New Braids for the New Year

Season’s greetings. December in Togo - what a memory to add to my life story! This was my first Christmas away from home. And while my thoughts and heart every so often pined for my family in Danbury, the company of one, Taylor Schaa, was terrificJ. She and I spent a quiet few days in Atakpame waiting for her departure to the States. We ate very well, thanks to her mom and friends back home. I, in memory of my Dominican Navidad, tried to make my mom's platano casserole. Some of the ingredients diverged from the beloved recipe so it didn't quite amount to a product from my mom's kitchen. Yet this helped us leave room for the apple pie we devoured between the two of us - my chipmunk cheeks have made their triumphant return! (And if you need more cheeks, check out my beautiful nephew on Facebook J, can’t wait to meet that lump of love!)

A question I've received from a few people back home - how do the Togolese celebrate this time of year, if they do? And the truth is, for the Togolese that do observe Christmas, the party taking place at home is very similar to that taking place in an American home...at least, in the essentials. Family travels from different corners of the country, a lot of food is prepared, there's enough booze to last until the next holiday season, and there's a greater willingness to give and to share. No there isn't an evergreen mounted with lights in the corner, or a sexy Leg-lamp in the window, but the market is just as absurdly busy as any mall in suburban America. I have never seen the Badou marche as chaotic as it was last Thursday, the last marche day before Christmas. Every inch of the square had a momma selling anything from ginormous yams to false gold jewelry. Not very many Togolese children will receive remote controlled corvettes or a Barbie beach house, but parents try to get them little knick knacks. Madame Bakadi was testing out a pair of kid sunglasses - in both purple and white - to give to her youngest child. The kids also like to get, what in the states would be gumball machine, trinkets. I was sitting at a boutique when a few 7 year olds bought a handful of tiny toy "guns" that came with sticks of gum. The gum was casually discarded but the little pistols, man, they provided wonderful distraction. They are about an inch long and the magic to them is that when the trigger is released the end of the barrel shoots off at your un-expecting target. My ladies – Madame Bakadi, Chang, and Bide – were all demonstrating. It made me laugh. Besides these, children also enjoy balloons and, rather naturally, any chocolate or sweet goodie they can get.

While the town is very lively for Christmas, only half of the population celebrates it (for my Muslim brothers and sisters, it’s cool but not that cool). Moreover, it's much more of a religious day (imagine that) than a "party." The biggest celebration takes place within the walls of your church. I went to an Assembly of God “convention” two Sundays ago. Members from 10 surrounding villages joined the Badou congregation. I arrived at church at 8am and around 1pm decided that I had all the religious blessings I needed for the day. In all seriousness though, I was very moved by the welcoming I received. After sitting with the “young girls” club for half an hour, the pastor invited me to join him at the front. As though I needed the extra attention? Yes, there was dancing, and yes I did join. 

So what I started to say is that while Christmas is nice and all, New Year’s Day…well let's just say for anyone who can, it's perfectly alright to become heavily indebted in order to throw the fete everyone in village wants to be at – “mo’ money, mo’ problems”? No joke, the marche today brought me back to the Black Fridays I had as a frightened cashier selling Mrs. Field's Cookies in the mall. Everyone likes new things - a new outfit, a new set of earrings, new shoes – we all want to be all that and a bag of Cheez-its. And this must include new braids.  

As I've written before, my neighbor has a small "salon" next door, i.e. women come to her house to get their hair done by one of the 14 apprentices she has. And getting new braids is what you DO if you're a young and trendy Togolese woman. I've lent my porch to be used when her space gets too crowded. And oh the weave that's bought!! Lucian was telling me about a book concerning the money choices of the less-privileged (disclaimer: I have not read this book so I am simplifying hundreds of pages worth of research) - how limited means do not imply that resources will all be devoted to necessities, such as food. The poor, just like so many of us, invest in what entertains them, what distracts them, what makes them happy. Some of these girls struggle to find 50 CFA for a bowl of beans, yet this does not prevent them from choosing their favorite color weave and getting new braids to welcome the New Year. Today, as we were sitting on the porch, one of the apprentices suddenly runs off around the corner. I ask the girl sitting next to me what happened and she tells me that the girl owes the jewelry woman, who is now walking towards us, some money. I laugh with them although part of my brain is a little distressed for these girls' choices.  Is this rational or productive? No, I don't think so, and I give them older-sister financial hints. However, I'm not self-righteous enough to criticize them either. Have my financial choices been rational? Many people would say I could have gotten the same quality education at a public university as I did at the private one I chose…without the daunting debt. But I was very happy and at the end of the day that is what mattered to me. And while the consequences of these instances are different, I think that the irrational? choices we each made are rooted in the same basic tendencies. And it’s not a revelation to any of us: what we want isn’t always what is sensible and sense only satiates one source of our feelings.

As a final note, I will be spending the New Year with some of my new Togolese friends (and a couple of my new American buddies too J). Veronica and Ryan will be joining me here in Badou to indulge in the wonders of fufu, tchouk (aka chuque), waterfalls, and Togolese family. I’ll make sure to dedicate some pages on this after I recuperate from end of the year celebrations.

Trades, crafts, and la creativite Togolaise (in la photographe)

The following are pictures from the PC Foire (Trade show) this past November (pictures courtesy of Lydia Grate - thank you for giving use to my idle camera!).

Woven computer sleeves - Bafilo 

Traditional fete outfit for men

Women weavers

Dolls from Dapaong (northern Togo)

Dapaong

Zam-Ke (Sacs et accessories en plastique recycle) (presque de Lome)

Kafe Kuma from Kpalime 

Batiques from Kpalime

Chantelle (clothing, accessories, batique) - Kpalime

Weavers - Dapaong

Avec le Harmatan arrive...

Harmatan – or the winds from the Savannah that blow south during the last months of the year. December has arrived. I came back home after a weekend in Atakpame to floors, table tops, and all other surfaces covered with a light spread of dust. The permanent haze that has settled throughout Togo makes for beautiful sunrises and sunsets – yesterday the evening sun looked like a perfect orange yolk in the dusty skies.

With harmatan, we have fared-the-well to the rains. I’d say it’s been over a month since we’ve been graced with the slightest drizzle. The drive from Atakpame to Badou has turned from one of lush champs (farms) to dry lands. What was green now is a sandy brown. Farmers are also going on a slash-and-burn rampage, creating half mile clouds of smoke along the road.  The raging fires add a little extra drama to my already exhilarating bush taxi voyage.  Plus as we leave the windows down in the bush taxis, we all arrive in Badou with a coating of dust in our hair, on our faces, and on our clothes. Hopefully my lungs will develop hyper-resiliency these next two years.

All the dust has made my nasal passages resemble the Togolese road in that there’s no unobstructed path through. Despite this discomfort, I am quite content with having to pull a sheet over me at night. After my morning run yesterday was the first time I’ve needed to boil water to shower with – I was feeling a little chilly. The main part of the day, from say 9AM to 4PM, remains hot as hell – your body is very much aware of being in West Africa. But you can enjoy your warm coffee during a cool morning and fall asleep to a nice draft through the house at night. I get a kick from my neighbors. I leave my house with a t-shirt in the morning. “Vanessa, il fait froid maintenant, non?” You see the below 80 degree temperature has got my neighbors wrapped up in the sturdiest clothes they have – including sweaters, scarves, and socks underneath their sandals. The Zed-men (motor cyclists) often sport nice neon ski jackets or wind breakers, dazzling all of us with great nineties moda.

Everyone is preparing for the holiday season. Every church is hosting a number of visitors from surrounding towns. A friend in village Madame Bakadi, member of the VSLA and une femme modale (a.k.a. a cool Togolese woman), was helping prepare her church, Assemblie de Dieu, for the beginning of the celebrations. They’re anticipating thousands of visitors over the next few weeks. I’ll be one of these estrangers this Sunday – looking forward to three hours of faithful jubilation.

A couple weeks ago Kat and I went with our friend, Emmanuel, to his family’s Baptist congregation. It’s a small community compared to the large Evangelical church I visited before. It’s a humble structure with ten to twenty wooden benches organized ad hoc in a small room. The decorations involve tinsel, non and semi-inflated party balloons, and other miscellaneous American party favors. It all makes for a wonderfully tacky festive ambiance. But where the interior design might fail to capture the fervor of African spirituality, the dancing, prayers, and general jubilee of the members make more than amends. Kat and I joined in on some of the dancing. I would awkwardly clap my hands off-rhythm and follow along rather clumsily, if I say so myself. I can’t seem to escape the natural impulse to dance merengue whenever any tropicalesque music (heavy on the drums, you know) is being played. Every time the women got up (which was after anyone spoke), Emmanuel would urge us to join. It was a special celebration to honor the women of the congregation. Each woman wore a dark red skirt with a white blouse. They had their hair pulled back into a white head piece. They looked very beautiful. They were commemorating the work they’ve done for the church and within the greater community. Thus, the women presented the sermon and lead all the prayers. For a moment, I was transported back to Danbury CT, where so many of the women in my life are heavily invested and thus are the columns of support for the church. It’s like the global diffusion of the spirit of Santa Maria - women as the bearers of grace, sacrifice, and spiritual patience.


In work related news the VSLA starts saving on Sunday!! As I write, I sit at my kitchen table basking in the smell of undried stained wood - the caisse (box we'll use as the safe) was delivered this afternoon.    I am prayin' that Sunday, after religious blessings, full servings of fufu, and a few calabashes of chuque we will be ready to get the savings ball rolling!!

Pintards after Thanksgiving

10 decembre 2011

Pintards after Thanksgiving

I have an affinity for the pintards at Taylor’s house in Lama Tessi, hence I sort of dedicate this post to them, those harbingers of morning light.

La Foire, organized by fellow SED Volunteers, was awesome. It took place at the same time as the Swearing In for the new group of volunteers – GEE (Girls Empowerment and Education) and NRM (National Resource Management). There were around 20 Togolese artisans present from all over the country including Kpalime, Bafilo, Lama Tessi, Sokode, and Dapaong. I was so impressed by a number of stands all which showcased beautiful, original, elaborate Togolese work ranging from woven bags, Batique paintings, accessories made out of recycled plastic water sachés, and woodwork. I spent more than I should have, but I see it as promoting Togolese creativity the result of which is a jolie batique for my living room and Christmas gifts for friends J Taylor and I gave a presentation on Professional Communication – much of which was improvised but seemed to have been well received by our artisan audience. We spoke of keeping professional etiquette at your boutique, i.e. not sleeping on your mat during working hours.

Woven hats created by the weavers in Bafilo

Aposto's Peace Corps collection :)

Potters from Tsevie

Ritually, a few of us returned to the Belle Vue Annex for pizza. And then the night was given to dance, champagne, the welcoming of the new volunteers, and a fair well to those returning to the land of Starbucks and warm showers. It was a time bien passe! However, Lome is exhausting and, as characterized by fellow PCVs, somewhat of a black hole for money. Despite any budgeting you might ambitiously attempt, you somehow always find yourself foraging for the last few CFAs in your purse to get back to post.

I came home only for a few days during which I met with the town’s CDQs, la Comité pour la Development de Quartier (aka Committee for the Development of the Neighborhood). Keeping my toes crossed, I want to work with these groups to improve the non extant waste management in town. One of the CDQ members in my quartier walked me to the ad hoc garbage dump in our neighborhood. The site was affecting. You watch as black sachés whirl in the wind against the backdrop of the otherwise beautiful Plateau hills. The whole neighborhood deposits their trash here and the dump appears to be the collection of a year’s worth of garbage. The black plastic has become part of the soil and I’m forgetting it shouldn’t actually be there.  

After a visit from my PCVL – the wise Ben J – I left again, this time for the village of Adgengre for our PCV Thanksgiving FEAST. For those of you who don’t know me well, I’m a big fan of Turkey Day. Although this year’s meal was not spent in the company of my mom, dad, brothers, and cousins (Alicia, Alana, and Alexa were sorely missed) it has no less obtained a special place in my memory. Around 40 volunteers got together for turkey, mashed potatoes, casserole, and a bucket load of pumpkin and apple pie (one furnished through the joint effort of V and Luc). It lacked some of the intimacy that is so beautiful about TG but spent in great company nonetheless. If nothing else, it was a culinary break from an otherwise routine diet of oatmeal, soja (tofu), and peanut butter.

I spent the next day with Taylor in Lama Tessi. That morning we received the customary pintard serenade. We spent that evening with her refreshing, imaginative, and all around awesome counterpart Mr. Aposto. We tried to explain the meaning of Thanksgiving. He had a previous volunteer before Tay. She’d told him about the binge eating that happens during the celebration but he didn’t understand its significance. We kind of ventured into an explanation of the Native American-Colonist relationship - how the meal represented a peace (imaginary or not) between the two groups after the arrival of the colonists to North America, blah, blah, blah. But importantly, how now TG is a day a person spends with those she loves the most and a celebration of the graces in life.  Next year Aposto will have a front row seat to the American shebang.

Aposto is to be admired. I had a small conversation with him about Togo cosas. His appreciation for his country, his faith in its people - in himself - is invigorating. It can be overwhelming when so many of the Togolese men and women we live with give themselves so little agency in their lives. Someone else always has control over change, be it the government or les estrangers. It’s always “ca va aller.” I was telling a friend in village (who hasn’t received a salary in two years, despite showing up to work every day) that sometimes things won’t “just go” if there’s no force to make the initial push. I, perhaps insensitively, suggested that she demand a wage or strike (a la American Progressives). It’s difficult considering that employment is not easily found in this country but to take a stand for your well-being should be instinctive. Aposto has a shop where he creates batique, clothing, and his own African-centric art pieces. He represents the very real struggles faced by the poor African population - health, economic, social - in stark pieces. Yes, subtlety might be lost (condoms separating a scene of death from one of life). Yet it’s good to see a community leader using art as a medium to reach his audience, rather than the doldrums of “development politics.”   

Plus, he’s super sweet to his girlfriend. When Tay and I arrived, they were having an intimate picnic underneath his peyote (until the tactless Americans interrupted). We don’t often witness affection between couples here and so it makes my soul smile when I do. Hence we arrive at Lennon’s - too often sited but not any less valid - words of wisdom, “all you need is love.” And with that Vache Qui Riz, I leave you for now.