Leading Up to Post Visit

Unlike the week before, I did not begin last week with a lengthy church service, but instead with a sacrifice. Actually I suppose it was more of a slaughter than a sacrifice, but it was interesting nonetheless. Monday night, I was sitting around the lantern with the family, trying to cram some last minute French for my midterm evaluation the following day, when suddenly, my friend Katie showed up with several of her host sisters. It’s become something of a joke with all the trainees that Katie is never permitted to go anywhere, or do anything after 5 o’clock without the accompaniment of at least three of her younger sisters. The argument is that they want to make sure she’s safe. But when I come to pick her up around seven (we all walk each other everywhere at night) its hard to imagine that three little girls aged 9, 7, and 5 are really going to ward off evil doers.
But I digress. Katie and her entourage of little sisters showed up at my house Monday night with a baby goat, apparently in the care of Katie’s family but belonging to mine. The kid had been having seizures (or something like that) recently, where it would just lock up, fall to the ground and kind of twitch (I was reminded of that YouTube video about the fainting goats, if anyone hasn’t seen it definitely look it up). My family decided that it was best to put the little fellow out of his misery (to say nothing of the enticing prospect of eating goat for the next week, which is way better than sardines or dried fish our usual source of protein at night). So Katie and I watched as my brother dug a small hole to drain the blood, and slit the throat with a machete. Then much to our surprise, he hung the carcass on a stick, and proceeded to douse it in gasoline. He then brought out a packet of matches and before we knew it, what had been a sick little goat minutes ago was now a hanging ball of flames before our eyes. Next my little brother then brought out some palm fronds and began building a little campfire beneath the goat.
Though at the time I was merely confused at why they would soak in gasoline and engulf in flames a perfectly edible goat, I soon learned that this was simply the easiest method they know of to remove the fur of the animal. So fortunately, I did get to eat some goat for the next couple days, though I did my best not to think about how it was prepared. I can’t imagine soaking an animal in gas makes it healthier for us to eat. Then I remembered this was the only red meat I’ve had since I’ve been here, pealed the skin off and dug in.
Later that night, after Katie had gone home, and I, thinking the excitement for the evening had come to an end, was preparing for bed, the chickens, which were resting in the palm field, began squawking like crazy. My mother and all the kids rushed off with a lantern to see what the matter was. Naturally, I followed eager to see what else this evening had in store. My mother began stomping the ground, while the kids grabbed large stick. I was soon pushed back by my sister, who explained that they thought a snake had gotten to the chickens. Though I was eager for adventure, I wasn’t to keen on getting bitten by a poisonous snake while in a small village, so I obliged.
My mother came back a few minutes later, wanting to show me something. I went back to where they had been looking for the snake, and she shown her flashlight on the ground. It was not a snake that had been attacking the chickens but a colony of African fire ants. The ground was literally black with ants, and my mother warned me not to step any closer lest they attack me. Fire ant bites suck, not only because they hurt like hell (way worse than red ant bites I’ve had in the states), but also because they don’t bite you until they get to the warmest spots on your body, from which they are not only the hardest to find and remove, but also, as I’m sure you’ll agree, the most sensitive. My younger brother, by this time had arrived with hot ash, which he poured over the ants to push them back. Of course this would not be an effective way to kill all the ants, as there were simply too many, but he then spread a line of ashes around the ants in order to trap them in. Ants, apparently, will never cross a line of ash (even if its not hot). Then all we could do was wait, ants work together by finding food, and then leaving a trail of pheromones for other ants to follow, this is why you can find lines of ants, with all the ants moving in the exact same direction over the exact same path. If you cover that trail with ash, the line is broken and the ants soon disperse. So we sat and waiting.
I sat back down near my homestay father, who throughout this whole ordeal had been relaxing in his chair chuckling to himself. As I sat down, he laughed and explained to me that the ants were very dangerous, and that if they got you in your sleep, they could kill you. With that helpful bit of advice, I double checked to make sure that the ash had entirely encompassed the ants, and went to bed.
The following day, I took my French exam early in the morning. The exam was merely a conversation which was recorded and then judged. I had thought the talk went well, but I have since received my score and did significantly worse than I had expected, which is discouraging, but fits in well with all of my previous attempts at language learning. Furthermore, I really don’t think that the conversation accurately reflected my ability to communicate in French, as I seem to generally be understood by those with whom I talk in the community.
After the test, we had an even more trying and practical evaluation of our language skills. We were split into two groups, 6 or 7 in each group, and made to teach a class at the local CEG (essentially a middle school). The topic we chose was the importance of trees. The importance of environmental conservation is a much easier message to convey in the developing world than it is in the states. Often making people believe that there is even a need for environmental conservation in the states feels a little like making them believe in a boogie man, and not without good reason. Sure the rainforest being chopped down will eventually make everyone worse off, the lose of biodiversity, the lack of oxygen being supplied by trees, but to the average American, the rainforest is a far off place, completely unconnected with their day to day life, and for as long as they’ve lived, trees have been cut down, and their life seem not substantially worse off for it. It is easy to see why its hard to rally support for such an abstract cause. Yet here, in the developing world its much easier to teach such lessons in a concrete way. Why are trees important? They give us shade (from the god awfully hot African sun), they give us food (in both leaf and fruit form), they give us lumber with which to make things (if there are no trees in an American toll brothers housing development, you can be sure that there are still couches in every house, if there are no trees in an African village, you can be sure that there are no benches, tables, or other furnishings either), they give us firewood (the primary means by which to cook here), they give us fodder for our animals. Here issues of the environment are much more concretely connected to basic issues of survival. Thus talking about the importance of trees, even in French, was a fairly simple task, and with a little help from our trainers, and those who had come to Togo with a background in French, the lesson went fairly well.
Now, I would love to tell about our weeklong visit to our villages, where I am currently residing. But unfortunately, as I am in a small village, with no power, my battery life is dwindling. Therefore, I’ll have to wait until next week, when I return to an at least moderately electrified setting. Until then.