00 (not including the roundtrip moto ride), the guide leads you down a path to a lake, then escorts you around in a large canoe for as long as you want. It’s so peaceful and beautiful, especially in the evening, that I didn’t care if we saw the hippos. We did, but again, I have no pictures, as it’s unwise to get close enough for pictures (at least with the zoom on my camera). At the end of the tour, the guide gives everyone a shot of sodabi (local liquor that feels like it’s burning holes in your esophagus) and the chance to sign the “livre d’or” – the Book of Gold, which is a school notebook.

On Friday morning, we left Lokossa around 8:00 a.m. in a bush taxi organized by two Benin PCVs. We arrived in Bohicon just in time to catch a bus north to Natitingou, where we took another taxi to the Togolese border. The whole trip was amazingly easy, with minimal harassment and only one long wait for a taxi in Natitingou, which we spent at an internet café.

So that was a fun and educational little trip. Coming back to Savanes was amazing, because it rained a few times, and it looks like spring, all green everywhere. It still feels like summer, though, and my heat rash came back in all its prickly redness the first night in Togo. I just keep telling myself it’s going to cool down soon. I’ll let you know how that works out.

Photo update

Since I'm now in Lome, on the way to that conference in Benin, I have speedy internet access. Here are some photos... from months ago.

Koudapani (cultural festival for the Oti prefecture - that's where I live) festival in Mango in January.

With Heidi at the reservoir outside Mango where the hippos live (no hippo pics, sorry, they were too far away for any good pictures)

The girls who played in the Gando vs Sagbiebou game on March 9th - no, those are not our uniforms, we borrowed them.

The girls who didn't get to play in that game.

Saturday morning runners.

Hello Again

My father told me on the phone last week that my “readership awaits”. Apologies, readers. When I was in Dapaong two weekends ago, I had little motivation to write about my activities in village. I think I’m at the stage in my service called What Am I Doing Here? At least, I hope it’s a stage.

I spent a lot of mornings at the clinic this month, recording kids’ weights and names. Then Bila, one of the clinic workers, and I visited some of the kids at home to conduct surveys with their mothers. All this is in preparation for a Hearth program seminar in Benin next week. More on the Hearth program if I can actually get it to work in village. It’s basically a program that teaches mothers how to prepare various nutritious meals for their children. And as we’re in the famine season, now would be a great time to do this. Unfortunately, the rain is also starting. Rain means fieldwork and fieldwork probably means everyone stops coming to any activities I plan.

Not that attendance is high in the first place. I finally had eight girls show up for a sex-ed class this Wednesday. Perhaps I could get a bigger crowd if I said, “We’re going to talk about sex!” Or maybe it would scare everyone away.

Bila and I gave a talk on family planning to about 27 women in the market. Three or four ran away when I showed a picture of man putting on a condom. The ones who stayed until the very end, though, were very adamant about the benefits of birth control. Then this week, the imam’s wife, who missed that talk but apparently heard about it, came and asked me about natural methods. I told her what I could but encouraged her to visit the mid-wife for more info.

Life in my compound has been… troubled. The younger girl, Hanatou, decided she no longer loved me this month. And she started whine-crying (not real, I Just Fell and Hurt Myself Crying, no, I’m Not Getting My Way Crying) at everything. Lately, she’s started greeting me again and has stopped crying when I say her name. There’s still the occasional wailing incident, though. I like it best when that happens around 1 a.m.

Two weeks, ago, the village soccer team spent the night in our courtyard. The school director, who lives in the compound, coaches the team. He also helps out with the girls’ team, which has now fallen aside since the men’s team seems to be in season. Thanks a lot. Anyway, the guys had a game on a Wednesday, so that Tuesday night the whole team plus many more men crowded the compound. I’ve been sleeping on a cot on my porch because it’s too hot to sleep inside, but I spent that night in the house. They had a game again yesterday, but Saibou (nurse counterpart) told me he told them that they couldn’t sleep at people’s houses. So they slept at the school.

Finally, Hanatou’s parents have taken to extended shouting matches. One took place just before my last trip to Dapaong. At the time, I suspected Mr. might have hit his wife, Alima. This Tuesday evening, they started up again. They shout for a while, he leaves, she rants at him in his absence. On Wednesday morning, they were at it again, full force. I have NO idea what they’re saying, because it’s all in local language, and not a local language I know.

So I had just bucket-bathed and was getting ready to go to the clinic when I heard scuffling. Because I’m nosy (let’s call it concerned), I peeked out the door. She was holding a wash basin over her head, threatening or defending, but definitely yelling. He was walking away. Then she yelled something, he 180ed, knocked her on the ground and his arms started flying. I ran out in only my pagne wrap (so, basically a towel), yelling, “Hey! Hey! Stop!” and what I think is his name. The old lady in the hut next door also ran over, and after a small eternity, he stopped, walked towards me and said, “Awa, c’est fini” (it’s finished) over his wife’s yelling and my, “I don’t know what you’re fighting about! C’est pas bon! I don’t understand!”

I still don’t know what they’re fighting about, but even if she’s saying terrible things about his mother, it’s not ok to beat your wife. I know I should probably mind my own business, but when it takes place in my courtyard in broad daylight, it becomes my business. Fortunately, he’s been traveling to Lome a lot, giving us some peace.
And that’s the news from Sagbiebou, where there are more mangoes than the women can sell, but still no toilet paper.