A Trip to the North

I know that I had promised to write a little about my stay in village a couple weeks ago, but I’ve just returned from a field trip up north with the other trainees. Though I’ll not be living in the north for the next two years, this trip was just as interesting, and a little fresher in my mind. Besides, as I will be living in village for the next two years, there will be plenty of time to write all about it.

Before this trip, I had been about as far north in this country as the market town near my village. We passed this town about a half hour north of our training village, and ventured on into the plateau region of Togo. Togo is divided into five regions, starting in the south it goes maritime and plateau, which are noted for their tropical climate, have two rainy seasons and two dry seasons, and speaking from experience, are generally muggy all the time. Next is central region, which I suppose rests atop the plateau mentioned in the next southern most region. It is in this region that the country’s major climatic shift between northern and southern Togo occurs. This region is much drier than the two below it, and I believe midway through the region the seasons changed. From central all the way to the northernmost point of the country is only one rainy season and one dry season, making water conservation a much bigger project for Volunteers living in the north. Here the countryside becomes much more hilly, and as someone in our van noted, almost looks like Montana.

Throughout the entire north of Togo, beginning right about now, there is also the season of Harmitan winds (feel free to check the spelling on that, we generally just call them the “Hammertime” winds). These are winds from I know not where (although I would guess from the Sahel in the north, once again feel free to fact check me on this), that carry with them an absurd amount of dust, sort of like the dust bowl of the American mid-west, except they come around every year. This dust leads not only to very dusty boogers, it also severely limits vision, as the whole countryside just sort of looks like its been covered in a haze.

The next northern most region is Kara. Kara, though hilly at some points, is generally more African savannah landscape. It is here that you will find rolling landscapes and pride rocks that look like they are straight out of the lion king (although if I had to guess I’d say that movie takes place in east Africa, as that landscape is much more common to Kenya, Tanzania and Uganda. That and the fact that hakuna matata is a Swahili phrase). Finally the northern most region is Savanes, which as the name implies is also Savannah. The landscape in Savanes is actually semi-arid, as it neighbors Burkina Faso, and is just about into the African climatic region known as the Sahel (literally means shore), which basically is the transitional area from the Sahara desert in north Africa, to the more lush areas in the rest of Africa (or the shoreline of the Sahara). Although the whole country of Togo is smaller than West Virginia, it is generally a two day ride by bush taxi from Savanes to the nations capital of Lomé, located at the southern most tip of maritime. The word for “far away” in the local language of savanes region apparently is “lafock”, and so the volunteers banished to this northern most region for their term of service like to brag that they are way lafock from Lomé.

Beginning Wednesday of this week, we set out to explore this country with our trainers, and see some cool development projects in action. We road in two vehicles, one an air conditioned land cruiser owned by the Peace Corps, the other was a bush taxi that we had rented for the week. I felt fortunate on the first day to get to ride in the land cruiser, there was more room and good a/c. We also knew the driver of this vehicle, as he has been one of the Peace Corps drivers assigned to drive the trainees around throughout all of training. However, he has a particular affinity to American power ballads, and early 90s boy bands (not an uncommon interest in Africa). What we didn’t know was that he only brought two tapes with him. At first, we all got a kick out of the throw back to the middle school dances of our youth, with songs by K-C and Jo-jo, and Boyz-2-Men, but by the tenth playing or so of “I will always love you” by Whitney Houston, I think we were ready of the bush-taxi.

Our first stop along the way was at a volunteer’s sight who had been working with her community in Plateau region to make composting latrines in the market place of her village. These are very cool ideas, but require a good deal of education in order for them to work effectively. Essentially the idea is that feces, like all other organic matter, decompose naturally, and like the manure of other animals, actually makes great fertilizer. The problem is that when moisture, such as urine gets in there, the humidity creates a great environment for bacteria to grown. Since it is human excrement, the bacteria which grows there is particularly harmful to humans. So long as no moisture gets into the toilet, the stuff will just sit there for about three months. After which, the holding chamber can be opened to reveal not poop, but a hyper fertile powdery substance, similar to composted humus, that is every bit if not more fertile. If the community is properly educated as to how to use such a toilet, and the process actually works, this is a great alternative to the current practice of either going off in a field somewhere, or digging a twenty foot hole, and sealing it off when it has been filled.

After this delightful session, we stopped briefly for lunch. Afterwards, we continued on through Central region, and into Kara, and finally to the capital city of the region, also known as Kara. Kara is the biggest metropolis of the north, and is probably the city most similar to Lomé in its amenities, there are all kinds of supermarkets (as opposed to the normal open air haggling markets of most cities), restaurants that actually serve western food, and what have been dubbed dead yovo stores (or secondhand goods stores that have all sorts of hand me downs from more developed countries. The hotel we stayed at was pretty nice. There was running water, and air conditioned rooms, frankly you can’t ask for much more than that. However, we were all fairly bitter that the hotel we were originally meant to stay at, which offered all these fabulous amenities, as well as a pool, was hosting a political rally. Peace Corps has a strict policy that volunteers are forbidden to attend political rallies (as we are entirely an a-political organization), and so no pool for us.

The next day we headed off to see a small group that had used land pooled together to form a fish nursey, as well as an intensive gardening field, in addition to a tree nursery/reforestation project. Here we learned how to graft trees, which is an incredible process. The whole operation takes maybe fifteen minutes, and from that you’ve forever joined two trees into one, which if you joined two different enough varieties of the tree, then has the advantages offered by both trees. Very cool process.

We then went to another project organized by a man who apparently had a masters in argoforestry, yet had chosen to live in his village community to help educate people on improved reforestation project, and farming methods. In order to do so he had taken one of his corn fields, and planted it with makuna (a nitrogen fixing cover crop with big nutritious leaves that are great for incorporating into the soil). Instead of letting the land go fallow for several years to replenish its fertility, he would plant makuna for only one year, incorporate the leaves into the soil, and expected to have the same results as if the land had been fallow for ten years. He had also essentially began a forest where, according to him not a tree had stood fifteen years earlier. All very cool.

That night we found a restaurant that served yovo food, and all ate pizza and cheeseburgers. Although the cheese for both of these was laughing cow, it was surprisingly good, and definitely reminded us all of some good home cooking, and unlike many places in the states, you didn’t even have to specially request the big slice of onion atop the burger (I know I wasn’t the only person singing “cheeseburger in paradise” to myself throughout the meal).

The next day we visited a small business which had set up a Shea butter production plant, which they then had a contract to sell to skin product producers in the US. The production was fascinating, it is done entirely by hand, by all female employees. The employees make about 1500 CFA for an eight hour day, which is about 3 bucks a day. While this may not seem like much, when asked, all the women replied that the extra income had improved their role as a decision maker in the household, and was a huge help to supplement the production of their families farm land. Apparently the products, which include soap and lotion, are sold at Whole Foods in the states under the name Allafia (I think). Anyway, if anyone is looking for Shea butter skin care products, I would definitely recommend this brand. I can personally attest that the product is made entirely by hand, in a small village in West Africa, and is greatly improving the lives of the villagers.

Next we went to a cashew production plant, which offered a similar story, and was equally interesting, but the products are sold in Ghana and not the states, so I can’t really hype them for people at home. I will say that the cashew they gave us were delicious. That night we, slept in another hotel in Central region, which was also very nice and air conditioned.

The next day, we went to a site, where one of my friends from training will soon be going to work with these people to improve their honey production business. Here I was stung by a bee (right on the forehead too) for doing absolutely nothing but standing there listening to the guy talk about the hives. But I suppose this is fair as I did buy some honey for my homestay family which was technically stolen from their hive.

From here we returned back to our training village, safe and sound and completely exhausted. This morning, I’m ashamed to say, I slept in till seven thirty, which made my homestay family worried sick that I had taken ill on my trip.

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.