Et le Travail?

This entry is all about the work I did in Togo. I did two types of work: teaching English and studying traditional medicine.

Teaching English

Soon after arriving, John, Charlotte, and I set up a biweekly English class for village middle schoolers. Because it was during the summer, it was completely optional for the students. English is taught in the middle school, so our class served as a supplement for those wanting to review what they already knew or for those wanting to get a head start for next year.

During the first few weeks, the classes worked well. Attendance was high, with the number of students being between 15 and 20. With each following week, however, attendance dropped. Eventually, there were only 5 students, and in the final couple of weeks, we didn't have class at all.

Why the decline? I would blame it on several things. First and foremost, this was the year of Waa, an initiation ceremony that happens only once every 5 years. Most students had siblings being initiated and so would have been too busy with their families to make it to class.

Some blame certainly rests on us, the teachers, as well. English is the language of opportunity, so the initial idea of English classes taught by Americans must have been absolutely enchanting for village middle schoolers - hence why there were 25 students at the first class. Upon arriving, however, students got a glimpse of reality: even though we're Americans who speak fluent English, we weren't capable of transforming them into fluent English speakers by the end of the summer. It was our job, as the teachers, to maintain an inspiring and encouraging environment despite this discouraging reality check, and I’m not sure that we succeeded in doing that. Some ideas about how to better encourage the students: we could have set up a reward system - for instance, a piece of candy for whoever correctly answers a question. We could have planned out all of the classes in advance rather than go just one class at a time with no final destination in mind. If we had had a final destination (for instance, mastery of salutations and basic getting-to-know-you conversations), we could have set up well-defined check points to make the students better feel like they were making progress.

Another problem was the lack of necessary materials. Nobody except us, the teachers, had French-English dictionaries. We didn't have simple texts for English language learners. Charlotte noticed while the students were copying down vocabulary words that many had completely full notebooks and were squishing our information into whatever margins they could find. Thus, I would suggest that the Duke in Togo students next year, should they decide to teach English too, bring cheap notebooks, writing utensils, some extra French-English dictionaries, and some old children's books from home to serve as English learning texts.

Sometimes what we lacked was the classroom itself. It was a school official who kept the key, and if the school official could not be located, we had no access to the classroom. When we did have the classroom, we lacked decent lighting. The chalkboard was old and dirty, making it hard to read. Therefore, needs include access to the key, lights (via solar panels), and white boards to replace the old chalk boards.

Studying Traditional Medicine

John and I spent time learning about the traditional medicines of Farendé. We did this by talking to a variety of guérisseurs (the French word for healers). All guérisseurs used plant-based treatments. For any given sickness, the treatment would involve collecting one or many plants and then preparing them in some way - either to be eaten, drunk, or absorbed in a sauna-like steam bath. All guérisseurs relied to some extent on the supernatural realm; for some, that was the Christian god, and for others, the spirits of ancestors. Some guérisseurs treated a variety of sicknesses, while some specialized only on one or two.

One of our objectives was to collect information. The challenges we faced in collecting information involved obtaining the names of plants. In many cases, we were only able to obtain the name in Kabiye. We had a book on the woody plants of West Africa, so we found the French and scientific names for most tree species, but we had no comparable book for herbs. However, the necessity of common names and scientific names is questionable, depending on for what purpose we use the information we collect. If the information stays only in the hands of the community, then Kabiye names are sufficient.



Our second objective was to create a better relationship between the guérisseurs and the village clinic. To do this, we organized a meeting toward the end of the trip between the guérisseurs, the chiefs, and the clinic workers to discuss how the two systems of medicine could better collaborate. This was... an interesting task. First of all, it was difficult to get a date and time set in stone. We started by going to the village chief. When we went to chief of the canton, he changed the time. We went back to the village chief, who then changed it again. It was back and forth like this for a while, with the clock ticking. Finally, a time was set, so we went around and informed our guérisseurs of the where and when. When the hectic day came (hectic because it was also the day of our goodbye ceremony), the guérisseurs who showed up were not the guérisseurs to whom we had talked. We still had a good discussion and it was still an effective first step in creating collaboration, but it would have been better with a higher attendance and with the guérisseurs whom we had interviewed. We should have set the date and time earlier, and we should have mentioned that there would be sorghum beer - then everybody would have shown!

Seeing how difficult it was to mobilize people for a rendez-vous, I would like to advise the students of next year to focus on the individual. John and I had several interviews with individual guérisseurs. If I had known that a certain guérisseur would not be at the final meeting, I would have milked that interview for all it was worth by devoting some time to exchanging ideas about collaboration between him and the clinic, rather than just discussing what sicknesses he treats and how. In other words, when you have a chance to discuss something one-on-one, don't pass it up just because a similar discussion is scheduled to occur later. Scheduling is a dubious thing in Togo, so use the instant with the individual whenever it's in front of you.

Chopping up Chickens

Photo post!


The first time we hiked up to the village of Kuwdé, the village elders held a welcoming ceremony, which involved the drinking of sorghum beer and the sacrifice of a chicken.


This guy is sacrificing a chicken for the upcoming initiation of his nephew, Olivier.


A monkey trap in someone's field! It's really nothing but a super-sized mousetrap. The cultivator told me to stick my hand on it. "No, thanks," I replied.


This lady is cool. She's from the mountain village of Kuwdé. She didn't speak a word of French, so she communicated her happy sentiments to us by dancing. It was awesome interacting with people with whom I didn't share a common language; facial expressions, gestures, and actions become the sole means of communication. It's like being at a loud concert or in a night club.


Of all the plants I saw in Togo, this one is my favorite because of the adorable white and pink polka dots on the leaves. I don't know the name of the plant, but I know it's in the family of Araceae (thanks, Plant Systematics). Our guide, Jesper, said that it wards off snakes.


Chameleon! Walking back from the market, I saw this chameleon strolling across the road. Wanting to take it back to my homestead to snap some photos, I commenced to pick it up. It clearly didn't appreciate this: it hissed and threatened to bite me. I decided that a chameleon bite was not a cool enough way to lose a finger, so I backed off, disappointed that I would return to the USA with zero chameleon photos. To my pleasant surprise, however, a kid who had witnessed the ordeal brought the chameleon to my homestead on this stick. Voilà, la photo.


Super-duper thumbs up. This picture shows my Togolese manicure and pedicure. I went to the market in Lomé and inquired about where I could obtain a manicure and pedicure. The people I asked went out of their way to find their friend who does nails. Eventually they found her, and she was an amazing sight; a market nail salon is a lady carrying a heavy case of nail polish on her head. The lady approached me, removed the heavy case from her head, and began cleaning the 5 pounds of gunk from the crevices of my fingers and toes. She did this using scissors; it was totally uncomfortable and highly reminiscent of the way dentists clean your teeth with those sharp picks. Next, she removed the chipped nail polish that was already on my fingers. She clipped my nails with scissors, filed vigorously, applied this lovely purple color, and added a protective coat of clear nail polish. The bill? Sixty cents. When I left her two dollars instead of sixty cents, her face lit up with joy. How much would the same manicure and pedicure have cost in the USA?

Je Dis, Hein...

This is a post about language. In the village of Farendé, most speak a hybrid of Kabiye and French, which one could call Frabiye. Our highly educated guide, Jesper, even spoke Frabiyanglais.

When villagers aren't talking in hybrid, and they're speaking French, you start noticing the peculiarities of their French. It's certainly not the Parisian French that we teach here in the USA. Rather, it's a mellowed-out African French full of quirks and amusing phrases. Here are some of them.

Bonsoir

In French French, bonjour (good day) is the standard hello. It can be used during any time of the day, even if it's not technically jour (day). In Togo, this is not the case. After noon, Togolese shift to bonsoir, or good evening. When you say bonjour to a Togolese after noon, they correct you by replying bonsoir, since it's evening at 1:00 P.M. Little kids pick up on this bonsoir frenzy so that they say it even when it's definitely not the soir. I heard a child say bonsoir as early as 7:00 in the morning.

My explanation for this insistent shift to bonsoir involves the nature of the villagers' mother language, Kabiye. In Kabiye, the greetings are 100% dependent on the time of day. Early in the morning, say 5:00 - 8:00 A.M., the greeting is nya na léo, which means "you and coming out [of your house]." Around noon, one says nya na ilum: "you and the sun." Finally, in the evening, one says nya n'dana (I forgot what that translates to). This being the case, it makes sense why French greetings are used in such a way so that each time of day has its own version of hello.

Ça va, non? / Comment?

The phrasing of "how's it going" is different in Togolese French. In French French, one asks comment ça va. In Togolese French, it's either "ça va, non?" or "comment?" Ça va, non? makes it seem like the asker is assuming that ça va (it goes) and just wants to make sure by asking. Comment just means "how," which is an amusingly brief way to ask how someone is doing. I became an avid user of comment. Time to adapt this in the USA: "How" can start meaning "how are you."

Et le voyage? Et la famille? Et le travail?

In Togo, ça va is followed by other inquiries. After asking how it's going, one asks about anything else there is to ask about. If somebody just got back from a trip, one inquires about the trip by asking et le voyage (and the voyage). The person's family (Et la famille?) and work (Et le travail?) are often asked about as well.

This is another quirk that can be explained by the nature of the mother language, Kabiye. In Kabiye, one asks "are you in good health?" with alafio-way, to which the response is alafia, "in good health." A Kabiye then asks about family, work, the voyage, etc. - are these things alafia also?

Voilà!

This is a phrase I heard a lot. We all sort of know what voilà means. It translates to "here it is" or "there it is" and is usually said when it, whatever it is, just recently came into view. For instance, say I'm searching for money in my pocket to pay for my ice cream cone. When I finally find the money, remove it from my pocket, and present it to the cashier, I say voilà.

In Togo, voilà is used in an abstract sense as well. When one is having trouble understanding what somebody is saying but then finally understands, that somebody says "voilà!" With my not-so-super-duper French, I tended to have trouble understanding, which is why I heard voilà so much.
Host mom: Blahoeponvwpau!
Me: Pardon?
Host mom: [speaking more slowly] *something coherent*
Me: Ohhhhhh!
Host mom: Voilà!

Bon

Bon means "good," like in good evening, bonsoir, and good travels, bon voyage. In Togo, bon is inserted into phrases as a sort of way to fill in pauses. "Qu'est-ce qu'on va faire?" "On va faire... Bon... On va faire ce qu'on peut." Translation: "What are we going to do?" We're going to do... Bon... We're going to do what we can."

Ou bien?

Ou means "or," and ou bien means something like "or even." It's tacked on at the end of a phrase of proposal. For example, "Would you like to interview some local healers today? We could go to their homesteads and see if they're around. Ou bien..."

Ou bien is sort of a question, inviting the listener to respond with any alternatives he or she might have in mind.

Il faut...

When you're telling somebody to do something in French, you have two options. You can use the imperative form of the verb and say "do this," or you can demand indirectly by saying, "Doing this is necessary." Thus, you can say regardez! (look!) or il faut regarder (it's necessary that you look).

I don't think I heard the imperative form (do this! look!) even one time while I was in Togo. Instead, I heard il faut this and il faut that. Y a les moustiques; il faut fermer la fenêtre! "There are mosquitoes; closing the window is necessary!" I love this indirect way of demanding. It's a little less like you're pointing your finger at someone and saying "Do this! Do that! I shouldn't have to ask you to do these things!"

J'arrive / Je viens

J'arrive translates to "I'm arriving," and je viens translates to "I'm coming." When you're impatiently waiting for somebody, so you call him up and say, "Dude, where are you," these are both phrases that you don't want to hear. If he says, "J'arrive," he could arrive in 5 minutes or in 5 hours. The meaning is seldom "I'm arriving now;" it's more like "I will arrive... eventually."

Je dis, hein...

This is my favorite of all the peculiarities of Togolese French, and it's another one that I heard all the time. It translates to "I'm saying..." Togolese use this phrase right before repeating something you didn't understand the first time.
"I'm going to the store." "Pardon?" "Je dis, hein... I'm going to the store."

With my less-than-stellar French, I said pardon many, many times, so I heard je dis, hein often. Hein translates to "huh" as in, "Cool, huh?" and is pronounced like a really, really nasally "uh." The reason why je dis, hein is my favorite Togolese French phrase is because it's absolutely hilarious, largely due to the nasally hein. I don't think I ever got through hearing this phrase with a straight face. This is probably a sign that I need to grow up. One day... maybe.


A view from the village of Kuwdé.

Blapetasie, Togo

I'm flying out of Togo in 7 hours and am devastated. It's absolutely awesome here, and I'm not ready to leave. There are a bajillion reasons why I've loved it, but the reason on my mind now is as follows:

When you're lonely in Togo, it's quickly rectified. You have to work hard to not make friends here. Everybody (or nearly) is insanely social and insanely friendly. It helps to be an American- many Togolese see Americans as glimmers of hope - potential ways to get out of Togo and into America, the land of opportunity. However, even if I weren't American and even if I weren't white, I would still be able to make Togolese friends in a heartbeat. It's a culture of friendship. At Duke, on the other hand, if you're lonely and looking for somebody to chat with, you'll probably find yourself in a hard place. Especially around exam week.

One more thing! Togolese people are straight-up cool: there's no concept of awkwardness here. Because everybody says hi to everybody, there is no such thing as an awkward moment. At home in the USA, and especially during university semesters, awkward moments happen as much as once a day. 'I met that girl once; should I say hi to her or not? And if I do say hi to her, do I stop and have a petite conversation also?' In Togo, the answer is usually always yes-yes.

Alors, au revoir, Togo! Visiting you was one of the best decisions of my life. See you again someday.

Togo to Ghana

Even though Togo and Ghana are next-door neighbors, they are extremely different.

Reasons why Ghana is cooler:
-Cars have windshields that are in one piece. In Togo, you're riding in luxury if the windshield isn't broken.
-Not all roads are covered with potholes.
-Hotels in Ghana come with functioning showers, soap, towels, and sufficient toilet paper. Even the cheap hotels.
-English!!

Reasons why Togo is cooler:
-Togo has motorcycle taxis, which are insanely fun to ride.
-The French of Togolese is easier to understand than the English of Ghanaians.
-French > English
-Food, souvenirs, hotel rooms, etc. are cheaper in Togo.
-People in Togo have more of a tendency to make marriage proposals and the like (at least from my experiences).
-Sorghum beer is found only in Togo.
-The cuisine of Togo is more delightful.

Togo wins.

However, Ghana is still an excellent place. I joined up with Lizzeth and Erin in Lomé, Togo, where we crossed the border to start our vacation in Ghana. We spent a day on a bus heading to Cape Coast and spent all of yesterday hitting up the tourist attractions there.

First was Kakum forest, where we did a canopy walk. This may have been the coolest thing I've ever seen in my life. Am unfortunately having trouble posting a picture, but just imagine skinny, precarious rope bridges really high off the ground and attached to tree trunks.

Next we went to the Elmina and Cape Coast castles, which were used during the slave trade to store the Africans to be shipped across the Atlantic. As many as 200 slaves would be crammed into a chamber that's maybe the size of two bedrooms. People couldn't go to the bathroom except on the floors of these chambers, which meant they were sleeping in their own muck. The chambers were usually really dark and had very little ventilation. After 3 months or so trapped in one of these chambers, the slaves passed through a "door of no return," after which they boarded a small canoe which would take them to the slave ship.

All for now.

Togolicious. Photo Post!

Here's my pet bunny rabbit!


The kids of my household and me sitting outside under the mango tree.

Pictures of Waa. The first one is of initiate headgear: antelope horns wrapped in feathers. In the second, you can see an initiate dancing and flipping his gong (2 hoe blades fused together).

The sort of crack-bus we use to get to Kara each Wednesday. The back door is attached to the car by rope. Wish this picture were more detailed so that you could see the full extent of the crackiness.

John and I went to chat with some local healers. The healers are the 2 people on the right in the first picture. In the second picture, you can see the woman healer grinding up on the ancestral rock a plant in the mint family. A little bit of water is added to the pulp, and then the resulting juice is applied like eye drops to treat eye wounds and conjunctivitis.

The monkey that was for sale for 50 dollars in the Farendé market.

Went to visit a cow herder. Accidentally stepped in poo after this bull caused me to stumble.

Hope y'all enjoyed the pictures! Not sure if I'll be able to make it to Kara next Wednesday, since it's our last week and we'll be busy finishing up our work. Might be able to write again in Lomé or Ghana before returning to the States.

Before leaving the internet café, I must add the following: all has been great. I'm quite sad to be leaving so soon. I love Togo more and more each day.

We Gonna Dance Allllll Night

This last week has been the best week yet.

The male initiation ceremony of Waa, which occurs only once every five years, started on Saturday. John and I hiked up a mountain to the village of Kuwdé, where we met up with other Duke in Togo students and watched the ceremony. Initiates who perform the ceremony range from the ages of 25 to 29. It's the final mandatory initiation ceremony in a Kabiye male's life, so it's hugely important. I think this ceremony for these people is the same as Christmas is for me - a superbly awesome day to which one looks forward like a madman.

The ceremony is all about dancing. When dancing, the initiates wear antelope skulls on their heads because the antelope is considered the most masculine of all wild animals. The horns of the antelope skulls are covered meticulously with feathers in the days preceding the dance. Often there are flags, toys, baby dolls, and other random objects lodged somewhere in the headgear. The baby dolls were the strangest form of decoration. Dr. Piot explained that they are implemented with the goal of capturing the sort of supernatural power that a wealthy ansarrah (person of European descent) is believed to possess.

The dance moves are pretty simple. A beat is created by the initiates' gongs, which are made by fusing together 2 hoe blades (reinforcing for us the importance of cultivation in this culture; it must also be noted that cultivating is the principal role of the Kabiye male). Sound is created when an initiate flips up the fused hoe blades to bang against a piece of metal that he wears on his hand like a ring. Word on the streets is that it's tremendously difficult to get these instruments to make the sound.

Tons of solum (sorghum beer, which represents blood, which is believed to be filtered to create sperm) and dog meat (dogs are the most masculine of all domestic animals) are consumed in mass quantities throughout Waa. Even though my best friend at home is a dog, yours truly tried some dog meat. It tasted like beef, and it was superyum.

Seeing the ceremony was alone excellent. What made it even better, however, was how inclusive it was. The other students and I were all encouraged to fully participate. People squealed with joy when we danced along with them. A girl handed me her fan so that I could help the other ladies cool down the dancers. Also, it must be said that this inclusiveness doesn't just apply to Waa. Togo is, in general, an inclusive place, and this is one of the things about it that I will miss most.

Waa has taken over the last half-week and thus is the main thing discussed in this entry. A few other occurrences are worth mentioning as well, however.

For reasons that I do not want to explain here, I obtained a pet rabbit (ansarrah kesonga, or rabbit of the white person; the opposite, kesonga, is wild rabit). He's by far the cutest creature in my homestead (I can't say village because I constantly see puppies and baby goats that make my heart melt).

Also, there was a monkey for sale at the Farendé market yesterday. He only would have cost 50 US dollars!!! It was really, really tempting, but I didn't buy him. Somebody else will buy him and, unless the buyer is an ansarrah like me, will roast him on a skewer.

I was recently very upset with the women of my household. The gist of the story is that they impolitely pressured me into buying 1,000 francs worth of merchandise. This is a small sum of money for me (2 US dollars) but a huge sum for them, which is what made the fact that they forced such a gift so incredibly rude. I was seized by the udders and milked like an ansarrah cow. Now that a few days have passed, however, I have cooled down about it and moved on. I'm trying my absolute best to see from their eyes - they are two widows with a household full of kids to feed, with the only income sources being beer-selling (not highly profitable) and Duke in Togo students. That being the case, what I consider to be a transgression is certainly forgivable.

One last brief story. On the 4th of July, some other students and I went to the big city of Kara for a cookout at an American's house. Walking inside was exactly like walking into a house back in the States, and it was really disorienting. The food was refreshing and delicious, and it was fantastic to hear some nice American accents. The whole time, however, I felt like I was cheating. We are inside a secluded little paradise with fans, air conditioning, good food, and cold drinks, with life being the polar opposite for nearly everybody outside the walls of the household compound. I'm here in Togo not to hang out inside a comfortable snow globe, but to hang out in what is Togo for Togolese.

In any case, let's talk a bit about kids. There were lots of kids at the Americans' house, and there are lots of kids in almost any given Togolese homestead. To be frank, the thought, "American children are wuses," kept running through my head. One child at the cookout was afraid of the gentle pet dog; a Togolese child, however, would feel comfortable catching and even slaying a dog. Also, Togolese children are hardened by a powerful hierarchy, which American children do not experience to this extent because of the relatively egalitarian American mentality. Togolese children living in the hierarchy receive the smallest portions of food, the least desirable pieces of meat (if any meat at all), etc. When I give my family a gift that's something sugary, it's the older members of the household who eat the most; the children are lucky if they even get 1 cookie out of the packet.

Time is running short, so time for closure. You all have a good week, and check back next Wednesday!