Monday, May 10, 2010

Sandwiches, Evangelism, and Drought

It is now just under two weeks since my return to Togo from my short, but pleasant, interlude in the states. What stood out to me most from my time spend back home was just how much of everything there was, especially food. We really don’t want for anything.
What also surprised me was how quickly one can adapt to that lifestyle. As it was my vacation, and likely my last chance to savor all the good things American cuisine has to offer, I did not hold back. Much to my surprise, what had been a feeling of fullness to the point of constant discomfort, in my first few days back, rather quickly gave way to a ravenous appetite. In a mere 11 full days in America, I proudly returned to Africa 10 pounds heavier than when I left (I blame at least the last three pounds to KF(G??)C’s satire of a “sandwich”, the “double-down”.
For those not familiar with this monstrosity, KFC undertaken the daunting task of taken excess in the American diet to new heights by introducing a bold new bacon sandwich that employs fried chicken in the place where more modest sandwich’s would have settled for bread. I have my true and trusted friends Will and Pete, who I’m sure had the best of intention in mind when buying me this bag-o-heart disease, to blame for my exposure to this new low in American fast-food. They showed up at my door minutes before my departure from Long Valley, KFC bag in hand, which was already completely translucent and dripping, so chock-full of grease were these sandwiches. Of there discretion in giving me this “most American of sandwiches”, as I said, I’m sure my friends had the best of intentions.
This parody of itself aside, in my opinion, the chief strength of food in America is that Americans feel no allegiance to any one kind of cuisine but rather they proudly integrate and mix cuisine from other places and cultures, thus making the variety virtually endless. I only truly felt this variety when comparing such variety with Togolese cuisine, in which your choices consist primarily of pâte (essentially corn flour dough) or fufu (pounded yams) and a slight variety in accompanying sauces. Contrary to the American spirit of adventure and variety in dietary pursuits, many Togolese hold the firm conviction that three days without fufu would literally be the death of them. To everyone’s favorite question (or rather demand) “You will take me to America,” my new favorite response is something along the lines of “You know, there don’t have fufu in America”, to which many have responded “I’ll just have to bring my own” (betraying a complete ignorance of the Airlines’ ever strictening baggage policy), but none have every responded “If that’s the way it is, I’ll sacrifice my fufu for an opportunity to make my way in the world’s most economically powerful nation”, hence why its my new favorite response.
In polite company here in the states, no one would dare mention that, in the two weeks since our last meeting you’ve put on weight at a nearly miraculous rate. Not so here in village. Of everyone I’ve talked to in the past weeks, no one has failed to mention how I’ve come back from America in much “better form” (rounder) than when I left. To this they also comment how much handsomer (paler) my skin has become in the less harsh northern sun. It is funny looking at how different cultural conceptions of beauty can be. It is also sad that in Africa, where 100% of the natives have black skin, light skin is seen as beautiful. I have heard other volunteers argue that it is simply a fact that you always want what you don’t have. Whatever is common among people is deemed less value that physical traits that are rare. This may have some truth, but I can’t help but think that five hundred years of culture hegemony by Europeans, in which those which lighter skin were richer, more powerful, more successful, and freer (less enslaved) than those with darker skin, has something to do with present African conceptions of beauty. This trend continues, and is perpetuated today. Minister’s, successful businessmen, and generally any man with money and power inevitably has a light skinned African woman on his arm as well, and there are no shortage of soaps, washes, creams, and traditional herbal remedies promising lighter skin (one can only imagine the harmful damage done to skin cells in order for one of these treatments to actually work). Though not nearly as common as the question “Take me to America,” I have on occasion been asked if I was born with white skin. To which the follow up inevitably is “How can I make my skin like yours?”
In other news, the reason I am taking this opportunity to write to this blog is that it affords me a reasonable excuse to remain in my compound and avoid church services. These past couple days have been the weekend of “Evanglisation au village”. A native of Lonvo, who has since moved out to Lomé a made a success of himself in the vague domain of “business” (this is the response of nearly all Togolese (peasant farmers aside) when you ask them their profession), has apparently decided that the best way he can give back to his community of birth is to fund a huge event in order to spread the word of Christ. Aside from the fact that their efforts evangelize have included blaring African church music full blast in the school yard not fifty yards for what is approaching 72 hours straight, I have mixed feelings about evangelization in Africa, my feelings about the blaring music being singularly negative. There is just something about evangelism in African that just seems so unwholesome. Telling the poor destitute people of the world not to worry about the miseries of this life and to look forward to the afterlife seems like a hell of risky gamble to be pushing. What about trying to make this life better? I can’t help but think that maybe the money put towards this weekend of proselytizing would have been better spend funding public middle school, which is desperately lacking here in village. On the other hand, perhaps I’m underestimating the real comfort people find in religion, the real solace that helps people carry on with their every day life, simply because I personally find no comfort therein.
However, I attended the opening ceremonies, Friday night. As much because it was a rare opportunity to see the whole community engaged in one activity, (singing, dancing, and praying) as because I was curious to see just what these evangelists were up to (plus here in village, you take any sort of “night on the town” you can get). One member of the evangelist group was kind enough to offer a translation free of charge. The content of the sermons (given by various preachers) was not at all related to biblical teachings. Rather it was merely a repeated call to “walk with Jesus” with the assurance that your life with instantly be the better (in what seemed like a very real, material sense) for it. It reminded me of the gospel of success televangelism of the states.
Evangelism of this nature is, in the states, big business, so I was naturally inclined to look for the profit to be had by evangelizing here in village. Alas there is none to be found, at least none that I, from my limited perspective of irreligious outsider, can find. These people have come in, bringing with them a stage, advanced P/A system, generators, lights, and a whole mirade of preachers, upon the whim of a benevolent benefactor, who is himself an active member of the church, at no cost to the village. I’d have to think that if profit were their main motive, they’d look for an audience a little higher-up the economic scale than an impoverished village of less than 1000 inhabitants.
What’s more, in casually talking to both the financer of this event, and the various participants throughout the weekend (preachers, musicians, electricians, friendly supporters come in from Lomé) they all seems to be genuinely into it, and exceedingly nice people on top of that.
Given the nature of this evangelization, which seems to consist in music, day and night, with sermon’s only in the evenings (which are themselves interspaced with frequent musical interludes, including dancing), I sometimes think that the benevolent village native’s main goal was just to give the inhabitants of his native town a big party. That sentiment I can relate to a little more easily. Perhaps this money could have been directed towards funding a school, but everyone in the international development community knows that dumping money on a development problem is the least effective way to fix it. Sure he could build a school, but how involved in this project could he really be? After building the school, who will maintain it? Who will teach in it? Who will make sure each student is adequately supplied? Who will ensure that villagers have adequate funding to pay for school fees (still an issue even in public schools)? There is much more involved in building a school than meets the eye.
On the other hand, these people deserve a party. Life is fairly monotonous here. Music is seldom heard, and large social gatherings are few and far between (unless someone has died, funerals are all around a high price to pay for a social life). The rains are already two months late in coming; people are beginning to worry about crop failure. There is, in the south, two rainy seasons a year in which to grow food. The first, larger one has already almost completely passed by with no rain. In many ways a weekend to sing, dance, rejoice in the mysteries of life neither they, nor anyone understands, and generally forget about the day to day worries, might be just what they need (short of two months of constant rainfall). And so, while wholly convinced of the benevolence of those who have organized this weekend, my jury is still out on the final judgment of evangelism in Africa.
To touch lightly again on the lack of rain, a subject of such grave importance to those among whom I’m living that I feel it deserves slightly more attention in my blog, there is generally a feeling a solemn apprehension in the village. It seems everyone is on edge, and excited to talk about how the rain has not come this year. Unanimous reports from various villagers forecast famine if the rains refuse to come much longer. I don’t know if this is hyperbole or not, but it seems to me that food shortages will be a serious problem if this growing season goes to waste. People generally only save what they need to eat. What grain does get stored generally goes to financing agricultural inputs for the next growing season, fertilizers, pesticides, etc., or getting families through the already long periods of the year in which they are not harvesting anything. The rains do seem to have come to other regions of Togo, and so it is not as if there will be no food to be found anywhere. But in a subsistence agricultural economy, I doubt that most families can afford to pay for the majority of their food. Currently most of what they eat is grown themselves, save the occasional fish or tomato paste added to sauce. Each day, I hope the rain will come, nearly every day it looks as if it will, but so far the rain clouds have either passed over us, or given us a light sprinkling, “just a taste” as the locals say, not nearly enough to quench the severely parched earth.
I have heard various explanations for why the rain is so late in coming this year. By far the most interesting was an account by a friend of mine at market this week. He explained that a group animists had recently killed a vagrant sleeping in a local church, and used her in their religious ceremony. The perpetrators of this crime, he explained, had since been captured, and was thankfully rotting in the prison several miles to the south, but the authorities had not yet performed the necessary ceremonies to appease the spirits for this atrocity. He wished they would hurry up with this ceremony, scheduled to take place any day now, so that the spirits would cease to be angry and the spirits would come. I have no idea if this story actually happened, and if so if they will actually be performing an appeasement ceremony, but if it will help the rains come I certainly hope they hurry up and get it done. Dying battery forces me to wrap it up here, more to come next time.