7/3/2008
Today I learned that one of my favorite little girls left with her family to go to Ghana while I was at camp. No chance to say goodbye. If I ever wanted to adopt a child here it would have been her. She was one of the most charismatic and intelligent little kids I have met here thus far. She has such potential…::sigh:: I wish her well.
Funny thing is, I never knew her name. Knowing someone’s name doesn’t seem to carry the same weight here as it does other places. I suspect it is along the same lines with their fear of individuality and non-conformity. If there ever was a place that dreads and panics in the face of originality and uniqueness, values I personally hold very dear, it is here in Togo. I haven’t been all over the world, so there may very well be other places that encourage uniformity. I find here that instead of creative, self-expression, there is communal solidarity. Granted, this is all in degrees and I speak in generalities, but for the most part… It has been said (not by myself) that the people here would rather drink than ever be alone. There’s lots of drinking in Togo.
Thursday is market day in my village, and market days are an opportunity to consume as much Tchouk (local brew made of millet) as your pocket will allow. I am sure I have mentioned before and to my display that babies and small children are given Tchouk to drink by their parents. The complications and disastrous consequences that alcohol can have on children has not yet permeated the communal consciousness here. They would protest that Tchouk is not alcohol. ::ahem:: Right. Whatever you say. So one fun-filled Thursday evening au marche, I was waiting to buy some soja (tofu) for my dinner from one of my neighbor-ladies. Her daughter, about two or three years old, who is already known to be not quite “normal” approaches me. At first, like all things, it was all fun and games. She was jumping and running around me, trying to tickle me. Innocent horseplay, right? I was playing right along, until I noticed my internal clock rang to indicate that enough time had passed that such horseplay should be tapering off. It wasn’t. The little darling, with the same psychotic intensity as before, kept running around me, taunting me, touching me and pushing me. I told her to stop, repeatedly, in French, but, ha ha, she doesn’t speak French. I am yelling at her at this point, and even her older sister stepped in to say something but to no avail. Mind you, I was in the middle of the market, with a three-year old trying to molest me, surrounded by Togolese who refused to help me. I suspect they either 1) thought it was ok because she’s just not “normal” or 2) expected me to strike her. Beating children is commonplace in the home and at school here. My American conditioning told me that I could not hit this child, but I couldn’t leave because I hadn’t got my soja yet and I had no rope to restrain this child. So, what do I do? I put my hands out and, oops, she ran into them, fell down and started crying. I felt slightly guilty, only slightly because what the hell was I supposed to do? No one around really tried to help me and she wasn’t going to stop. I only realized afterward that she had been drinking that day; her Mother serves soja and Tchouk in the market. So yeah, I was attacked by a drunk three year old. Nice.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Vous etes nombreux et je suis seule
7/1/2008
I give you fair warning this blog is not all peaches and cream.
I am one, single person with a laundry list of people near and far that require relative consistent communication. I try to write letters every quarter, sometimes every month if I am feeling conversational. But at approximately $1.50 for postage for each letter I send, it becomes rather expensive on my simple salary. I always respond to emails. It takes time (think in months) and more money to use the internet. There have only been three people I have not emailed responses to because they sent me horrifically long emails, which I printed out and hold close. I am planning to respond to those emails via letter. I also call. I spend the most money on phone credit, which just never seems to last as long as I would like. And, there’s the problem of charging my phone’s battery, but that is a different issue. I am explaining all of this to you because I want you to understand two important points: 1) I am making efforts and finding ways (that are effective) to establish consistent communication and 2) that by doing so, I am showing you that I value your presence in my life. Such mundane things are valuable to me, not only for my sanity here in Togo, but also to ward off as much of the inevitable culture shock I will experience when I return.
Now while this is high on my list of priorities, this doesn’t hold true for the people I have left behind. I never really understood what communication of this nature meant until I moved to Togo to live in a painted mud house with no electricity, no running water, no plumbing and far, far, FAR too much time on my hands. I’m guessing that the people I left behind, people I thought I was close to, people I thought would make the extra effort to stay in touch, really have no idea what it is like to be here, to exist here, to live here day in and day out. I mean… how could I expect them to understand? They are obviously not here. Duh. They can imagine all day long, but unless they’ve been here themselves or had an experience similar to this one, they just don’t get it. So, I guess I can’t reasonably be too mad or upset when the only people from “home” that contact me on my birthday are my Father and Brother. I also find it remarkable that people I’ve only grazed the surface of friendship with are the ones that send me birthday wishes, letters and even packages, whereas the people I’ve known for years, some all my life, I never hear from, ever. Such insights have left me with nothing to say via phone calls, letters or my blog these past few months. Note the last entry on my blog was in April. It was only after the passing of my birthday that the pungent odor of neglect began to suffocate me. Perhaps, I am being a bit dramatic, but none-the-less, I was hurt. It is these moments of acceptance that the thought of coming “home” is revolting. And yet how can I blame them when I have been guilty of the same thing. I have forgotten birthdays, never sent letters to friends abroad, never called my family, and I am sorry for it. But such apologies feel empty when really I have no good excuse for my negligence. Life gets busy is not, I repeat, is not an acceptable excuse. Saying I think about you often is worthless when the person of whom you are thinking never knows it. If you never bother to tell that person you miss them, or think about them, you might as well take those thoughts and shove them you-know-where.
I can see it now… Some of you reading this might protest, “But I have called! I have sent letters! You just never get them!” Well my dears thank you for your half-assed efforts, but that is exactly my problem. I never get them and hence never know. If you send me letters and don’t put those letters in padded envelopes or packages, quit wasting your money on postage. If you tried calling me, can’t ever get through and are frustrated. I empathize, I really do. Remember I live in Togo. But, I have been in Togo nine months now and have managed to find a way to contact people. Am I making accusations towards one or many? No, not really. Although I admit I am disappointed, I write this simply as a statement of fact, a state of the union if-you-will, and I wish for those people leaving for the Peace Corps or Togo or both to be aware of the possible side effects of doing so. Or, you might be one of those lucky (or unlucky) volunteers who receives too much contact from friends and family. However, more often than not, this is your journey, your adventure, your torture, your whatever and therefore a solitary one. In as much as joining the Peace Corps is a selfless act, in the same instance, it ought to be a selfish one. So know that friends stop writing (or never started), family stops calling, and this time is yours and yours alone. And, it is hard.
I give you fair warning this blog is not all peaches and cream.
I am one, single person with a laundry list of people near and far that require relative consistent communication. I try to write letters every quarter, sometimes every month if I am feeling conversational. But at approximately $1.50 for postage for each letter I send, it becomes rather expensive on my simple salary. I always respond to emails. It takes time (think in months) and more money to use the internet. There have only been three people I have not emailed responses to because they sent me horrifically long emails, which I printed out and hold close. I am planning to respond to those emails via letter. I also call. I spend the most money on phone credit, which just never seems to last as long as I would like. And, there’s the problem of charging my phone’s battery, but that is a different issue. I am explaining all of this to you because I want you to understand two important points: 1) I am making efforts and finding ways (that are effective) to establish consistent communication and 2) that by doing so, I am showing you that I value your presence in my life. Such mundane things are valuable to me, not only for my sanity here in Togo, but also to ward off as much of the inevitable culture shock I will experience when I return.
Now while this is high on my list of priorities, this doesn’t hold true for the people I have left behind. I never really understood what communication of this nature meant until I moved to Togo to live in a painted mud house with no electricity, no running water, no plumbing and far, far, FAR too much time on my hands. I’m guessing that the people I left behind, people I thought I was close to, people I thought would make the extra effort to stay in touch, really have no idea what it is like to be here, to exist here, to live here day in and day out. I mean… how could I expect them to understand? They are obviously not here. Duh. They can imagine all day long, but unless they’ve been here themselves or had an experience similar to this one, they just don’t get it. So, I guess I can’t reasonably be too mad or upset when the only people from “home” that contact me on my birthday are my Father and Brother. I also find it remarkable that people I’ve only grazed the surface of friendship with are the ones that send me birthday wishes, letters and even packages, whereas the people I’ve known for years, some all my life, I never hear from, ever. Such insights have left me with nothing to say via phone calls, letters or my blog these past few months. Note the last entry on my blog was in April. It was only after the passing of my birthday that the pungent odor of neglect began to suffocate me. Perhaps, I am being a bit dramatic, but none-the-less, I was hurt. It is these moments of acceptance that the thought of coming “home” is revolting. And yet how can I blame them when I have been guilty of the same thing. I have forgotten birthdays, never sent letters to friends abroad, never called my family, and I am sorry for it. But such apologies feel empty when really I have no good excuse for my negligence. Life gets busy is not, I repeat, is not an acceptable excuse. Saying I think about you often is worthless when the person of whom you are thinking never knows it. If you never bother to tell that person you miss them, or think about them, you might as well take those thoughts and shove them you-know-where.
I can see it now… Some of you reading this might protest, “But I have called! I have sent letters! You just never get them!” Well my dears thank you for your half-assed efforts, but that is exactly my problem. I never get them and hence never know. If you send me letters and don’t put those letters in padded envelopes or packages, quit wasting your money on postage. If you tried calling me, can’t ever get through and are frustrated. I empathize, I really do. Remember I live in Togo. But, I have been in Togo nine months now and have managed to find a way to contact people. Am I making accusations towards one or many? No, not really. Although I admit I am disappointed, I write this simply as a statement of fact, a state of the union if-you-will, and I wish for those people leaving for the Peace Corps or Togo or both to be aware of the possible side effects of doing so. Or, you might be one of those lucky (or unlucky) volunteers who receives too much contact from friends and family. However, more often than not, this is your journey, your adventure, your torture, your whatever and therefore a solitary one. In as much as joining the Peace Corps is a selfless act, in the same instance, it ought to be a selfish one. So know that friends stop writing (or never started), family stops calling, and this time is yours and yours alone. And, it is hard.
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