Monday, September 28, 2009

Anne: The eldest twin's trip to Togo

Like most new experiences things were first terrifying. After gaining some time away from the sweltering bus rides and frantic dashes to the nearest toilets the trip takes on a softer, funnier tone. I’m going to tell you about my trip just as I wrote it down in my obnoxious little moleskin notebook. This entry is sporadic and unconnected just as my thoughts were as I wrote them down.

Ghana

I could tell you that when we landed in Ghana the air smelled like flavored tobacco the muggy night we landed in Accra but that sounds like a voice-over for a travel channel.

Each day began when a chorus of bedraggled cocks started to sing. Throughout the village you can hear each one auditioning, puffing to flap blissfully dirty feathers in their fifteen minutes of fame.

Along with my siblings I consider myself a seasoned traveler. Nights curled up on a Venetian train platform and cancelled flights don't faze me. But, I found navigating what little I saw of Ghana and Togo terrifying. At times I was truly scared which made Laura's streetwise French all the more impressive.

In Ghana we walked through the throngs of vendors, each approaching with a smile and beckoning us to their makeshift wood stands. They eagerly shook our hands and tried to steer us towards their goods. One especially forward man came up with the slogan "sista' sista' feed your eyes for thirty seconds", displaying his selection of hand-carved elephants. "Our eyes are not hungry," Laura replied as she led me away.

I often felt guilty. Felt as though I ought to avoid eye contact with the ladies dressed in vibrant prints walking through the stalled traffic selling salted fish and fried plantains. The plantain chips were delicious and starchy like sweet potatoes fries.

The family traveled to the gold coast; ironically the church at this slave trading port was located above the male dungeon where male slaves were kept before being shipped off. And also viewed the Dubois center and both locations left me with a sad sinking feeling. Precious documents and photographs are set behind normal frames yellowing beyond the cheap class. Books written by Dubois in his personal library decay away in musty rooms. In ten years many of these historical artifacts that ought to be preserved will be gone because there is no funding for such centers.

Religious sayings appeared on the sides of makeshift shops, vans, and rusting cabs. My favorite written on side of a tailor shop read “except God”.

We visited Kakum national park where we walked a trail in the upper canopy. Afterwards, we were stuck in traffic for five and a half hours on the way back. I trusted our driver but the car sped around in rural areas with little children and goats clambering on the edge of the pot-holed road. Laura bemoaned her earache, I was on my period, mom felt like she was having a heart attack and Jim focused on not losing his cool.

The hotel we stayed in Ghana was beautiful but “a gated community” seems appropriate. Beyond the walls of the hotel were signs of poverty- children running naked in the muddy red streets with fishermen pushing their peeling boats into the trash littered waters. Pigs and goats between the standing huts made from debris.

Togo

Actually seeing where Laura lived and the community that now thinks of her as their own really helped me. I got to see her take a place of honor when talking with the elders about her newest project. Laura’s success and passion for the project can be gauged through the constant flow of visiting in her house. I watched her counsel young girls with words of encouragement about their studies and discuss new agriculture techniques with local farmers all with the same graceful ease.

Laura told of how she accidentally killed off several of her neighbor’s chicken when she tried to take care of her rodent problem. She placed illeligible Chinese rat poison she purchased at the market around her yard only to discover a deceased chicken on her porch in the morning. Hoping that this was merely coincidence she took the freshly departed poultry to her neighbors. When she found yet another lifeless bird on her front steps she thought she better let the family know what was going on. Laura of course offered to pay the family for the loss and then tried to dissuade her neighbors from consuming the poisoned flock.

Many villagers explained to Laura the belief that if an animal hears you talking about eating them they run away. To the shock of her visitors, Laura lifted her runt of a cat in the air and announced that she planned to eat it the following day. Rather than disprove this belief as Laura intended, the cat actually went missing for two days.

Laura's lining in her lungs is inflamed. Every breath she takes in is accompanied by a jab of pain. If there were ever a time that she deserved sympathy now would be it.

I'm amazed by how much local women carry on their heads. Balancing loads that would send my tumbling to my knees. Avoiding clichés I can’t help but describe their beauty as regal. Their proud, straight posture and easy steps left me in awe.

Mom had to chase Laura’s errant chickens out of the kitchen.

Young girls laughed as I helped haul baskets of gravel atop my head as they do during chores. A woman discovered the coincidence of sharing my name and continued to beam at me as we passed each other, each carrying our own load. Her head wrap distracting as I precariously tilted the basket of gravel with each jilted step.

We crowded eighteen passengers, a chicken, and two babies into a 12 passenger van en route to Lome.

We had dinner with several of Laura’s friends who teach at the local school. They have all opened up their homes and plates to Laura but one in particular stood out. He at first sight resembled a patient Shepard, heading children towards knowledge. His kind smile and teeming patience struck me as soon as we met. I’m glad that he and many other families have come to think of Laura as their own daughter.

One teacher had an Obama poster on his wall. It spelled his running mate as “Piden”.

“Yovo” means white person. “Akpe-lo means thanks you.

“Akpe ka ka”- means thank you very much. To the amusement of many I kept trying to learn these few phrases but could not get the inflections right.

Laura explained that to truly see results of successful projects, it takes about ten years. It would take several years for the villagers to see the progress that can be made if they change their farming techniques. The insight that Laura gave in offhanded conversation has already become useful in many of the public policy discussions I’ve engaged in at my master’s programs. Laura said something that struck a chord with me that I wrote it down verbatim. “They don’t own their own land so it is hard to think about the future. They can’t make long-term plans for farming or selling their goods when their main concern is what they will eat tomorrow.” Lola unknowingly brought up a number of important sociological issues in our conversations but this statement continues to stand out in my mind,

I won’t talk about the generosity and lifestyle of the individuals we met. For although they offered what little they had in such benevolence that it was truly stunning; I don’t want to talk about the kindness of Lola’s community and how they welcomed us into their huts and benches with open arms. Relishing their good acts draws attention away from the gross atrocities of the destitution. Walking along I saw children playing in the street barefoot, their swollen bellies and orange hair a blaring sign of the poverty they live in. Looking into their big brown eyes I dare anyone to argue against the fact that the grain we Americans chose to feed cattle could be used to feed the world.

I feel I have no right to think that the skinny goats grazing on the roadside as quaint. I have no right to summarize a culture I cannot grasp as a visitor.

I loved seeing Togo. I loved visiting Laura but more importantly, I saw firsthand how meaningful the work she does is. Laura, I know there are days when you’re exhausted and feel like so little has been accomplished but I find hope for our generation in looking at what you’re passionate about and the life lessons you are learning.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Togo en maximum - A mother's perspective

Jim, Anne and I have returned from an adventure with Laura in Ghana and Togo. From the name Laura gave her blog, you might think her first 18 months of Peace Corps have been “en miniature”. I think it is more accurate to name her blog Afrique en Maximum, which more accurately describes how immense her Datcha work has become. I ponder the extensive influence of Laura’s Peace Corps work through the connections she has made in Datcha. Laura’s village is home for about 6,000 Togolese, a long ‘trou trou’ ride from Lome, a half hour from Atakatme, to the north. We arrived in Ghana, spent a few days creating some spots of relaxation, repair, and rest for Laura, and then headed by public transport from the border crossing to ‘village’. “Have courage”, our new friends shouted as we boarded the ‘trou trous’ and taxis throughout our time in Togo. We’ll let you discover on your own why you are urged to have courage for your ride. It’s a bit like combining a ride at Witch Mountain, with a prayer meeting, and breastfeeding clinic. We just can’t wait to get on the road again or at least in a vehicle with a floor board which hides the ‘road’.

Most of us have had the experience of people knowing our name, calling to us from the road, a bar stool (Cheers), or in a crowded room when we are recognized by an old friend. Our names signify that we have a relationship, that we are connected, that our community is a place where we belong and are accepted. In Datcha, “Everyone knows her name.” Anne became Laura’s “jamel”, Jim was Laura’s adoptive papa; I was Laura’s mama. Acquaintances introduced themselves as Laura’s friend, as Laura’s co-worker at the CEG middle school, as Laura’s soccer teammate, as Laura’s soccer team player, as Laura’s adviser for farming, as Laura’s helper with her fields, as Laura’s English club member, and as Laura’s adoptive family (of which I counted five!). I am so grateful for the Yovo’s, the Komi’s, the Darama’s, and the Kwami’s. When I think of the hospitality they extended, I realize that Laura is ‘tres chere’ to their families and feels at home in Datcha

This is love, when a village reaches out with hospitality, with appreciation, naming their beloved as their own. Her American family already knew that Laura is a "gifted, zany, fun one who gives so much of herself with an unusual flair and enthusiasm”. What we did not realize until our visit, was the impact she is making in the village. Her hands have planted crops: corn and rice, added a ground cover to replenish nitrogen and retard weed growth. The fields have irrigation furrows, a good stand of crop, and are a definite demonstration to what this double-cropping can mean to revitalize soil. She has started a tree nursery to supply tress for school, the health clinic, and church grounds. The trees are beautiful and provide shade, but also have concomitant benefits: the moringa tree with its miracle properties, and the mahogany with its value to reforest and be a cash crop. Apparently, the trees have been more valued than Laura anticipated; several were stolen from their appointed planting spots.

Parts of our stay were such eye-openers for spoiled Americans. We had fine accommodations at Laura’s home, which is two rooms and an attached kitchen. The difference from her African place and ours was that her yard is constantly a visitor’s stopping place. Teachers come to sit, English club came to borrow books, neighbors come to share food, soccer team members come to borrow shin guards, shoes, and almost anything else that isn’t in use or being worn sat that instant. The sense of community brings to mind the root of the word, communal. Laura has always been particularly good about sharing, and in return she reaps benefits of being part of the Datcha family.

Jim and Laura spearheaded a project with a community group of volunteers in their 20’s and 30’s that is committed to do community service on a regular basis. This new project was ‘the compostable latrine’, and became well-known throughout the village. The Datcha Community Development Group’s (AJCD) weekly project involved cleaning out the village gutters, a task not usually performed by residents with higher standing in the community. We were impressed with the level of commitment, involvement, engagement, and brain power the team brought to the village market latrine project. We fell in love with several of the brave hearts that came from this group. George, Socrate, and Tohir in particular were favorites. George has an especially gentle nature with a keen intelligence and commitment to purpose; he is Laura’s best friend in the village. He reminded me of my brother Christopher. He was on the job site first, and the last to leave, never drew attention to himself and was quick to laugh and quicker to make sure we were comfortable and safe. He is one I want to adopt and send to college. Can you imagine a whole generation whose opportunities for higher education are thwarted by the inability to pay for school? Where does one start? Perhaps a better question is where does one stop?

Laura has become a philanthropist for her little compound, providing tuition for two girls to attend school. And out of this gesture to educate promising young girls now comes the expectation that she is the “Fanny Mae” of Datcha. This has become a menace, with her being seen as the financier of many projects. I realize that the Peace Corps does not want volunteers to fund projects on their own, because of the very real problems with having too little to spread around, even for the volunteer’s own needs. What requires blinders is that there are so many needs. We are so proud of Laura’s work and her ability to keep all of the balls in the air at once. She has so little time for herself. Visitors of all ages arrive the minute she arrives home, announcing their visit by pounding on the corrugated metal door and calling for Laura. They come for English Club, to organize soccer matches, to report passing scores on exams, to taste delights from the States, and to debate the relative merit of projects for the AJCD. Of all the things Laura gives, the greatest is herself and her abilities to lead.

When all is said and done, probably the most important notion is whether our name will be recognized as one credited with making a difference. We can create friendships across our world, starting with naming those we have learned to love. Jim, Anne and I witnessed Laura’s impact in West Africa and are glad she names us as family.

Martha Hoffman Goedert