The past two weeks have been nuts – brace yourselves for an
action-packed entry!
Two weeks ago was Site Placement Day. As volunteers, we have
no input into our placement, other than our language abilities and our resume. Even
though Togo is a small country, there are huge variations between areas in both
nature and living conditions. Needless to say, placement day was pretty
nerve-wracking.
While we spent the morning in language testing (I moved up
to Intermediate-Mid, by the way), the training team drew a giant map of Togo in
the sand, and stuck wooden posts into the ground to approximate the locations
of all 47 sites. Our training host families poured into the compound, and when
the hour finally arrive, we gathered around the map and waited for Jane, the
programming director, to read out our fates.
I was among the first names called – along with ten other
new volunteers, I would be heading to the Savanes region in the far, far north
of the country, to a village called Nassiete. The “site summary” I was given
had little information about the town – 15 km from Dapaong, the regional
capital, a beautiful view of a mountain, no electricity. I’d have to wait to
find out.
The week passed by in a whirlwind, our time filled with
sessions scrambling to prepare us for our two-week visit to site. We learned
how to ride on the back of a moto, we met our counterparts (who were in town
for their own workshop), and we went to the big market in Tabligbo to buy last
minute supplies.
Incoming EGE Volunteers!
Saturday morning arrived in no time. The Peace Corps van
picked me up from my compound at 5:30, and drove me to meet the rest of the
volunteers and counterparts in the neighboring town of Aheppe. We all said our
goodbyes, and piled into our assigned vans. The three vans going to the Savannes
would reconvene in the town of Kante, in the Kara region, to spend the night in
hotel – the journey north is not a one-day affair!
Travel in Togo has a reputation for being dirty,
unpredictable, and generally the worst. We kept ourselves cool by opening the
windows, but that meant I was coated in a solid quarter-inch of kicked up dirt
a half-hour into the journey.
As we barreled through the Centrale region, we heard a
worrisome noise from the undercarriage. We pulled over, only to discover a shot
transmission. Welcome to Togo.
We volunteers walked with our counterparts about 10 minutes
to a neighboring village, where a family was kind enough to lend us some shade.
In exchanged, we terrified their young son with our glaringly pale skin. We
waited for about 45 minutes while the other Savanes vans, a little further
ahead, pulled some switcheroos, and an (air conditioned!) van turned around to
retrieve us and our luggage.
Switching Luggage Around
All Crammed In
The rest of the journey, we crammed three vans worth of
people into two, but the company (and the climate control) was pleasant. We
rolled into Kante just after the sun went down, and spent the evening chatting
with a few volunteers who came up from their villages to greet us. I even
topped the night off with a running-water shower.
The next morning, everyone woke up with nerves: we piled
back into the vans to finish the journey to our new homes.
Nassiete is only a few kilometers off of the main route, but
there’s a world of difference in that small space. We said goodbye to the paved
national route and electrical wires, and were greeted by giant, lush fields and
towering flat-topped mountains. You can’t take a car to get to my compound, so
I was dropped with all of my baggage on the side of the road. All of the
village chiefs were there to welcome me, along with the school director, and a
handful of other folks.
As is the way here in the north, we celebrated my arrival
right then and there with a quick chicken-slaughtering welcome ceremony – a weird
mélange of honor and horror for me. (To do: get over American sensibilities
about animals, and quick.) Once the poor bird flapped its last flap, we set off
on a 10 minute walk through the fields to arrive at my compound.
View From Outside the Compound
I’m living on the Bouna family compound. My host father is
the president of the APE – the Association de les Parents des Eleves. He has
two wives (polygamy is quite common here), and there are a total of six kids in
the family, none younger than eight or so. Also on the compound are chickens,
pigs, goats, cows, a donkey, ducks, a million pigeons, two dogs, and a cat. It
smells a little barnyardy. I have two rooms of my own, each with cement walls,
a tin roof, and a little barred window. I also have a latrine and walled-in
bucket-shower zone to call my own. The water pump is about a five minute walk
from the compound, but after an embarrassing display of my water-carrying
ability, my host family has taken over that task for me. I’ve got some learning
to do, I guess.
My Building!
Nassiete is quite large, area-wise, but only about 800
people live in the village – there’s just a lot of space for farms. There’s a
primary school, and a “college” (for kids approximately 13 – 17), but for the
next level, called lycee, students need to travel to the next town. We have a
little boutique which is sometimes open where I can buy cookies and soap. And
we have two twice-weekly “markets,” which, in actuality, sell very little, and
are more just pop-up bars for the local brew, made of fermented millet and
called “Tchakpalo.” And that’s the extent of that. If I want to buy phone
credit or a vegetable, I need to hitch a moto ride to a neighboring village.
My Mountain
And everyone is so, so wonderful. People are friendly,
helpful, welcoming, and patient with my French. They try and teach me phrases
in Moba, the local language, and laugh with what I hope is glee when I can
stumble through a greeting.
I’ve even been given a Moba name: Yendoube, which means "God is There." I've got a lot to live up to.
