Friday, October 21, 2011

Living situation

Aaaaand I’m back! I figure that before I try to bring you all into the more complex, subtle world of Togolese culture, beliefs, politics, which let’s face it I don’t understand yet, you should know my physical living situation-meme (told you I’d do that).
In Togo there are five regions: Maritime, Plateaux, Centrale, Kara, and Savanes (in order from south to northern most). As previously stated I live in the Savanes region, the area with the harshest weather, the least attention from European colonialists, and the poorest people thus ranking at the top in Togo for malnutrition, illiteracy and mortality rates. Seriously, though, in our CHAP Handbook they always give out percentages of people in Togo who die in childbirth, malaria, malnutrition, etc., and there’s always a special shout-out to Savanes: “… highest in the Savanes region,” “…found above all in Savanes,” when there’s any aspect of undevelopment mentioned.
Dampiong (pop. ~550) is 12km to the north east of the regional capital of Dapaong. The ethnic group here is primarily Moba with a smattering of Fulani, a primarily nomadic group found in northern Togo, Burkina Faso and further west. In my village there is a Catholic elementary school, a Catholic church: “Ste. Therese,” and a Catholic dispensaire. That is it for the public buildings. The closest marche is Dapaong – a mixed blessing, seeing as I can get anything I want there all year round as it’s a regional capital but if I want toilet paper I still have to go 12km and back on my bike. My heat rash doth protest. Actually in the site description for Dampiong it clearly states “must like riding bikes” and I’m pretty sure I put that down as my hobby on everything they asked me to fill out. Advantage: during the rainy season it seriously looks like the set of Jurassic Park.
Anyway, beside those buildings there are a couple of shacks set up under a large neem tree that could be dubbed the “center of town” where you can buy cigarettes and shots of liquor; one time I even saw the little rubber flip flops that everyone wears here called “tapettes” being sold at one. However, every time I ask someone if it would be possible to sell food as well, even what they grow in their fields to each other without having to go all the way to Dapaong, I get a sad shrug and a “mais les moyens n’est pas la” (“but the money/means isn’t there”). I’ve yet to follow the line of logic on that one but I have heard of Volunteers who set up markets as a big project of theirs, so we’ll see. Besides the cigarette/liquor shacks there are chakpa stands. Chakpa is worthy of its own post in the near future so let it simply be known that it is a fermented millet beer that on a good day tastes like cider and on an average or bad one tastes like varying degrees of kombucha. You can’t throw a rock in my village without hitting a chakpa stand – not that I’ve actually tried that. Yet.
My maison-meme
                I live in the typical Togolese two-roomed structure with a separated outdoor kitchen and a corrugated tin roof. I also have my own compound, which is a walled-in “front yard” area of sorts where you host people when they come to visit. You do NOT invite people inside your house unless you are willing to have them barge in on you from then on. The compound is kind of like the drawing room of old, only outside and you have to kick the occasional goat, chicken, or child out. Typically there are several houses that hold one large family that share a compound, which is not an unusual living situation for Volunteers. In this compound I have what can really only be described as a manger (it’s where I burn my trash, thus not a good place for mankind’s savior to be born), and I planted a little mango tree in a hole of dirt where the cemented floor cracked.
My house faces west, which means that I always have light coming through my windows and I wake up with the sunrise thanks to my east-facing bedroom window. Entering the compound and facing my house, on the far right there is the open-air, walled bathing area where I take my bucket baths (exactly what it sounds like). The room that the front door leads to is my “main area” where I keep my gas stove, work desk and little pantry (“garde-manger”). To the right of the main room is a doorway that leads into my bedroom. I sleep on a lit-picot, which is a woven fold-out cot because it’s frankly too hot for me to be sweating into a vrai mattress. Mosquito net draped above it, natch. Unfortunately ceilings do not come standard with Togolese houses so what I have is a naked corrugated tin roof above me where bats have decided to roost. When I return from my training this upcoming week a bat(tle) will be undertaken against the little (ba)s(t)ards. Bright side: made me look up the word for bat which is “chauve-souris” (bald mouse). I do have a separate room for a kitchen but there are no windows, making it impossible to see… it’s basically a storage room.
Unfortunately my latrine (hole in the ground) is just outside my compound meaning that first thing in the morning I have to leave the privacy of my compound, wrapped in a pagne (bolt of cloth), and wave to people as I’m trying to get business taken care of. I also have to knock loudly on my metal door before I enter because lizards like to hang out there and they like to jump ON the giant who violates their home. Maybe they’re more valiant than we give them credit for?
Frankly, I’m one of the few Volunteers here who doesn’t even have electricity – side note: it makes me wonder how much longer PCVs will be able to say “I lived with no electricity for two years.” If it’s picking up this much in Togo, at least for Volunteers, it may be a matter of a decade before this  Volunteer life-style will die out.
My living situation is by far, at least in my stage, the most rugged and difficult. I’m on par with the NRM Volunteers, who HAVE to work and live out in the boonies.
I've never gone half-way on anything, no.

Thank you for the comments! I'm always thinking of home, and you are what make America home.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Finally.

Hello! I apologize for the long wait before my first blog post – I’ve been distracted by things like lack of electricity, internet, paved roads and discernible infrastructure. I’ll try to get better at avoiding those snags.
Before I begin I have to inform anyone reading this that the Peace Corps in no way condones or is behind anything I write on this blog. This is all me and my personal experiences and opinions.
Who am I and where am I? My name is Maggie and I am serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Togo, a tiny francophone country in West Africa. I live in a tiny farming village called Dampiong, which is about 12km North-East of Dapaong, the regional capital of the Savanes region which is the furthest North in Togo. It also so happens to be the poorest region here. I graduated from the University of California at Santa Cruz in June, 2010 with a degree in Politics, moved to Philadelphia for a year and worked a string of odd jobs before leaving for Togo in June, 2011. If all goes well I’ll be in Togo until August of 2013.
Togo was colonized by the French and Germans before attaining status as an independent nation in 1960. The Peace Corps has been here since 1961, meaning that 2011 was the 50th anniversary of Volunteer service in Togo. Kind of a dubious cause for celebration, I’d think. But hey, we got tee-shirts, right?!
I’ll be using this blog to fulfill one of the three goals of Peace Corps: the sharing of a foreign culture and experiences with people back in America. The other goals are sending skilled volunteers abroad to developing countries who ask for them, and sharing American culture with the people we meet in these countries. I’ll also probably end up ranting occasionally, so please bear with me for those more incoherent entries.
First Entry: P.C.A.s
The title for this entry is in honor of a story I heard about a couple of Volunteers at their Mid-Service Conference:
Administration: “What do you all hope to accomplish in this conference?”
Volunteer 1: “Frankly I want to learn some more Peace Corps acronyms.”
Volunteer 2: “Oh, you mean P.C.A.s?”
Let me say that there are a LOT of acronyms here that my posts will undoubtedly be inundated with. This list will hopefully help you navigate the often non-intuitive (for a non-Volunteer) capital letters I’ll be throwing around. Peace Corps is not only a job, people, but a state of mind.
P.C.V.: Peace Corps Volunteer. Also, people capitalize “Volunteer” here. I’m not being pretentious.
E.T.: Early Termination. When a Volunteer chooses to go home for one reason or another. Thus far in my service (a little less than three months) three people have E.T.’d.
Ad-Sep: Administrative Separation. Administration decides to send you home for one reason or another. Anything from discussing politics with an official, not wearing your helmet on a bike or a moto, or the rumor of illegal drug use is grounds for an Ad-Sep. Scary, yeah.
Med-Sep: Medical Separation. Due to chronic illness or a bad accident that cannot be properly treated in country, the nurses (P.C.M.O.s: Peace Corps Medical Officers) sign off to send you home. Even scarier, and one person’s already been Med-Sep’d – I miss you!
Motos: Motorcycle taxis, which basically the best way to get from one place to another. You sit on the back and tell the driver where to go. The heart-stopping terror I originally felt on these beasts is giving way to giddy thrill. I’ll probably end up with carpal tunnel from the death-grip I keep on the bars in the back, though.
C.H.A.P. (Gryffindor): Community Health and AIDS Prevention. One of the four groups (or Houses, if you will) of Peace Corps in Togo; my own illustrious crew, in fact. I’m not really sure why I’m in it except for the fact that I was a lifeguard for a couple of summers.
S.E.D. (Slytherin): Small Enterprise Development. Introducing small Togolese vendors to the wonders of the international free market. You should all know my opinion on that.
G.E.E. (Ravenclaw): Girls Education and Empowerment.
“Look at you broads, yapping away… I fully support your right to do that.” – Current G.E.E. Volunteer
Self-explanatory, yeah?
N.R.M. (Hufflepuff): Natural Resource Management. The die-hard, genuine PCV articles. Living out in the boonies and teaching people how to get the most out of their dirt. Every time I help one out with their job that day I end up with a sun burn.
It should also be noted that in francophone Africa, “franglais” is a reality for Volunteers. I tend to slip random, poorly pronounced French words and phrases into my conversations and even my thoughts. Here are a few big ones that may end up in my blog:
Vrai(e): Means “true” in French, but also used as “real.” As in, “I was sitting on a VRAI camel. Couldn’t believe it!”
Même: Means “self.” Used as “itself” or simply to give clout to a noun. “Is it in Lomé-même or the outskirts?” “It’s the MAISON-MÊME!!”
Quoi: Means “what” or “that.” Put after a noun here for whatever reason. It makes no sense to me, however I do have it on good authority that the French drop the “quoi” in Northern France. I’ve been catching myself doing it, too: “It’s over there, quoi.” “C’est bonne chose, quoi!”
En brousse: “In the bush.” When you live outside of a major city (such as your humble author). No electricity, no running water, no market, but ALL the street cred.
Dispensaire: “Dispensary.” A mélange of hospital/doctor’s office that they have en brousse. As a CHAP volunteer, I work with mine a fair amount.
Marché: “Market.” In Togo, this means open-air markets with women screaming at you to buy their product, because their tomatoes are better than their neighbor’s. More seasonal than your average Farmer’s Market – for about half the year up here there are no fruits or vegetables to be found. Scurvy is something we have to be aware of, yes.
Yovo: “Whitey.” Not exactly French, but a term that people (mostly children, or “petits”) like to scream at a white person while they’re walking by. It comes in three forms: “Yovo-yovo!” “Yovo?” and a little ditty called the Yovo song: “Yovo, Yovo, bon soir, ça va? Très bien, merci!” It begins to grate, even though older Togolese will tell you that it’s actually a compliment to call someone “whitey.” Let’s not get into that right now.
Stage/Stagiaire: “Stage” is the training period Volunteers receive before being sent to post, “Stagiaire” is the person (i.e., future PCVs) being trained. For Togo it was a two-month period where we had language and culture lessons and lived with a host family.


I hope that will help clear up any confusion you all might have in reading future posts and of course I’ll be sure to translate anything that comes up in writing that hasn’t been mentioned.

I love and miss you all, and I’ll be updating more. Promise.