Camp Season

I haven’t been home in awhile – that is Lama-Tessi home.  The past three weeks I spent in Pagala, a small town about 2 hours south where Peace Corps has a center equipped with cabins, a dining hall, and lots of meeting spaces.  AKA my home for the summer as it is officially Camp season in Togo! Thankfully, it’s also officially RAINY SEASON and I’m living comfortably these days!  While Pagala has a gross dampness too it (nothing dries- ever) it is nice and cool and there was no trouble sleeping at night. Not like I would have had trouble anyway, I was so exhausted I fought to make it through dinner each night. Not used to days starting at 6 (or before on days I went running) and lasting til 9 or 10 – and full days, entertaining and managing energetic little Togolese rugrats. 

I’d been dealing with this weird stomach thing for a few months and it came to a head the first weekend at Camp.  I’ll spare you the details but let’s just say I’m thankful I had friends there to bucket flush my mess in the toilet when I was too weak, walk stool samples to the hospital and retrieve medicine for me. I didn’t move for a day and I felt the effects for a few days.  Unfortunately that meant I missed the majority of the first week of camp.  Fortunately, we had a good team of PCV’s in place and everything ran smoothly.  Two days of rest and the next round of campers arrived, this time energetic boys wanting to play and play and play. Amazed that they would be up kicking the soccer ball around even before breakfast as I returned from my runs. A couple of them stole my heart and I’ve promised to visit in the fall.

Two more days of rest and then the third week was the training of trainers for another camp PC runs, Camp UNITE for which I will be a counselor for the boys’ students week next week.  While I enjoyed being productive and useful as an organizer for Camp Espoir (first 2 weeks), I appreciated sitting back and not having to stress about to-do lists and putting out fires in the third week. I returned home Saturday, with a bag of damp dirty laundry, exhausted and just wanting to sleep.  I was welcomed by Aposto and lots of kids waving hello as I walked to the market. It felt good to be home.

I’ll leave you with some observations and camp details:

Each morning, campers (aged 10-17) participated in educational sessions led by PCV’s and NGO staff where they learned about their rights, sexual health, the transmission of HIV/AIDS, the importance of balanced nutrition, how to be a good role model and more.  The afternoons were set aside for fun: the Olympics – Camp Espoir style and a pretend market where each cabin got to make and sell small items (think candy, juice, and popcorn) to their peers as a way to practice income generating activity lessons. 

Nightly entertainment kicked off with an “opening ceremony” in which each cabin represented a different country, marching in with their flag and added their flame to the bon fire.  Maybe more special to PCV’s than to campers was the highlight of a marshmallow roast as the finale of the ceremony.  Later in the week, campers young and old came together to put on skits and show off their dancing skills at the nightly talent shows and dance party. 

Meal time was remarked as being the best part of camp by many participants as kids were given the rare chance to eat full, well-balanced meals to their content. This was especially interesting for me to watch, realizing some of these kids have never had a lot of these foods like salad, pineapple and especially not meat at every meal. 

Camp also offered the rare opportunity for catharsis.  Many painful stories of losing parents, learning of their HIV status, being orphaned and treated like outcasts flowed forth during the candle light ceremony held one night.  Tears flowed and campers were given a chance to tell their story in a safe and comforting environment, surrounded by new friends with similar stories. One girl in particular told of her situation living with her aunt who makes fun of her for being HIV positive and basically treats her like a dog; eating whatever is left over after the rest of the family has eaten. 

This candle light ceremony was interesting as it was quite painful especially because Togolese normally don’t talk about their problems, feelings or emotions.  While some NGO partners don’t like this activity as it makes the kids safe, we as PCV’s push for it and sometimes I think it helps us more to understand the grimness of their situations.  One would never know they’ve lost their parents or don’t get enough to eat by visiting camp; kids run around with copious amounts of energy, playing, eating, teasing, getting into a little trouble, and fully exhausting their staff.  It appears that life is good, normal but in the reality, this may be their only chance all year to enjoy a week of carefree fun.  That’s why we keep plugging on.

Home in time for the start of Ramadan and a neighborhood full of fasting Muslims. While I’ve noticed the town seems quieter, I’ve also noticed my host mother is a bit more cranky – you would  be too if you couldn’t have water, I tell myself!  I noticed a change in me, however.  Last year when it was Ramadan, I had only been at post for a few weeks and didn’t really think about it too much, eating and drinking and not really minding to think of the hungry/thirsty people around me.  However, this time around, I’ve noticed myself hiding my water bottle when I know I’m in the company of someone fasting.  I eat my meals in my house so as not to ‘rub it in’ my families face by eating out on my porch.  Interesting to see how perspectives, attitudes and behaviors change. 

90 homes, 16 hours and three days

The past few days have been incredibly productive.  In partnership with multiple international organizations, Peace Corps is conducting a country wide evaluation of the 2011 bed net distribution.  This translates to each volunteer surveying three villages near them.  After a day of training on how to conduct a non-bias, authentic, and legitimate survey with two counter parts we chose from our villages we received our fancy blue ‘survey’ vests and survey books. 

With the week before Camp Espoir, I knew my schedule was light and so I volunteered to do all three villages with my counterparts.  Why not? I’d like to see more of small villages around me.  Thankfully, we didn’t have to battle the weather and it was overcast and cool most of the three mornings. I took notes on my observations to share some highlights:

First up was the village to the south of me, Yara Kabye.  My counterpart (I call her Madame because I can’t pronounce the rest of her name) met me on my porch and was full of the latest gossip concerning these silly surveys.  You see, Madame is a local health agent who was recommended to me by Aposto, but she isn’t who another staff member would have chosen to do the work (and received the pay) and thus there was ugly talk going round. Really? I thought to myself? Why does everything have to be everyone’s business? I wondered if this place would ever advance if it continued to battle petty politics like this. We arrived bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to announce our presence at the chiefs doorstep a few minutes later.  Too bad the chief wasn’t as eager.  The guy was almost literally almost dead. His children had left to work in the fields and so here he was delirious and refusing to go to the hospital.  What a great encouragement for our work!  Luckily, other village ‘officials’ arrived and gave us their blessing to continue with the surveys.  

One of these kind leaders decided to be our tour guide for the day, helping us navigate the winding paths between houses and fields.  It was helpful and he carried my heavy bag. However, he also yelled at villagers when they didn’t respond to the questions in the ‘correct’ manner.  After this happened the second time, I had to pull him aside and explain we were here for the truth, not the ‘right’ answer.  I’ve learned people in need will often tell you what you want to hear so you’ll keep coming back and providing for them.  And in fact after a lot of the surveys, people asked us if we were going to bring them more mosquito nets. Oh, development work.

With Madame not having the greatest eyesight or literacy and most of the tiny village speaking local language, it was a busy morning of me reading the eighteen questions in French, her translating back and forth and recording the response. Over and over.  It was cool- I felt very PC, until about house number 20 and hour number four of walking and sounding like a broken record. At about this point, my energy and patience was running low and the little kids chanting ‘white person’ went from being cute to just plain annoying.  Every house we went to a crowd gathered to see what the white person was doing here.  When one family offered a calabash of tchouk and even larger crowd gathered to watch me, I tried to explain how it’s not polite or nice to stare.  That if they came to America, no one would call them out for being black or stare at them.  This blew them away a little and while I knew they’re innocent in their wondering, it wears on a girl after awhile.

Walking among spouting corn, bean and cotton fields I wondered how long progress and development will –if ever- take.  Watching filthy, half naked kids scraping bowls of corn mush clean while interviewing their mother breastfeeding another child and who couldn’t have been past 30, I couldn’t help but wonder if this cycle of life –poverty – will ever be broken.  Will there always be small villages in Africa with no sanitation, health care, or education? Other oddities/frustrations came when you asked the mother or father, how many people live here and what are their ages. Unfortunately, I thought of America and sitting at someone’s kitchen table, parents easily listing off their kids’ ages (birthday, social security number, and what they ate for dinner, if you asked).  This is unfortunate for me because obviously this is not America and someday, hopefully I stop comparing the two.   A general statement, but often parents may not know their children’s ages, or the kids who slept at their house last night. Everyone is welcome (the mother’s sisters cousins daughter and her daughters son), thus determining the age and gender of the nuclear family are difficult.

The second day started out well.  I noticed right away the socioeconomic differences of the two villages.  This day we were in the small village just north of LT, Yao Kope, and I was working with 

Terry, another local health agent.  This chief was very with it and ready for us.  When you enter someone’s compound or yard of sorts, someone calls for chairs or wooden stools and you do the interview with whoever is there.  ‘Its always interesting to watch the hierarchy within the families (if dad’s there he yells at mom for the chairs, if mom’s there she yells at the kids who then yells at the youngest to get the chairs). Almost all of the compounds in Yao Kope had cement covered outdoor areas, when almost everywhere else I’ve ever seen is dirt.  Not only that but families had pens for their animals and full cement huts for cooking and storing things, not just stick and straw lean-to’s. The real kicker was the public latrines. I counted at least five (and used one) scattered throughout the village.  Wow! This is quite unheard of and I wondered what made this village, only a few kilometers from Yara Kabye so much more developed.  

Not only was Terry more literate than Madame (he filled out and asked every question) but he was much more methodical, thus the 30 houses took us six hours instead of five. In more of a supervising role, making sure he was filling in the blanks correctly, I was in my own day-dream world as the interviews were all in local language. To top this day off, we couldn’t find moto’s to take us back to LT and had to walk the hour back, in the 1 p.m. sun.  “I signed up for this,” I said, reminding myself.

On the third day, Madame was early and I sat at the schoolyard being stared at intently by the hoards of kids milling around while she went looking for our motos. I felt light and happy as we road through fields and washed away dirt roads to reach this even more remote village of Kobyo. I prayed I could feel this way in five hours. Thankfully, Madame was on a mission and as I would start the question in French, she would start in local language and this helped move things along. Again, I made not of the socioeconomic status; huts made of mud and straw, out in the middle of fields.  New this time however, I noticed the lack of oral health as most people were missing quite a few teeth and what was left were obviously quite rotted.  

Trekking even further between households, I was amazed and saddened when the mothers would ask us if she should get her husband from the fields to meet with us. No, we explained, you’re quite capable. We got caught in the rain at one house where everyone was sitting under a straw hut when their oldest boys came home announcing they had passed their exams.  The family was very glad, but they discussed how expensive it is to pay for school and they worried how they would manage with four more kids not yet school age.  I wanted so badly to be into the conversation, but again we were at hour 4 and my human needs of being hungry and tired overrode the volunteer in me.  Add to that the foul wafts of the father’s breath hitting me in the face and it was too much and I had to look the other way.  We passed a farmer herding his cattle on our way to the next house. I was pleasantly gifted cow’s milk after the interview, of which I destroyed on accident in attempting to pasteurize it when I got home.

Finally, we went to say goodbye to the chief and as we waited for our moto drivers, I shared my package of cashews from America and he and Madame were amused. 90 homes, 16 hours, five moto rides, three calabashes of tchouk, one craft of cow’s milk and countless miles walked, yes, it was quite the experience. 

Rain, rain, never go away!

It still amazes me how happy rain makes me. How clear blue, sunny skies make me cringe yet dark clouds make me so excited, happy, and content. Rain means cool air and cool air means not sweating uncontrollably.  Amazing how much manageable and more enjoyable life is here when you’re comfortable.  I spent a few days in the capital, Lome, preparing for Camp Espoir and was able to really enjoy them as I wasn’t drowning in sweat from the usually intense heat and humidity. It was so nice!  I felt so normal; walking places, doing work and not being discussed with myself! I also ate really well while I was there, almost to the point that I was getting a little too used to ‘normal’ food again – that is expecting it rather than treasuring it. I was in the American bubble; working in the PC office with my fellow volunteers, enjoying high speed internet, consistent electricity , being productive, going to lunch and dinner in different places.  On the last day when I took my first run in Lome I was quite satisfied as the increased levels of delicious dinging had paid off with a high energy run along the beach. 

Thankfully, I was gently worked back into the ‘Togo bubble’ as I headed to Kovie, my friend Veronica’s village a few hours northwest of Lome. It is a really beautiful village about the same size as mine (7,000) Her house is also really spacious and peaceful with an enclosed front courtyard to herself.  We went for a killer run among the green fields starting to sprout, avoiding puddles (seriously, it rained almost every day!) the first morning.  Of Latino decent, Veronica was excited to make me a traditional breakfast after our run. Beans with a tomato sauce, cheese (or as close as we can get here), eggs, and toast. She also explained the tradition with beans in her house growing up; how they’re prepared a batch for the whole week on Monday and mixed and modified to make different meals throughout the week. I loved hearing her speak about her culture, very passionate and very proud. It was so lovely sipping coffee and relaxing on her front terrace, enjoying the view over a good meal after a great run.  A perfect morning. 

A very active and involved volunteer, Vero had meetings and business to attend to so I got to tag along and watch her work.  Her village loves her and she seems to be known by everyone! I appreciate her passion for her work and for the people she’s come to call family.  Later, when we were walking to go see nearby rice fields, we got to talking about the development of Togo and of development in general.  I think it’s safe to say this is a highly discussed topic among PCV’s here; sharing frustrations, opinions, what someone’s read in the latest book from the other side about development.  

More and more I’m understanding how development, corruption and poverty are all intertwined.  How it’s often easier to keep a population oppressed than help lift them out of their despair. Vero reminded me of this country’s youth and how not long ago anyone willing to voice their opinion was often never to be heard from again.  Volunteers throughout the country have heard such stories, so it was interesting to me to really think of this place on a development timeline; a continuum.

Saturday we headed to Atakpame and I had a wonderful few days celebrating my birthday with some of my closest friends here.  It was a big week and for the first time in a while I can say I was happy to return to my home this morning.