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!!