Hey everyone, things are going well here. Summer is flying by. My village’s middle school science teacher and I are taking three students to a girls’ science camp (Camp ScientiFILLE) in early August. Our goals are to have fun, learn a ton, and make plans to promote science and girls’ education back in village. In other news, I got a kitten. His name is Mogli. He wakes me up really early by repeatedly pouncing on my face, but I love him all the same. I’ve been following the news of the world via BBC radio, but I would love to hear news from all of YOU via emails, letters, or phone calls, though my cell service in village is near non-existent.
And now, back to the A-Z’s.
Q: Questions about America
People here have many, many questions about America. The most common are the unserious “Will you take me to America?” and the very serious “Will you give me the address of a correspondent in America?” If any of you are looking to bone up on your French tell me and I’ll send some correspondence your way. People often ask if there are poor people in America, and are always shocked when I tell them that there are. I’ve also been asked, “Does the government pay everyone who doesn’t have a job in America?” That was a tough one; it led to a rather unsuccessful explanation of unemployment benefits, which even I don’t understand. Another classic: “How is Obama?” He’s doing great. Then there’s the puzzling (especially in light of the last question), “Are there black people in America?” The direct answer is an emphatic, “Oui,” but the question segues into discussions about diversity and American history nicely.
People usually know the names of a few cities: New York, Washington, Los Angeles and Chicago. When a told one man that I went to college in Los Angeles he responded that “There are too many bandits there.” (Les bandits probably translates to something closer to “troublemaker” here, but I like it as is.) Calling the United States of America, “America” is also problematic, as I’ll get the occasional question about Brazil or Lionel Messi. Though not as many as I get about Europe, to my eternal chagrin. At any rate, people here seem to like Americans a lot, especially Obama, who’s face is all over T-shirts, bags, key-chain bottle-openers, and every other item you can think of. They definitely prefer us to the French, I can tell you that.
R: Rainy Season
Right now it’s the rainy season chez moi, and it could not have arrived sooner. The hot(test) season directly precedes it, and I was looking at the sky hopefully every morning, praying that the few little clouds burning off in the sun would coalesce and give us a good deluge. Now that it’s raining, village is pretty quiet most days, with the majority of people off in the fields making rows, sowing seeds, protecting the seeds from birds, weeding, or doing any number of other farm-related tasks. Being here and seeing how big of an effect the rain’s debut, frequency, consistency, and volume have on people’s actions makes it clear that climate change could really cause some serious havoc in places like Togo where people are struggling as it is to get by on what they produce. It abruptly got sunny, and hadn’t rained for four or five days this past week, and people were getting pretty worried about the young plants. Mercifully, the rains came back today, and they arrived in style. I heard a slowly increasing rumble, but could see no rain, and no wind. What was it? It was a torrential downpour blowing into village with absolutely no preceding sprinkle; from dry to soaked in the blink of an eye. It was pretty awesome, though I may have felt differently had I not been under a roof when it happened.
S: Saluer
Saluer means “to salute” or “to greet.” The Kotokolis, who I live with, are famous for the length and variety of their greetings. If I were to walk around the village without saying hi to anyone, it would take me ten minutes. When I stop and saluer everyone I see it takes an hour or two. I do the vast majority of my saluer-ing in Kotokoli. People still get a huge kick out of it, even after six months. I try to say hi to everyone I see on the road, and everyone responds back happily. Going back to the cold-shouldered anonymity of American sidewalks is going to be interesting. Kotokoli takes some time to learn, and I still can’t saluer exactly like the locals do it. It has a certain rhythm to it, and accompanying gestures as well. Below is my best try at approximating a normal exchange that I would have with someone on the street:
Villager: Nyavini kazao. (Did you sleep well?)
Me: Yaaa, timereh nyngaze ni? (Yeah, how’s the work and the fatigue?)
V: Alafia. Suru ni? (Fine. How’s your patience?)
Me: Alafia. Biya ni? (Fine. And the kids?)
V: Alafia. Konkar ni? (Fine. And your effort?)
Me: Mum mum mum. (It’s all good.)
V: Toh. (Okay.)
Me: Eh!
V: Eh!
Me: Eh!
V: Eh!
Me: Eh!
The final sequence of affirmative grunts (complete with accompanying squats) is the most fun part for sure. Speaking Kotokoli is probably my favorite thing about my time in Togo, so far.
T: Togocell
Togocell is my cell phone provider, and its service in my village sucks. Not only do I have reception that only works in a few (constantly moving) spots, but I also have false reception that makes it incredibly difficult to find those spots. My phone always has bars in village, but almost never works. I look for people making calls or for phone cards lying on the ground in order to find spots that work. I have to walk a little ways up the side of the mountain behind my village to get service at all, though I occasionally receive as many as five backlogged messages at once, at three in the morning. There’s a nice big flat rock with a commanding view of the village and the plains stretching away from it that has consistent service, so I usually go there to make my calls. It’s about a ten minute walk from my house. The mountain passes always work, but they take twenty minutes or so to reach. It’s not terribly annoying making calls from these places, but it is annoying that no one can call me, and that I might not get a response from a text message before heading back down into the dead zone. I hope the service will be fixed before I leave, but who knows. Until then, send me letters!
U: Uriner
In Togo, the world is your urinal. Kids will look you in the eye and saluer you warmly you as they pee outside your house. Old women will pop a squat two feet from the entrance to a bush taxi they just exited. Showers double as urinals, as an unwelcome odor has occasioy reminded me, chez moi.
