Malicious Mefloquine

The following is a letter I sent to Peace Corps prior to my departure for Togo, West Africa in September 2007. Some content has been edited for privacy reasons.

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It is my understanding that all Peace Corps Volunteers sent to Sub-Saharan Africa are to receive Antimalarials, also known as Malaria Prophylactics. For this particular region of the world, there are three currently used prophylactics that fight against the asexual blood stages of the malaria parasite: Mefloquine (Lariam), Doxycycline (Vibramycin), Malarone (Atovaquone and Proguanil). Mefloquine, the most widely prescribed prophylactic by the Peace Corps and worldwide, has proven to be 90% effective in the prevention of malaria. However, it has also proven to have the following side effects:

Ø Physiological reactions:

o Upset Stomach/Nausea

o Vomiting

o Diarrhea

o Stomach/Abdominal Pain

o Loss of Appetite

o Ringing in Ears

o Headache

o Sleepiness/Drowsiness/Fatigue

o Insomnia

o Tingling in Fingers/Toes

o Difficulty Walking/Driving/Operating Machinery

o Seizures/Convulsions/Shakes

o Sweating/Chills

o Liver Damage/Disturbed Function

o Eye Damage

o Hearing Impairment

o Malaise/Bodily Discomfort

o Fever

o Leucopenia/Low White Blood Cell Count

o Leucocytosis

o Thrombocytopenia/Low Platelet Count

Ø Musculoskeletal reactions:

o Muscle Cramping

o Asthenia/Lack of Strength/Muscle Weakness

o Myalgia/Muscle Pain

o Arthralgia/Joint Pain

Ø Skin Disorders:

o Rashes

o Exanthema/Skin Eruptions

o Erythema/Skin Redness

o Urticaria/Hives

o Pruritus/Itching

o Alopecia/Loss of Hair

o Stevens Johnson syndrome (rare)

Ø Neuro-Psychiatric reactions:

o Neuropathies – sensory & motor: Paresthesia, Tremor & Ataxia

o Tinnitus & Vestibular disorders – Dizziness/Loss of Balance

o Unusual/vivid Dreams/Nightmares

o Nervousness/Anxiety

o Mild-Severe Depression

o Changes in Mood

o Panic Attacks/Paranoia

o Forgetfulness/Memory Loss

o Confusion

o Hallucinations

o Agitation/Violent Behavior/Psychotic reactions

o Suicidal Ideation/Suicide

o Disruption of Neuronal Calcium Homeostasis causing Neuronal Cell Death & Injury

o Permanent Brain Stem Injury

o Overt Psychosis – losing touch with reality (reported 1:6,000-10,000 or 1:800 for treatment dosages)

Ø Cardiovascular/Circulatory reactions:

o Hypotension/Low Blood Pressure

o Hypertension/High Blood Pressure

o Tachycardia/Rapid Heart Rate

o Bradycardia/Slow Heart Rate

o Irregular Pulse

o Cardiac conduction disorders

o Cardiac Arrest (when combined with Quinine or Quinidine)

Many people experience little or no serious side effects when taking Mefloquine, however, there is NO guarantee as to who or who will not experience any or all of the above-mentioned side effects. Often times, those people that do experience the more serious side effects may experience them years (and sometimes permanently) after using the prophylactic. Studies also show an increased susceptibility to young women and users already under mental or physical stress. The FDA is currently investigating 600 reports of adverse reactions to Mefloquine, half of which include some kind of psychiatric side effect, such as 13 cases of suicidal thoughts, 4 attempted suicides and 1 actual suicide death. There are also several pending lawsuits, some initiated by former Peace Corps volunteers, against the use of Mefloquine as well as investigations in high-profile military incidences caused by Mefloquine use. Over and over, I have read and heard accounts from former Peace Corps volunteers and Military personnel who have experienced many of the above-mentioned side effects some of which have lasted for years after service. All too often those same Peace Corps volunteers have been made to feel guilty and ridiculed for complaining to their Medical Directors and Peace Corps Staff about their symptoms. Senator Chris Dodd, D-Conn & former Peace Corps volunteer, and Senator Dianne Feinstein, D-Cali, have both called for further investigation into the effects of Mefloquine. I have attached Senator Feinstein’s letter for your reference. In fact, even the pharmaceutical company Hoffmann-La Roche reissued warnings about the adverse effects of Lariam (Mefloquine); I have also attached their statement as well for your reference. The University of Edinburgh’s College of Medicine urges travelers taking Mefloquine to seek out alternative antimalarials. Even Wikipedia suggests using other vaccinations, like Malarone and Doxycycline, with less risk of severe side effects, which are equally effective in malaria prevention.

Malarone is probably the newest prophylactic on the market, and therefore, one of the most effective vaccinations against malaria. Studies show that there is a 98% prevention rate for Malarone verses Mefloquine’s 90% success rate. Malarone, while it does have side effects, including: headache, fever, dizziness, nausea, vomiting, insomnia, rash and hair loss, is substantially better tolerated than Mefloquine. Most notable is that Malarone does not report any Neuro-Psychiatric side effects. Malarone is just as available as Mefloquine since its approval in August of 2000; however, Malarone is more expensive than Mefloquine since the dosage is a pill taken once a day, whereas Mefloquine is a pill taken once a week. Dr. Patricia M. Young, M.D., Medical Director, International Travelers Clinic, Medical College of Wisconsin states this about Malarone, “I currently recommend this medication as the drug of choice for travelers entering areas with chloraquine-resistant malaria.”

The third alternative is Doxycycline. The most notable side effect, aside from diarrhea, fever, nausea, vomiting, rashes, blurred vision, hypertension, GERD and esophageal ulcerations, is the extreme photosensitivity. Reports have come in from users complaining of second and third-degree burns. I, personally, have had second-degree burns caused by sun exposure, which caused blistering, and nausea as well as an increased risk for skin cancer.

Under no circumstances will I take Mefloquine. Furthermore, I am appalled and astounded that than organization that stresses the importance of Volunteer safety and security uses Mefloquine as their primary malaria prophylactic for Peace Corps Volunteers, especially after all the research and reports that have come out regarding its dangerous side effects. Not to mention, the denial of such side effects by the Peace Corps and lack of accountability is beyond me. Entering into Peace Corps service, living and working in a foreign land and adapting to a new culture for an extended period of time are already extraordinarily stressful undertakings. I cannot fathom why the Peace Corps would subject their volunteers to any additional, unnecessary mental strain when there are two other, equally effective malaria vaccinations. In addition, I am not willing to take the risk or gamble my mental health to even try and see if I have any adverse reactions to Mefloquine; I refuse to be a guinea pig. I am fully aware that the two other prophylactics possess side effects, however neither of them indicate any adverse psychiatric reactions. My first choice for malaria prevention is Malarone, with Doxycycline in a distant second. If the Peace Corps cannot offer me an alternative to Mefloquine, then I will be forced to rethink my decision to enter the Peace Corps. I really hope it does not come to that.

Sincerely,

Marie

Attachments:

Ø FDA 2002 Safety Alert – Lariam

Ø Hoffmann-La Roche publication on Lariam

Ø Letter from Sen. Dianne Feinstein

Sources:

Ø The University of Edinburgh College of Medicine – Anti-malarial Agents: www.link.med.ed.ac.uk/RIDU/antimal.htm

Ø Wikipedia: Mefloquine

Ø Medline Plus – Drug Information: www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/print/druginfo/medmaster/a603030.html

Ø Lariam (Mefloquine) Side Effects Lawsuits: www.lariam-lariaum-side-effects.com/pages/lariam_side_effects.html

Ø The Journal of Neuropsychiatry & Clinical Neurosciences – Cognitive and Neuropsychiatric Side Effects of Mefloquine: http://neuro.psychiatryonline.org/cgi/content/full/13/2/302

Ø Healthlink – Medical College of Wisconsin: http://healthlink.mcw.edu/article/979237802.html

Ø Medsafe – New Zealand Medicines and Medical Devices Safety Authority: www.medsafe.govt.nz/consumers/cmi/m/Malarone.htm

Ø EMedTV – Health Information Brought To Life: http://antibotics.emedtv.com/doxycycline/doxycycline-side-effects.html

Bilambiliba

Today marks the one year anniversary of the death of Mr. Djagri, my Togolese counterpart in Kpatchile, Togo. As I was walking home today I was thinking about all the things I wanted say about this day, about what happened and about my regret.

It was a Monday morning when the first person arrived at my house to bring me the news. It was Mr. N'Ghantche, president of the cantonal village development committee. I remember being shocked but not surprised. Mr. Djagri had been sick since March, about six months. Every time I saw him, I asked after his health and learned about what new medicines and healers he had seen, none very effective. Unfortunately, without proper medical facilities, staff, medicine or money available, my counterpart continued to seek help, in my opinion, in all the wrong places. I urged him to go to Kara, the regional capital, and go to a proper hospital, relatively speaking. He eventually did, but not until it was too late.

The last time I saw Mr. Djagri alive, he was sleeping in a dim room on worn out couch cushions. He was so skinny and had lost so much weight that his rib cage was clearly visible and his arms were the size of my wrists. Normally, he was already a small man. He reminded me of a black Robin Williams with a baseball cap, popping peanuts into his mouth and a cute little chuckle. I recall my gasp at seeing him that last time on the floor, and I knew then with certainty that he was going to die soon. This was the first time I had ever been exposed to anything like that. I urged his family to get him help, but they told me by that time they had no more money left. He needed some kind of surgery that he could only get in Lome, Togo's capital, and even then there was no guarantee that he would survive.

Two more people visited me that day to tell me Mr. Djagri had passed away and each time it got harder and harder to hear. The family buried him that morning in a grave directly in front of his house, covered in cement. I missed the burial, which at the time, I was upset, but in the end, it was probably better that way. The Togolese do not really express sadness openly, so when I arrived at the memorial and openly wept, a woman approached me, tried to pull my hands away from my face and tell me to stop crying. I got angry and pushed her away. That day I did not care about cultural norms. I was going to have my grief and express my sadness whether it made other people uncomfortable or not. I mostly just sat there with my head in my hands and cried while the villagers talked and drank and ate. It didn't seem that different from my own culture. Just before I left, I noticed that the family had a picture hanging next to the entrance of the house, and as I walked by I saw that it was the picture my friend, Jamie, had taken of me and Mr. Djagri in the marketplace, drinking calabashes of Tchouk. I walked away as a new set of tears emerged.

I spent the rest of the day on the floor of my house crying and sleeping, sleeping and crying. Mr. Djagri was someone I had known for two years. He had welcomed me into his village and his home. He helped me set up countless meetings, some productive some not. He was my translator, and when I was upset about work, he was my sounding board. He was always giving me food even though he probably could have used it more than me. He did the best he could. He did too much; I think he was on multiple committees and a full time farmer and Tchouk drinker. I wept that day partly because I could not believe he died and partly because I felt like I failed him. I should have taken him to Kara. I had the means. But, I didn't. I have no excuses. My host family that day told people that I was "sick" that day to keep them from bothering me.

I must have purged myself that day since the next day I felt remarkably better. Life moves on. Mr. Djagri passed away on September 28th, 2009. He widowed three women and orphaned twenty-two children. This is why I do not support polygamy. In the aftermath of his death, one of his oldest sons, Emmanuel, came to me repeatedly to discuss his struggle to find the means to finish his last year of university. In the end, I gave him the rest of the money he needed to finish school, and I am very happy to have at least done that. I think I owe it to his father.

I sometimes think that even those closest to me do not fully understand all that I experienced when I was in Africa, so this is my way of sharing my story and allowing myself to heal and move forward. I hope to one day go back to Kpatchile and see Mr. Djagri's family again and maybe lay some flowers on his grave. May he rest peacefully.

Untying the Knots

Now is a good time to reflect on my impressions and experiences in Togo as a Peace Corps volunteer.

I must admit that the last four months I was in Africa were some of the most stressful moments of my life, so my return to America was a welcome respite. September brought with it distinct highs and lows, beginning with the excitement and luxury of the Close of Service Conference. However, it was quickly followed by a car accident and the death of my counterpart ("homologue" is the french word). October was riddled with the anxiety of saying goodbye to the village and people I now called "home," in addition to the frantic scramble to compile two years worth of work into legible reports. Perhaps a glutton for punishment, I spent a tumultuous two weeks with my significant other and obsessing about how to spend the six-week, post-service vacation I allotted for myself.

Overland travel throughout Western Africa is not a small, comfortable feat. Six weeks of sitting in hot, dusty, overcrowded buses, dodging the vomit on the floors for ten hours at a time is not for the weak or faint of heart. Then imagine, sleeping on dirt floors, or if we were lucky, in grungy hotels, on sheets that looked like they had never been washed. Our destinations weren't resorts on the beach, but meeting your boyfriend's family which is hard enough when they are from your own culture, let alone a completely different one. African families love to force feed strangers, which instead of becoming a pleasurable experience became one filled with dread. Traveling is inherently stressful, so if we didn't like each other so much, we may have parted ways, especially since I was the sole funding source for the expedition. That is an aspect I do not recommending copying. So, it is not entirely unimaginable that I eagerly welcomed the familiarity of my family's faces and a hot shower upon my return.

To be continued...

Goodbye

The twenty-eighth of September two thousand nine

Today my homologue died.

Gripping Surreality

9/29/09

I am uncertain I can stop crying long enough to recount the tale. First, you should try to pronounce his name. Bilambiliba. Try to imagine what a black Robin Williams might look like. That’s him.

Some things that are flashing around my mind are the way he laughs – his shoulders shake a little, his chin is tucked towards his chest, he’s smiling and making a scratching noise in the back of his throat.

It always kind of annoyed me the way he ate peanuts; he wouldn’t place them in his mouth. It was more like a projectile launch from around the region of his chest to his mouth. But, why be annoyed by this? Death has a way of turning a person’s idiosyncrasies into something dripping with nostalgia.

He was one of the only people here that consistently gifted me yams, as if I am lacking the resources to eat let alone march out into my courtyard and pound yams in a giant pedestal and mortar. But, we know this is not the thinking. What about his family? I am the one who should be giving him food.

It’s what breaks my heart now. What are his three wives and twenty-two children supposed to do now? He now makes my case against polygamy here. There are so many things wrong here. What a mess. The least of my concerns now is polygamy.

I feel just a little more defeated when one of the good ones is lost. This world needs all the gems it can get its dirty, grimy hands on.

I went to the burial yesterday. I lost it, just f**king lost it. I didn’t care. Some woman tried to make me stop crying by clawing at my face. People don’t show this kind of emotion here, not really, not as an adult, not even when someone dies, at least, not publicly. Since this death was personal, all bets were off and I went there with all my American sentimentality hanging on my sleeve.

It’s amazing how much his brothers, and definitely one in particular, look like him. Every time I saw that brother and the sympathy I felt for him it was enough to bring forth fresh wells of tears to my eyes.

What really got me shaking with grief was seeing the photograph famed and hanging next to the entrance to his home. It was us – my homologue and I having a calabash of Tchouk in Kossia’s stand at the market. How classic.

A votre santé!

Vous reposez en paix.

Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives

My last day as a Peace Corps Volunteer: 11/11/2009!

But, I won't be back in America until just before Jesus Christo BDay.

Material Dreams

8/24/09

My host sister Freesia is about 13 years old; age can be an abstract thing here where the day of the week is often more important than the year in which you were born. For the most part, aside from a migration from Ghana to Togo when she was just a wee tot, Freesia hasn’t ever really left the Dankpen prefecture. A prefecture is similar to a county. In fact, she’s never really left my village. So copying her older brother’s trip to the regional capital two years ago, courtesy of my predecessor, I wanted to offer his hard working, slightly timid, younger sister the same opportunity to see the bustling city of Kara, the regional capital. We spent two days in Kara meandering the streets and avoiding kamikaze moto drivers and one day in Guerin-Kouka, the prefectural capital of Dankpen, serving a nice transition back to village life. My purpose for doing this was to have her see for herself and possibly imagine a life and future filled with more than water pumps and mud huts. The tall buildings, the paved roads, the electricity, the running water, relative ease of transportation and access to resources all help to keep her focused on her goals, to know that there is more out there. It’s strange to say it, but they give hope for a brighter future and to avoid catastrophes like HIV/AIDS, early pregnancy and abandoning school. If girls like Freesia can see that their dreams are real, tangible, it makes them more inclined to pursue and realize those dreams.

During our plunge into the urban jungle, I was most excited to witness Freesia’s reactions to various scenarios. It was her first time eating in a restaurant, it was her first time staying in a hotel, it was her first time using a flushing toilet and running water, it was her first time eating Fanmilk (think ice cream) and it was her first time seeing and using a computer. She giggled throughout the Microsoft Word and Paint demonstrations. I don’t think she’s ever eaten so well in her life, meat or protein with every meal. We slept in. We gazed at people, taking in all the sights, sounds and smells of big city life. She remarked at how large everything was: the city, the hospital, the market. She noticed all the women riding around on motorcycles, some even driving cars. Where she comes from, girls are lucky to even own a bike. I gave her some money and made her go into the market to buy presents to bring back to her family, teaching to navigate a market five times the size of her village’s as well as managing the funds to buy gifts for five people. Despite all this, what made me happiest was when we finally returned home. Amidst the signature belly laughs of her mother, Kossia, and squeals from her cousin, Hannah, I heard her recounting all of her experiences to her family. Freesia is not the most expressive person at times, but the perma-grin told me a lot. I was and am just happy I could do something like this for her and I am guessing she is too.

I Win You!

6/26/2009

You would be surprised how much heat one little bandana will trap on a person’s head. At least, I am -- surprised by many things here.

Today it rained a solid three hours and for once, I am feeling cool instead sopping my face with a sweat rag. If you decide to brave this world, these little handkerchiefs will be your new best friend.

Seems I have found myself something of a new best friend, that’s not to say an old best friend got replaced. Never fear. Shortly after my last blog was written 4/21/09, not published mind you, I welcomed a visitor into my home for an undetermined amount of time, which to my astonishment turned into about five weeks. I like to think that I was the first person to have ruled out the possibility of finding any local romantic interests while in Africa -- for many reasons. But naturally, I was forced to eat my words in a very hearty helping of never say never. After all, living together is not exactly an appetizer. Seems stereotypes are social constructs set up to make us look the fool… The challenges, or let’s face it, the problems I thought I would encounter never materialized the way other issues I assumed to be non-issues turned into major epidemics. Even now as I am sitting here alone in my house in the middle of the Togolese bush, I feel beaten, but thankfully not vanquished by all that has transpired. If anything, I am curious to see what the future holds for me and, well, for us.

Shifting gears a bit, there was an event or an incident that occurred on Friday, May 1st, 2009 that I, for myself, need to document. If you look back in my blog archives you will read that historically May 1st in Togo has been a bit stressful. 2009 did not disappoint. This momentous day happened to be the second day of my boyfriend’s visit in my village and it was a national holiday, Labor Day. Holidays are essentially excuses to eat and drink and drink and drink some more -- a favorite pastime of many villagers. Also the day before, Thursday, was my village’s market day, another opportunity to drown your sorrows in calabashes of Tchouk. So imagine, by Friday night two full days of festive inebriation coming to a close. Normally, this kind of debauchery is fine when one sticks to one kind of alcohol, such as the local brew, but when people start hitting the moonshine, the spirits change. This is not anything new; people turn from happy drunks to aggressive ones; this happens anywhere and everywhere. It just happened to be here in my village that my host father Yao chose to drink gin on the first of May that resulted in one of the most fucked up nights of my existence to date.

It went down like this: my boyfriend Amed and I were enjoying a relaxing evening lounging in my private backyard. The hour was somewhere around nine o’clock at night. My host mother Kossia was home with the baby and as far as I could tell, all the other kids were out studying at school or at the video club. The evening was pleasant, until my host father showed up piss drunk. Africans are known to speak with a certain amount of passion and heat in their voices, at least when compared with Americans, so that what I often think is a fight is just a discussion. My host parents have lots of discussions. This night I thought the same thing at first; they would talk it out and everything would be fine, go back to normal.

For all intents and purposes, they were yelling at each other, which was par for the course. Then I hear what sounds like a strike, not a slap which has its own distinct sound. Initially, I was too shocked at what I was hearing to really process it. Was I actually hearing what I thought I was hearing? Or was it my imagination? I do remember Kossia crying at one point and calling Yao the equivalent of “asshole.” They were in their bedroom at this point. There was some silence and I remember thinking it was over. I turned to Amed and told him this wasn’t normal. He held my hand as the arguing resumed. I have never been around domestic violence, so I felt like it took me too long to register what was happening. As Yao started beating Kossia again, she started crying and shouting more loudly and calling, at first, for her eldest son, Georges. I was paralyzed with shock or disbelief and this sickening feeling. I tried to block it out by holding onto Amed, wishing and praying for it to be over, reliving childhood memories of my own parents fighting. Then Kossia started screaming my name, my village name. When she started yelling for me to help her, I knew without a doubt I had to do something. I had to.

I ran out of my house and into the family courtyard. I turned for half a second to look at the door to my host parent’s bedroom, knowing I didn’t have the strength to go in there seeing Yao beat Kossia with a belt, as it turned out later. So instead, I started screaming at the top of my lungs, “HELP ME!” with the notion that people would come running. How often does the white girl run screaming through village? No one came running, so I did. I ran all over my neighborhood screaming and crying “HELP ME! HELP ME! HELP ME!” in french of course. All I thought is that I can’t do this alone, I need help. One girl from the middle school asked what was wrong, so I asked where her father was; I needed help at my house. She looked at me blankly. It felt like forever, but in reality it was probably more like one or two minutes before I ran toward my chief’s house and caught his brother. All I said was, “Yao, Kossia!” and he ran off in the direction of my house. By the time I made it back to my house, to my astonishment, a crowd of people had arrived and in the middle was Amed, sitting with Yao, trying to calm him down. Relieved, I started to cry for real, until a neighbor came up to me and told me to essentially stop crying. Perhaps culturally that was normal to say, but I was left feeling angry. I walked out of the courtyard and sat under the tree to cry silently to myself. A different neighbor came over to sit with me. I am guessing to make sure I was okay. He was surprised as I was about the whole incident. Never would I have taken Yao as someone who would do such a thing. He may be a lot of things but I never would have guessed this from him. And, for what? He came home drunk to a child-free house and wanting to take advantage of the situation have sex with his wife. My conjecture is that she refused him, so he forced himself on her. Whether he was successful or not, I do not know. I do know she started calling him names, insulting him, naturally. So for insulting him, he decides to beat her??? I am getting these bits and pieces from what I heard and what my neighbor was telling me under the tree. By this point, I was sufficiently numb, as more neighbors began to surround me. Amed came over and sat next to me as Yao asked for my pardon. My pardon??? He should be apologizing to his wife! I could have said so many things at that point. It was really tempting, but instead I said that I just wanted to go to bed and deal with it in the morning. All I wanted was for the nightmare to end, to go to sleep instead of wake up.

Amed told me later that after I had ran off screaming into the night, he went in the bedroom to stop Yao. The room I was too afraid to go into. He said the sight was basically how I had imagined it: Yao, in his underwear, arm raised with a black leather belt in hand, Kossia crying, clutching the baby. He was beating her while she was holding the baby; I am not sure who’s in the wrong here… Luckily when Amed entered, it shocked Yao back to reality and he stopped. Amed separated the two by taking Yao outside to calm him down while help arrived.

So what the hell is wrong with people? Even writing about this causes me to feel sick. It was strange and bizarre and awful, like an episode of the Twilight Zone. I thank my lucky stars that Amed was there; I am just sorry that was his introduction to my village. Needless to say, it is difficult to look at Yao the same way and I have come to dread the Thursdays and Fridays that he is perpetually drunk since now it seems like anything can happen. Most of all I feel bad for their kids. Amed told me that Freeshia, their 13 year old daughter did come home at one point during the commotion; I just don’t know how much she saw. RPCV’s have told me that it is in your last six months of service that you start to see people for who they really are for better or worse.

7/24/09

I live!
Just haven't really had a good opportunity to sit down and write any interesting facts and figures for you.
I just finished pretending to be a camp counselor for Camp Espoir. All I am going to say is that I am glad that's over. I am rethinking my position on having children.
My health is... let's say... above average for Togo. Cheers.
Work? Ha! What work. Everyday is like Saturday! Best 2 years ever!
I have a really juicy blog written. It just needs to be typed up and posted. You are going to love it!

Good times.
Peace.

Moving and Shaking

4/21/2009

The end of March and beginning of April was spent in Ghana, specifically Accra and Cape Coast. Accra provided an extra 5lbs of delicious food and drama like only Ghanaian men can create. Cape Coast which followed Accra, was a relief on multiple levels. Some of the highlights included a couple 3am prostitute fights and illegal driving. And, sure we saw the slave castle and Kakum National Park, the unavoidable tourist attractions, but I would say it was the friendly locals we met that truly made the experience memorable. I can’t wait to go back.

The second week of my voyage was the necessary but excruciating return to work, spent in Lome. It was necessary as a transition back to village after so much development in Ghana. The end of my vacation was punctuated with a fake wedding for two lovely volunteers and their host-families from PST in Agou. Since I hadn’t been back since I swore-in in December 2007, I took the opportunity to visit my host family too. It was heartening to discover that they hadn’t forgotten about me either.

In my last blog, I mentioned an incident regarding child trafficking. When I finally managed to make it back to my village, I inquired as to what happened after I left. Through multiple parties, I learned that a meeting was called with all concerned parties, the chief, the elders, the father of the kidnapped girl, the president of the village development committee-canton and the guy responsible for arranging the kidnapping who, by the way, lives in my village. I found out that the kidnapper apologized, brought everyone local brew and agreed to bring the girl back when faced with possible imprisonment. The girl was retrieved and returned to her family, and when I asked what happened to the kidnapper, I was informed that nothing was left to do. Nothing?! They let him off the hook essentially, and he’s currently residing in my village as a free man with no real consequences to speak of. I immediately asked why and part of the reason for the inaction was the result of shame. Turns out the president CVD’s sister is married to the kidnapper, thus making him family. Shame and family are two very strong influences in Togo and I might venture to say West Africa as well. I was also led to believe that he may be a repeat offender although unconfirmed, so I was furious nothing had been done in terms of real punishment for the man. What kind of precedent or example does that set for the community? I was set on notifying the Gendarmerie and having the kidnapper thrown in prison, but after further discussion with my chief and the girl’s father, I decided I would only notify Social Affairs and another NGO, called Cor Afrique; two organizations that deal with these kinds of issues all the time. Ideally, it should have been someone from my village, a Togolese person to do the reporting, but since in their eyes the problem had already been settled, no one was planning on it. I informed the authorities and I left the decision how to respond in their hands. I’m not sure when or if they will do something. My only concern at this point is retaliation on behalf of the kidnapper since he does live in my village, and I would be the one responsible if he is eventually imprisoned. I’m not too worried though; I have the support of my chief, community members and the people who work for Social Affairs and Cor Afrique, but you never know…

A Quickie

The last three weeks have been particularly stressful. My International Women's Day event didn't go as I had planned. The Girl's Soccer Tournament finished, but not without it's share of frustrations. One of my Moringa trainings was really quite, well, pathetic and I have another one that has yet to even happen. My Maifoun Cooperative forced me to give them an ultimatum. I had a teacher try to sabotage both of the Girl's Sleepovers I organized. As far as work and projects go, I have hit an all-time low of discouragement. I have shed many tears these past few weeks, and I am not sure how the future of my work experience will play out.

I wonder a lot about my effectiveness in Togo. Who am I doing this for and what do I expect to get out of it?

Just before I left my village a neighbor came to me and told me that some Nigerian had kidnapped his daughter to take her to Nigeria. Yet instead of notifying the authorities, he chose to spend the day after the kidnapping vaccinating other children against polio. I reprimanded him and the morning I left he told me a meeting had been called. I will be curious to see how this one plays out.

There was also the news of the Benin Peace Corps Volunteer who was murdered in her village by four Ebo men. This volunteer's village is on the Togo/Benin border, near Kara, my regional capital. It is overwhelmingly tragic and I feel the most for her parents.

I am reading a book on Pranic Healing (sounds a bit new age, I know). I am really intrigued, and I curious to see if it will work for me. I am also reading about Chakras and meditation.

I am in Ghana this week, soaking up a well-appreciated vacation.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

1/25/2009

I mentioned in a previous blog that my middle school burned down. Well, it’s sad but true. It happened a few days before New Years. As it is was told to me, some kids were playing with matches… And I am sure you can guess the rest. The school was not yet state-sponsored, meaning it lacked a proper building. The two classrooms for grades 5 and 6 (these grades do not really correlate with American grade levels) are housed in a separate structure than grades 4 and 3. Actually, the classroom for grade 3 hasn’t even been built yet; that’s next year. The structures are made of wooden posts and straw roofs and walls. This year three mud walls were constructed for the chalkboards in the classrooms in question. In both classrooms combined there were about 50 wooden benches/desks. So you can imagine the havoc fire would do to a school built primarily of wood and straw. Everything was destroyed except for parts of the mud walls. I found about this four or five days after it happened. My counterpart told me and was shocked that no one had bothered to mention to me previously, especially since I hold all my club there so I kind of, sort of work there. I was told that maybe the reason no one said anything was due to shame, but I have no idea if this was the case. My counterpart told me also that the beginning of the second trimester would be delayed in order to reconstruct the building. He told me that rebuilding the walls and roof wasn’t such a big deal as the materials are pretty cheap, especially this time of year. The concern rested the desks. Desks or more accurately the wood for desks is not only hard to find but also very expensive. This poor school already has a hard enough time raising money to fund its normal expenses let alone the additional sum of rebuilding 50 new desks. But, they persevere and somehow manage to find a way. And the while my counterpart is telling me this I can’t stop smiling and even snicker a little – like what else can go wrong.

Friday, January 16th my village received a very special visit from the only female government minister. Oddly enough, she happens to come from my area of Togo, which is a testament to her strength and ambition since I live in one of the least female-friendly areas of Togo. She found out that the school burned down, so she went out and bought enough tin to build a roof. The 16th was the day she came to my village to present her gifts and see the school. My village went crazy. Of course, all my work got canceled for the afternoon. School was let out. The village ladies all brought out their Tchouk (local beer) and Soja (soy cheese) to sell. A whole ceremony was organized for the Minister’s arrival including speeches, singing, dancing, drums, marching and more speeches. It was actually really nice to see not only a Togolese person being generous, but a government official at that. She not brought the tin for the school, but brought soccer balls, and notebooks and calendars and chalk. I thought well maybe it was a good thing the school burned down because they never would have received this otherwise. The Minister even gave 20,000 francs CFA (about $40) to the community, but didn’t stipulate what it was to be used for, so of course people wanted it to drink. I think the Prefet was even called in the mediate that situation. I made an appearance at this ceremony as it would have been rude not to come, but I thankfully for one of the times got to hang back in the crowd, blend in and be apart of the masses.

So last Tuesday I went to the school to say hello, to see how things were going. The students were rebuilding the mud walls. I asked my school director when they were going to put up the roof. He said probably not until next year. Next year?! Why, I asked. Because the Minister only bought the tin, she didn’t buy any of the nails or braces or the wood for the beams/rafters nor did she pay for the labor it will cost to put the roof on. My director informed that all of these things cost and cost a lot, and the school still doesn’t have all the desks replaced yet. So, students are squished together on these benches three and four to a bench instead of the normal two and are expected to continue to learn. I guess, at least, they not sitting on the dirt floor.

I feel terrible laughing about all this, but it is just to a point of absurdity and ridiculousness. This poor school can’t seem to catch a brake, and the person I feel the most for is my counterpart who works tirelessly not just with one school but both the middle and primary schools and he works with the village development committee not to mention with me – Peace Corps.

As It Turns Out, of All Living Creatures, I Like Helping Humans the Least

1/13/2009

Today I was leisurely starting my day by brewing a cup of hazelnut coffee. Yum! Yum! I was carefully determining the proper amount of coffee to milk ratio when I heard commotion outside. Initially, I thought it was a chicken getting into mischief and paying for it when I glanced up out of my kitchen window, and to my horror, saw my host father body slamming a goat down on the compound floor. He stepped on its neck, choking it. He stomped on its mouth and face repeatedly. Shocked, I literally couldn’t believe what I was seeing for a second, until I couldn’t watch. I spun around, threw my hands to my mouth and sobbed. I haven’t cried like that in quite a while. I walked into my bedroom and sat on the end of my bed so no one could hear me. I cried for that goat. That might sound silly to you, but the sight was brutal. Granted, it was a fully grown goat but so is my host dad and he was furious. I have no idea what the goat did to provoke that response, but that kind of abuse is unacceptable on any living creature. Now it did cross my mind to run out there and ask him to stop, but I didn’t because it wouldn’t have made a difference. First, he would have looked at me like I was crazy and probably wouldn’t have stopped. That is how animals are treated here and what he was doing was totally normal or at least acceptable. Anything I could have said won’t change this behavior, at least, not any time soon. Second, I was too late; by the time I could have pulled myself together, the goat would have already received to majority of the beating. So instead, I apologized to the goat through my sobbing breaths.

I keep thinking about our (humans) relationship to animals, plants and the environment, but animals mostly. I make it a point to greet them… if that sounds weird… as well as send them mental images or emotions. Anyway, this subject matter keeps coming up in books I’m reading. The most recent was The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. There was a quotation in the book that resonated with me enough to write it down: “True human goodness, in all its parity and freedom, can come to the fore only when its recipient has no power. Mankind’s true moral test, its fundamental test… consists of its attitude toward those who are at it its mercy: animals.”

::Smile::

1/7/2009

I love my village. I am always happy to come home.

Kossia’s third child, Donné, who is now 4 months old seems taken with me. Every time he sees me, he smiles a dimpled grin. It is a wonder – a gift from him to me. So, I decided to take some video of him.

Retarded Creativity

1/7/2009

There’s this prevailing sense of dread these days, totally work related. I was sitting in the only functioning classroom of my middle school today (the other classrooms burned down during New Years. It was an accident, a story for another time.) noting the muscles in my neck and shoulders twist with tension upon the realization that yet again no students were showing up for my study skills club. This after a potential, although not yet confirmed, second failed attempt to organize a volunteer soccer tournament in my region, the impending pipedream of actually seeing my fellow villagers come through for me on their promised Moringa training sessions, and lest I forget I may have offended my Primary School Director who is already covertly uninterested in helping or even supporting my work. I could go into other damaged relationships in my life, as there seem to be many of late, but I will spare you.

I suppose I was fortunate enough to have my girls show up for the Girls Club today. But unfortunately, as the saying goes: when it rains, it pours. Two full sessions of discussion finished, examples displayed and explained, handouts distributed, instructions communicated and an enthusiastic response received – would you say I’d covered most of my bases with the students? Their task was simple enough, or so I assumed, silly me, write their own fairy tale. We are in our Creative Writing sessions and I researched and typed up all kinds of information – definitions and explanations of basic fairy tale concepts as basic as what is “fiction” and “imagination”. I brought in books from the library with pictures! They even shared an example with me of a tale from their culture. So the assigned exercise for this section was to go home with their handouts and notes and examples fresh in their mind and write their own tale of magical characters and harrowing adventures.

If ever you wanted an example of how creatively challenged these kids are, today’s results should be enlightening. The girls presented their stories today by standing in front and reading aloud. Out of 22 girls present, four or five didn’t do the assignment which was fine as it was voluntary, only about four girls wrote original tales and the rest copied out of two books I saw floating around the classroom prior to the session. There were even a few girls that had copied the same story. I believe this sort of thing is called plagiarism and looked down upon. When the same story first appeared twice, I told them the only person they were hurting was themselves. There was no need to cheat since the club is for fun; there are no grades and no exams. About half way through the presentations, I saw the books and realized what had happened much to my disappointment. I started second guessing what I had done. Was I not clear on the exercise? What could I have done differently? At the end of the presentations, I confronted them. I told them I wasn’t angry; I was sad because this was an opportunity to share a piece of themselves with us, a gift of their spirit, to show us how special and unique they are. I reiterated what I said before on how copying does nothing for them. It doesn’t exercise their mind or imagination, and therefore, they make no progress, no improvement. I also emphasized the fact that the club is for them and if something is boring or uninteresting, they can tell me and I will make modifications. I’m flexible; I’m here for them and that the club is totally voluntary.

When I saw their faces light up when I showed them the examples I had brought from the library, I thought, “ok, they’re into it.” Today’s meeting once again reinforces, for me, how creative thought and critical thinking and risk taking are simply not supported here in the way they are chez moi. My next session is on Autobiographies. Let’s hope they don’t plagiarize their own lives.

Update as of 1/25/2009: The Soccer Tournament was canceled again and will not be rescheduled, at least, not by me. I couldn’t find enough players. The Moringa training sessions are going a little rough, but they’re coming along. I usually end up taking over at some point during the presentations. The real test will be the second training in May/June.

Frommage!

1/6/2009

Despite what you may have heard, people here love getting their picture taken, especially when there’s the instant gratification of digital cameras. I delight in the squeals of excitement and laughter I get when I can turn my camera around and show them their very own pixilated image so much so that I often throw my head back in laughter too. I romanticize the day when I can send my fellow villagers hard copies of these photos and they can continue to goggle at the wonderment of technology.

The Beginning of the End

12/30/2008

I am more excited to welcome this New Year’s celebration than any other in resent memory. It marks a milestone for me, one I’ve waited for in great anticipation. This January 1st will not simply be another party and all its spoils it will be the light at the end of the tunnel. And now, I get to savor these moments since their demise is imminent and make them all that more precious.

The Questions Game

12/13/2008

I’ve hit a writer’s block, not for lack of material but rather how to express it. Shall I discuss the wonders of the Moringa tree? Or perhaps, why I’ve begun to hate fowl? Would you like me to capture the beauties of dusk in my village? May I rant upon the atrocities of bureaucracy or the futilities of modern-day development work? Would you mind terribly if I gloat about how I have the best latrine in Peace Corps Togo? Do you want to hear how I went to my village market yesterday and within 30 seconds of entering was harassed about buying some woman baby clothes or some man saying, “blah blah marriage blah blah” (those are the days that put me in a nasty mood!)? Are you interested in the massive brush fire I witnessed last night from my courtyard and how I visited the snowy ruins today? May I expound on poverty and what that means exactly because there seems to be a discrepancy?

Every time I try to begin, I end up scratching out my remarks in disgust, in embarrassment. Maybe it has something to do with my fear of committing these words to digital permanency, but whatever ails me and retards my ability to express myself, I will try to do better in the future. It is part of my job.

I am no writer.

Alternative Preoccupations

12/8/2008

Much has happened in these last two months since I’ve been back. Busy, busy, busy. Despite all the opportunities to share my tasty tidbits and juicy African anecdotes, my desire to write has only waned.

My most startling observation is my feelings in relation to home, America. My first year here was plagued by the desire of home, enticing familiarity. I felt as though I kept looking back, over my shoulder and across the world. Whereas now, I am, at least, facing forward and seeing my world with more appreciative eyes, no longer blurred with tears of homesickness. Two years, believe it or not, probably not if you‘re a new volunteer, goes quite fast and I was fearful that it would be over before I could rid myself of preoccupations and enjoy it. So presently, I am not particularly interested in returning physically or mentally back to America, which is why I haven’t written in so long. My apologies; I am still alive and well... for the most part.

October was AIDS Ride. A national event, but divided regionally, volunteers pumped lactic acid through their thighs and sweated heaping spoonfuls of salt all across Togo in an effort to educate the more rural villages about everything HIV and AIDS. It was a relief to come back and have a project waiting for me, especially one in which I was with a group of fellow volunteers and friends and all that was required of me was to pedal my little bike and show people how to put on a condom. I am quite skilled at the condom demonstration now.

I opted to skip Halloween this year. It’s very easy to bypass American holidays here. I felt obligated to feel sad about not celebrating All Hollow’s Eve, but I wasn’t. I chose to go to Lome to watch the election coverage instead. Nothing against Halloween, but watching Barack Obama give his acceptance speech as the first black president of the United States while I am sitting in Togo, West Africa… well, there’s no contest. It was quite possibly one of the best moments of my life, definitely the most historic. I still can’t really wrap my head around it.

I don’t think I have ever mentioned that I am the Chair of the 2008-2009 Gender and Development (GAD) Committee for Peace Corps Togo??? This is not prestigious; it is simply a position that I have filled. Every Peace Corps country has a GAD or Women in Development Committee. The idea is to promote and support gender-related projects. So currently, we fund the Karren Waid Scholarship Program, which sends qualifying Togolese girls to school beginning from middle school up to university, and we fund Leve-Toi Jeune Fille quarterly magazine. I wanted to start a small project fund for volunteers, so that I could recycle the money we earn from fundraising back to volunteers’ projects. All of our fundraising here is through Volunteers, so when the Administration told us in September that they were cancelling our biggest fundraiser, the All Volunteer Conference, our jaws dropped. Our second biggest fundraiser, Tour Du Togo, is a bike ride for volunteers from Cinkase (northern most city in Togo) to Lome (southern most city in Togo) was also postponed by the Administration for “security reasons” and it looks like it too will be canceled if we cannot find a compromise soon. Needless to say this year’s GAD Committee received a fundraising debacle on our laps, and I have spent the last month traveling to Lome, to Dapaong (other end of the country), to Atakpame (other end of the country) and then back to Lome, trying to get a handle on how we are going to move forward and support our current projects let alone any new ones. I will be honest; I would rather be in my village working with my Girl’s Club, Study Skills Club and prepping for my Moringa training session than dealing with politics and bureaucracy. But, my innate sense of responsibility kicks in and I do what needs to be done or what I think needs to be done.

On a lighter note, I have rescheduled my soccer tournament for the first weekend in February. I just need to make sure I have enough volunteers who want to play…

I am also excited to report my new found motivation for my second year here. I have all kinds of ideas for new projects and I have already started some of them. So wish me luck.

Happy holidays.

Blip on the Screen

10/10/2008

I’ve returned. After three weeks of visiting the U.S. I find myself back in a familiar space. Quite literally on the anniversary of my year in Togo, I flew out. To my delight and surprise, my brother thought of the brilliant plan to fly me home to surprise my mother for her 60th birthday party. So as of July when I received my flight confirmation, I had been anticipating, planning and fantasizing about my trip home. Both my brother and I couldn’t stop dreaming of the perfect plan to squeeze the maximum amount of tears out of our mother. Every time I thought about it, I got a little weepy. I also couldn’t stop thinking about the amenities I would be privy to again. The hot showers, the dishwasher, the washing machine and dryer, the supermarkets, the restaurants, the beds-- oh, the luxurious beds and most importantly, the dancing. And there was my friends to see of course. So I was pretty pumped to come home. This trip was going to be a nice way to break up my two years here in Togo.
So the plan was to fly to Portland with my two brothers since that was where my mother was celebrating her birthday. The family knew that my brothers were coming to surprise my mother, but no one had any idea that I was going to be there. So when I walked in and saw my aunts for the first time, I couldn’t hold it in any longer and we all started crying. The surprise was set up so that my mom was out shopping and when she came home she would first meet two friends from school, also a surprise. Then my aunt handed my mom a card from the three of us (her children) wishing her well and sorry we couldn’t be there to help celebrate. At which point, my oldest brother walked in, and she was happy to see him and gave him a big hug, but would kind of expect this sort of thing out of him. Then my middle brother walked in, and she was slightly more shocked since it is somewhat out of character for my middle brother to do something in that nature. She was getting a little more emotional and teetering on the point of tears. I was around the corner asking people, “Should I go? Should I go?” I was nervous, on the brink of losing it myself, and walked out. As soon as we saw each other, we both started crying. Her face was flushed red, tears streaming down her face and her hands were on her knees. We embraced. It was priceless, worth every minute of the 21-hour flight, and hopefully every penny my brother spent to get me out there. I am not sure if I will ever be able to repay him; it was beyond generous.
The entire trip was something of a marathon of visiting family and friends, running around trying to see, well, everything. It was a blur of lunches, dinners, parties, dancing, hanging out, drinking, eating, shopping, talking, blah, blah, blah. People kept asking me how I liked it, meaning Peace Corps, Togo, all of it. That was and is a difficult question to answer. Sometimes I like it, sometimes I hate it. I have good days and bad days. This thing is a bit of a rollercoaster, and we, as volunteers, can only hope that with time the valleys and the peaks of this wild ride become less and less intense and extreme. I think I have said this before that this Peace Corps thing is hard. Probably one of the hardest things I have ever done, only because there are very few breaks from it. We live it day after day, 24/7 for two years, more or less. Not many people can do this and I was saddened to learn upon my return to Togo that four new volunteers ET’ed (or Early Terminated), meaning resigned, another good friend of mine was medically separated, and three or four stagiaires or trainees left before they even became volunteers. The night I returned to Africa, after another 21-hour plane ride and severely sleep deprived, I wept. Mostly likely the cause of my angst was due to fatigue and stress, but I was suddenly stricken with the familiar dread I experienced when I first got to Togo. I thought, “Oh no. I can’t go through this again. I won’t make it.” The pain of homesickness here is like nothing I have ever experienced before and it can be crippling. That first night back I sat on the edge of the bed a sobbing, shuddering heap of self-pity thinking of only of how I wanted to jump back on the plane and go home. Fortunately, I had good enough sense to realize I probably just needed sleep, and sure enough as soon as I got back to Togo and saw my friends, I felt, well, excited to be back.
I woke up this morning happy, content with no sign of sadness in sight. I am relieved, disconcerted by the fact that so many volunteers are leaving (which totally sucks, btw), but nonetheless relieved. These next three months are going to be busy with getting back into the swing of things, starting my Girl’s Club again, doing the AIDS Bike Ride Tour, Halloween, Elections, Post Visit, GAD Meetings, Cinkase-To-Lome Girl’s Bike Ride, Thanksgiving, the new GEE/NRM Swear-In, Christmas and New Years. I am actually wondering when I am going to have time to hang out and start working in my village, but you know there’s always time in Africa. Ca va venir.