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!

Red Birds and Nutritional Crutches

Bonjouuur. Another good week spent in the village of Farendé.

Thursday of last week, I asked the younger co-wife the big question: what do girls here do when they're on their periods? I haven't seen pads or tampons in the village markets. She responded, "People use pads, but you have to travel to the nearest city to get them. Many aren't able to do this, so what they do is use bits of torn-up pagnes. These are then washed and re-used." Yum.

To move on to more normal things... On Sunday, I got up at 5 AM (rather than going back to sleep as usual) to attempt to exercise for the first time since arriving in Togo. After running for a few minutes, my legs got supremely itchy, which is what they tend to do when I haven't run in a while, so I stopped, my exercise then taking the form of liesurely walking. Then, however, a colony of 5 flies was able to circle around my head. In choosing between running-itching and walking-flytolerating, I chose the latter and went on what wound up being an hour-long promenade. I must have walked about 2 miles before turning around. Beside the flies, who really wanted to eat my brain for some reason, it was excellent. Temperature was perfect, scenery was beautiful, and there were these awesome birds out and about. They were a physics-defyingly bright shade of red.

Later on in the day, some of the cowives' children and grandchildren arrived from Lomé. People are migrating back up to the villages to view the upcoming ceremony of Waa, which happens only once every 5 years. Anyway, while I was reading in my room, a few young granddaughters wandered in. They were totally distracting and a little bit creepy. Their French was not good, so they were saying things to me in Kabiye. Seeing that I had no idea what they were talking about, they would say something to each other and then break out in giggles. On top of that, they were messing with objects in my room. I was about to escort them out, until one of them brought all attention to my hot pink neck pillow. She put it on her head so that it looked like a Starwars hairdo. Then she put it around her face so that it looked like virtual reality goggles. Then she made it walk like it was a creature with 2 legs but no other body parts. Then she used the rug in my room like a pagne to carry the neck pillow like a baby on her back. Impressed with the many ways she and the others found to amuse themselves with my pillow, I let them stay in my room; and it was a good time.


This picture is of a super-cool project going on in the village. This project has several objectives. First of all, there are a set of latrines which people will be allowed to use on market day. The waste from the latrines will go to vessels in the back, where algae will be cultivated. This algae can then be used as a supplement for malnourished children. This project will, in an adjacent vessel, raise fish. There's also a garden, whose crops will be used in a restaurant which is in the making. Plant waste goes into a compost bin or into making charcoal. In the picture and next to the garden is a bunch of baby trees, which are being raised to a certain height and will then be planted around the village with the aim of reforestation. John and I spent some time working on this part of the project, clipping leaves off of large baby teak trees so that the smaller saplings would have access to sunlight. The sap of these trees is bloody red, so our hands got pretty gross. A couple of leaves got stuck between the heel of my foot and my sandal, so at the end of the shift, it looked like somebody had stabbed me in the foot. This was pretty exciting.

I'd like to talk a little bit about malnutrition, so I will mention a conversation I had with the younger co-wife. Her son is sick with an intestinal parasite, for which he is taking a medication that will quickly eliminate it. This medication cannot be taken in conjunction with alcohol, which, she said, and much to my horror, is a problem. (The thought in my brain: "HOW IS IT A PROBLEM THAT A 4-YEAR-OLD CANNOT DRINK ALCOHOL?") Turns out that "la boisson" (sorghum beer) is, along with pâte (ground-up corn served in a piping hot clump with a sauce), an essential part of the diet for everybody, including young children. I told the co-wife that I had heard alchohol inhibits young people's development, and she responded, "Yes, but the young people here are 'habitués' (used to it)." We can certainly assume pregnant women partake in la boisson also.

Malnutrition is already a huge problem. Most young children have those potbellies associated with being malnourished. This includes the 4-year-old of my household, upon whom pants don't stay up well because of his belly. I saw a severe case of malnutrition at Farendé's medical center that will forever haunt my dreams. In these severe cases, the belly, hands, and feet are all bloated, and when you poke one of these parts of the body with your finger, the indent remains. The problem of malnutrition here comes from the fact that young children live almost entirely off of pâte, which is pretty devoid of nutrients, and sauce. Pâte is the principal food eaten because corn is the main crop cultivated here. Meat is rarely, rarely eaten. La boisson is used as a (necessary?) nutritional crutch in all age groups. A tricky situation. Malnutrition leading to problems like fetal alcohol syndrome and hindered development. How does one go about tackling this problem chain?

Moving on to something slightly less depressing: death! I saw my first Kabiye funeral this week. It was an old lady who passed away; when the deceased is old, villagers dance and sing joyously. It was so cool to see this style of funeral; it was like the deceased was still alive. The options are crying over inevitable death (what we do in America) and celebrating a fortunately long life (what Kabiye do), and I think the Kabiye made a wise choice.

Plenty of other things to write about, but this entry is getting pretty long. Thus, catch you all next week. Happy 4th of July!!!! Yeehaw, America.

Wahoo! Pitchas

This is one corner of my homestead. The building on the far left has a room for the homestead's chickens, but what is in the other rooms remains a mystery to me. Next is the latrine: two spaces for bathing and one space with a toilet. We use big pieces of tin as doors. The circular hut is the kitchen (it gets really, really hot in there). The yellow building on the far right contains 3 bedrooms (one of which is mine) and the salon where we eat.


Me on the left and Rose, the senior co-wife, on the right. Rose is making sorghum beer and I'm holding the ladel, pretending to be the one who's making it. Every woman makes beer on a certain day or two each week. Rose, for instance, makes beer each Tuesday. On any given day of the week, you can find at least 5-6 woman who make beer, and on market day, it's as many as 15. It's the only real way Kabiye women make money, which is difficult, because sorghum beer is the first thing people stop buying when they are running low on cash, and people here tend to be running low on cash...


A lady serving us sorghum beer in calabashes. Calabashes are my new favorite vessels from which to drink.


A shot of an initiation ceremony in a nearby village named Tchikawa. There are 2 girls and 4 guys being initiated, and the man in front is one of their uncles. Various uncles stood in front of them and gave talks about how they're adults now, how they can have responsibilities, get married, etc. Each uncle gradually spilled a calabash of beer on the ground during his talk as a sacrifice.

This is a shot of our very beautiful hike up the mountain yesterday. Palm trees on mountains will forever feel like a paradox.

Things About Togo that I'll Miss

I know lists are sort of like cheating, a way to cop out of writing a real entry, but I think this one will be pretty interesting. This is a list of things about Togo and Farendé that I will miss when I'm back in the States.

• Cute little old ladies who bow when they meet you
• The dramatic way in which people say Uh-Huh!
• Not having internet
• Oatmeal as my daily sugar source
• Saturday markets, and the bread and bananas they entail
• Hanging out at Jesper's "office" (which is really just the little shop that his young, attractive friend owns)
• Yam french fries
• Local rice with sésame sauce (which is similar to chili)
• Calabash beer
• Afternoon naps
• Flying pidgeons as an alternative form of air conditioning
• The constant presence of chicks and baby goats (PS: I held a chick yesterday.)
• Cold, refreshing bucket showers
• The 24-hour system (and thus the excuse to say things like 18 o'clock)
• Pagne shopping
• Pagne staring (staring at pagnes is like staring at lava lamps; the more you look at one, the more fascinating its pattern becomes)
• Marriage proposals
• The fact that girls are not obsessed with being skinny
• The fact that all guys are in good shape as a result of the cultivating they do
• The indistinction between indoors and outdoors (there are no sealed-off spaces; all space is connected at least by an open, screenless window)
• Sleeping with my head at the foot of the bed and my feet on the pillows (somehow this arrangement diminishes the heat)
• Never, ever having to rush
• The phrase "Le repas est prêt" ("The meal is ready"), which I delightedly hear 2 times a day
• Going to bed at 8 PM and getting up at 7 AM
• Finding frogs in the latrine
• Seeing chameleons strolling nonchalantly across the path in front of me

Voilà, some of the many things I will miss!

One thing I won't miss too much is the public transit system. To go to Kara, we first take a bus from Farendé to Ketao and then a taxi from Ketao to Kara. When I think about the Farendé-Ketao buses, the phrase "crack-bus" unfailingly comes to mind. The buses are designed to seat 6 or 7 people, but they don't depart until they contain about twice that number. Sometimes there's a goat or 2 squished in the trunk as well. If we compare the vehicle to a cow, we can say that the driver milks it to every last drop. If the windshield is broken, you think nothing of it. (In fact, it's a bit of luxury to find a bus or taxi with a windshield that's not broken.) About one bus we took, John (fellow student) hypothesized that it had the engine of a lawn mower. Slowwww slow slow. On top of that, the driver only used the engine when we were going uphill. The smell of exhaust was overwhelming, and all of the windows (not just the windshield) were broken and sewn up like footballs. Pretty different from public transit in the USA.

Since the last entry, I've talked with some more local medicine men. One was with the White Cross Church, and another was an animist. Both of them, and most healers in general, see their practice as almost completely dependent on the spiritual realm. Sicknesses can be caused by the physical world (such as if we eat a contaminated food) or by the spiritual world (somebody who is jealous of you uses sorcery to bewitch you with an ailment). Prayer (either to a Christian god or an ancestral spirit) is a vital component to discovering what should accompany the standard herbal ingredient (which is fixed and does not require any supernatural inquiry) in a medicinal cocktail. The healers have been very open to giving us information about what the standard ingredients are, and we've been studying to what extent the medicines of different healers match (this would indicate that the medicines are effective).

Also, John, Jesper, and I went on a hike to see some road-work that's being done and to see how villagers can be mobilized to work on community projects. Every 5 years, there's a male initiation ceremony called Waa which occurs on this particular mountain. We, the students of this year, are lucky to have come during the year of this ceremony, which we will see in July. The mountain roads are being fixed up so that cars can drive to the site of the ceremony.