Ne Va Pas Au Nigeria…

…for child trafficking. One of the biggest challenges faced in Togo is the fight against child labor and trafficking. The most common story of child trafficking heard in Togo goes like this: a man approaches a child and offers the him/her the opportunity to go to another country with the promises of getting rich and leaving the “boring” village life for something better, oftentimes to Nigeria. The kid agrees to go, under false pretenses, often without consulting their parents. When they arrive at “utopia” they find themselves working under horrible conditions for little or no money. The good news is that many of the kids do find their way back to their home in Togo, but unfortunately not without grave damage to their development, education, physical and mental health.

I work at a center for apprentices, as mentioned in the previous blog entry, where many of the apprentices are victims of child trafficking. The kids from the center are sometimes invited to Peace Corps’s Camp Unite (a week-long camp to train peer educators) to speak about their experience as a cautionary tale to others. The name of this blog post, “Ne va pas au Nigeria”, comes from the title of a song about child trafficking written by a previous Peace Corps volunteer in Sotouboua to raise awareness about the issue.

Child labor extends beyond Nigeria. Togo is an agricultural based society and farming corn, rice, millet and yams is sustenance and children are not excluded from working at the “champ” (fields). Now that school is out, many children are preoccupied with farming. But, when farming infringes on the child’s access to education it becomes an issue of concern and a violation of the child’s rights. I was recently asked by the director of the center for apprentices to speak to the female apprentices individually to gauge how they were feeling about their apprenticeship and their lives at the center. He was concerned for their wellbeing and felt that they would not be open with him about their feelings due to his gender. He asked me to focus my questioning around the forms of punishment inflicted upon the girls as well as the prevalence and type of manual labor they were assigned.

I discovered that corporal punishment is frequently used on the girls; those who are late to class receive a slap on the hands with a stick. Less serious offenses such as a sewing error warrant the collecting of gravel or staying late to finish an assignment. These forms of punishment are common in almost all schools and centers for apprentices in Togo, and this information didn’t really faze the director. What was of concern to the director is that the girls were being sent to the fields to farm up to three days a week on top of the scheduled Saturdays of manual labor to maintain the center. The girls admitted that they are habitually sent to both the patron’s and the patron’s friends’ fields to work many hours a day, with no compensation. Conversely, they are paying the center to be apprentices and learn the trade, not to be farmers. The girls often miss meals because they are in the fields and are often very exhausted from farming and have trouble focusing on their sewing lessons.

The director was enraged by this discovery, so we had a meeting with all of patrons to set new rules for the center. He proposed that the girls may only go to the fields to farm once a week, they may not be sent to the patron’s friend’s farms and that they should be somehow compensated. I spoke to the patrons on the importance of children’s rights and explained that the practices at the center were bordering on child slavery.

The campaign for children’s rights seems to be igniting throughout Togo and progress is being made to eradicate child labor throughout West Africa. I was recently watching my friend’s child, Ellie, practicing for the kindergarten school play. Ellie played a wife who was telling her husband to do some work around the house- to sweep the yard, to cook the dinner and take care of the kids, decidedly promoting gender equity. She then sang a song she’d be performing during the play:

“Je suis enfant et j’ai aussi mes droits” (I’m a child and I also have my rights)

I asked Ellie if she knew the significance of what she was singing. She pointed to her hand– she thought the words were:

“ Je suis enfant et j’ai aussi mes doigts” (I’m a child and I also have fingers!)

Luckily, Ellie is only four years old and just learning French so there is still time for the message to sink in before it’s too late!

Photos

Pregnant Mom and The Family in Tsevie

Host Dad and New Baby!


Domestiques

Host Family at Swear-In

Path to my house in Sotouboua

New Year's Party

Dressed to kill for the new year

Chez Moi

Making Tchouk, traditional beer

April Showers

I celebrated the wedding of a colleague last weekend. It was my first Togolese wedding and I found it to be a love filled ceremony. It was held at the Evangelical Presbyterian church at the same time as the weekly Sunday church service. The church doors were adorned with arches of red tropical flowers, a reminder that a rainforest once prospered here. The bride and groom were dressed in fancy complets, or two-piece outfits made with pagne (African printed fabric). After hours of singing, praying and dancing, the couple said their vows and kissed and everyone cheered and threw confetti at them.

Then the gift giving began. There’s a shop in town that wraps presents so all of the couple’s closest friends in the congregation brought colorful metallic shiny wrapped presents with bows. To receive the gifts, the couple stands at the front of the church and the gift givers are called to the front by the day of the week they were born. I was born on a Sunday, so I went with the Sunday group. I brought dishtowels wrapped in purple paper and danced to the front like my present was glow sticks and I was at a rave. The congregation wouldn’t accept anything less. When I arrived at the front, I handed over the present and hugged the bride and groom, which was a bit awkward because they both tilted their heads the same direction as I and in front of the whole congregation, nonetheless (apparently I never learned the proper way to hug in Togo).

After the service was the reception and the bridal party and friends posed for professional pictures. A band of teenagers on guitars and drums played while the congregation was separated by age and sex for refreshments. I went with the women to eat rice with pieces of meat and drink tchouk, the traditional beer. The service was lovely, and I am very happy for the new couple.

Today is the fiftieth anniversary of Togo’s independence. I attended a defile (parade) to celebrate the occasion. The National Road that runs from the head to toe of Togo was blocked off so that civil society of Sotouboua could be showcased. I was amazed by the breadth of clubs and associations that were represented and marched down the street in matching pagne. In addition to the students of every school there were unions of flip flop vendors, motorcycle drivers doing wheelies, karate club breaking boards, cheerleaders with Togolese flags, women’s soccer teams, just to name a few. Viva La Independence!

I have started working at a center for apprentices who are economically disadvantaged, orphans or victims of child trafficking. Americans, through the Embassy’s Self Help Fund, which gives motivated Togolese money to do projects, funded the center. The kids live at the center and they learn a trade for a discounted fee. I started working with the female couturieres (seamstresses) to teach life skills and women’s issues. I enjoy working with the girls because they are very respectful and eager to learn but it is challenging because many did not finish primary school. Everything I say has to be translated into local language and I’m afraid my intermediate French being translated by intermediate French speakers into Kabiye (extremely different from a romance language) might be hindering my message. Nevertheless, my “Self Confidence” lesson seemed to sink in when I asked the girls to make self-affirmations and everyone said things like, “I am an intelligent girl” or “I am a pretty girl.” I am also in the process of helping the kids and their patrons (teachers of the trade) to start a garden because the center is near a river and with an endless supply of water there is no excuse not to have a garden. The kids are responsible for providing and cooking their own food, so with some extra vegetables to boost their diet, both their health and economic situation will improve.

April is the beginning of rainy season so Sotouboua has become green and lush and people are spending days and nights at the “champ” (the farming fields). I have yet to go to the champ but one of these days I will grab a hoe and get to work. But for now, I have my herb garden to tend to and protect from my hole-digging puppy, Tchouk!

How to Ride a Bush Taxi in Togo

I was riding home in a “bush taxi” yesterday from a Peace Corps meeting in a town about 100k from me, squished in the shotgun seat with another person with rather large hips. Consequently, I was jammed against the clutch so that every time the driver wanted to shift gears he had to press the clutch into my leg. It was quite painful, and today I have a large purple bruise on my thigh. To make matters worse, the driver was reaching over another full-grown man who was sitting IN THE DRIVERS SEAT WITH HIM in order to shift gears. It got me thinking about how many things in Togo have become commonplace now that I’ve been in this country for almost seven months, things that would be incomprehensible to me back in the states.

1. Transportation
The above story is not an exaggeration, but the norm for travel in this country. “Bush taxis” are small cars or 15 passenger busses that must be older than I am. They are not “full” until there are multiple people sitting on each other’s laps, chickens squawking about and a roof stacked so high with baggage it rivals the Beverley Hillbillies. Travel takes about twice as long as it should as a result of stopping about every 10k to load and unload passengers, or sometimes just for the driver to chat with his friends. One time my bush taxi stopped in a town for an hour because the previous day the driver had hit a child on the road there and he was negotiating paying for the child’s broken bones.

2. Time
It is completely acceptable to arrive up to an hour late for a scheduled appointment, or in some cases, not to arrive at all.

3. Requests
If you see anyone who possesses anything you want, you may ask for it. This includes dogs, women, shoes (even if the person wearing the shoes is smaller and a different sex than you) and hair. I’ve had people ask for me to cut off my hair and give it to them. Most appropriate responses are to either hand over the object/person or simply say “prochainement” (next time). This works both ways, I have a PC friend who buys vintage Chicago sports jerseys off of Togolese people’s backs.

4. Night Time Parties
Many parties and events are scheduled for the entire night and there are no “Disturbing the Peace” violations in Togo.

5. Farm Animals
Free-range advocates would love this place – pigs, goats, chickens,
duck and sheep roam freely. This is hazardous to bike riders because the animals are always on the path and often in front of tires. Somehow people know who's animals are whose and stealing animals can be deadly (I’m not kidding).

6. Animism
People say Togo is 50% Muslim, 50% Christian and 100% Animist. While most of my friends here are more enthusiastic about sharing their Christianity with me than Animist beliefs, it still is not unusual to hear about it now and then. A young man across the street from me died, and when I asked his neighbors about the cause of death, they said he was a sorcerer and his sorcerer friends put a spell on him to kill him.

In other news, March was quite an eventful month starting off with the presidential elections on March 4. In light of violence surrounding past elections in Togo, we were told to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. Leading up to the elections, campaigning in my town brought many events and anticipation. One of these events was a visit from President Faure, who was campaigning for re-election, which prompted teachers to cancel class, everyone to sport their favorite Faure paraphernalia and organize groups to sing, dance and play instruments to greet him. It appeared as though roughly half the town, or 10,000 people, attended the event. In the end, the elections were overall extremely peaceful.

Towards the end of March was “Semaine Culturel” (cultural week), when there are no classes for a week - only games, picnics, music and dances. I expected this to be focused on more traditional culture and was surprised to see the influence of modern hip-hop culture on the event – the high school-ers were booty dancing to modern African rap and hip-hop blaring from large speakers. After Semaine Culturel, the students had a week of vacation for Paque (Easter). There weren’t many apparent celebrations for Paque; however, many people of all ages get baptized during the holiday. Now, work is picking up again but I’m taking off for my first vacation during Peace Corps to Ghana (The Land of Plenty)! À Bientôt!

On Gift Giving

Having just ended the holiday season, the last horrah being my birthday, it seems to be an appropriate time to comment on the gift exchange culture here in Togo. It has occupied much of my thought, caused me anxiety, excitement and resentment.

I was admittedly a bit melodramatic about my birthday this year, professing to be experiencing a quarter-life crisis. I woke up on the dreaded day with a small dark cloud over my head and aching bones, but then the delicious food started showing up on my doorstep so my mood changed very quickly. I was given Galettes (savory bean cakes) and a bucket of Tchouck to share from my closest Togolese friend. Another girl in my neighborhood made me a plate of Fufu (pounded yams) with peanut sauce and chicken.

The evening of my birthday, I had a small get together with local Peace Corps volunteers and Togolese/Nigerian friends and acquaintances at my favorite restaurant in town. I made it clear to the Togolese people that wanted to come that I had no money to have a proper party. In most social situations in Togo, the person who invites others to the bar or restaurant has to pay for all of the guests’ drinks all night. Paradoxically, two of the guests paid for several rounds of drinks in addition to giving me other gifts. The fete was lovely; a guitar player came and sang for us and someone called a professional photographer who was snapping pictures of the fete like a paparazzi.

The night of my birthday I was overwhelmed by the generosity people showed me, and was giddy when opening each casserole dish or black plastic bag with a gift in it. But the next morning, I began to grapple with the question, “What are the implications of these gifts?” and “What is the appropriate response to receiving a gift in Togo?” In America, I’d whip out the ol’ Thank You Notes and call it a day. But here, I am in uncharted territory. I have been reading a book called “Remotely Global, Village Modernity in West Africa” by Charles Piot, an anthropologist who lived among the Kabiye people in Togo for three years and studied the culture. My town is chiefly Kabiye ethnicity, and Piot describes life among Kabiye precisely. I recommend the book to anyone who’s interested in learning more about Togolese culture and my reality.

Piot also received a great deal of gifts when coming to Togo and wasn’t sure how to respond. The Kabiye people he cooked for didn’t like American food. When he refused a gift once, the giver stopped speaking to him. Piot states, “Gift-giving became for all of us a kind of surrogate language: the gifts were attempts to communicate, to bridge the gap between us, to express relationship.”

Piot concludes that Kabiye give gifts as a way to form social relationships and ties or “ikpanture” in Kabiye language. He also says, “They were attempts to contain and control us. Gifts obligate and indebt, and in doing so they render the receiver subservient.” Time will tell if the givers on my birthday were simply trying to reinforce a friendship or if they are expecting something in return. In all likelihood, each individual had his or her own motives.

My own attempts to reciprocate kindness in Togo have been slightly clumsy, and I am not sure how to judge the reaction of the receivers. For example, when I made macaroni and cheese for a family once, each member only had several bites and asked why I hadn’t put salt and piment (hot peppers) in it. I tried to explain that mac and cheese is a favorite dish among American kids, but the Togolese kids turned up their noses and continued eating the food their mom had prepared. The food didn’t go to waste; they served the leftovers to the children for breakfast with a pile of piment on top. Hopefully, they appreciated the gesture but I’m not sure the American proverb, “It’s the thought that counts” translates.

Harmattan Holidays

Harmattan is the dry season here in Togo, and it is also considered the cold season. This means that when you walk down the street you feel like your lungs are being coated with a layer of orange dust and your eyes swell with tears due to the high concentration of dirt in the air. It’s pleasantly chilly at night and in the mornings, temperatures dropping to around 50-60 degrees Fahrenheit. Togolese people ask me, “How do you like Togo? How do you like the cold?” It takes a lot of will not to say, honey, you don’t know cold.

My first day at post (the town where I will be living for two years, the name of which I can not mention) was also Tabasky, a holiday celebrated by Muslim Kotokoli people here in Togo. I was drawn to the music and costumes as I was wandering the town trying to comprehend the fact that this town is my new home. I was standing on the outskirts of the tent which encompassed a huge crowd of people of all ages and genders dressed in traditional outfits but accented by bright colored sunglasses, hats and shoes that one might find when visiting a vintage shop with 1970’s garb. The mélange of traditional dress with outrageous Western style is a microcosm of how modernity has touched these traditional societies. It’s also oh so very hip. As soon as the men who were dj-ing the fete saw me standing there, they invited me to sit under the tent, gratuie, of course. I accepted, swept in by the excitement of the loud drums, sequined headscarves and candy. I had barely sat down, when I was told, “Il faut danser”, or “It is necessary for you to dance” and I found myself in the middle of the circle trying to awkwardly imitate the one other person who was the center of attention with me in front of at least 300 people. Then someone put a scarf around my neck and started pressing play money on my forehead, which stuck since I was so hot, and throwing hard candy at me. At the same time someone else was handing me pastries. Each dance move was a step out of my comfort zone and after the song was finally over I jetted out of there before I could be talked into another dance.

I’ve learned not to feel too awkward or embarrassed in these extremely uncomfortable situations, as the people I’ve encountered do not hold me to the same standards as I hold myself. Togolese people actually tell me my French is good and that they didn’t think Americans could speak French. For example, I was invited to observe a club meeting for “fille leaders” or girl leaders at the CEG (junior high). “Observe” being the keyword, I hadn’t prepared anything to present or teach. After a half an hour past when the club was scheduled to commence, there were no adults there but me. The girls of the club informed me that they were told an American would be running the club. The “American” was presumptively me, so I had 30 minutes improvise a presentation in French. Usually when I give any presentation in French, I prepare ahead of time with a dictionary and maybe practice pronunciation in front of a native speaker. But this was on the fly, so I just talked about America, something I know pretty well, and led a debate on gender equity in Togo. I thought it was a total bust, but the girls truly appreciated it. The girls walked me home, offered me non-fermented tchouk, offered to take me to climb the one tiny mountain in town and seemed completely unconcerned with the quality of my presentation. Alas, my panic attack was not as severe when the exact same situation occurred again the next week at the high school for the club of girl leaders there.

The students in Togo have a 2-week holiday vacation for Christmas and New Year’s Day. Therefore, my work for the last two weeks has been heavier on the cultural integration side than on technical work, since most of my work will be done in schools or with apprentices. I’ve spent time trying to form relationships with Togolese women and girls. I have a new friend who is a couturiere and has her own atelier to make clothes. We’ve been sharing meals and hanging out all week. She cooks the most delicious Togolese food, like fufu (pounded yams) with sauce arichide et tomate (peanut tomato sauce with hot peppers and fresh –as opposed to dried and crunchy- fish) that you eat with your right hand. Call it integration - or hunger - but I’ve truly enjoyed vrai Togolese food for the first time while eating at her house. It’s still a bit of a stressful situation because as soon as she senses that I’m slowing down eating the meal she says “Il faut terminer la fufu” or “It is nessecary that you eat all of the fufu.” I told her that I want to be skinny, like her (she is beautiful and thin and could be a model in America), and don’t want to eat too much. She told me that it’s an insult to call a Togolese person skinny. I feel like I’m in this alternate universe where you have to eat yourself sick to make friends and being chunky is the beauty ideal.

Bonne Arrivée

A wonderful man has left this earth. I know this because of the extravagance of the party his death warranted. A tent was constructed to cover the street in front of my host family’s house for half a block and the entire street was shut off. Hundreds of chairs were set up to cover ground. The set up occurred during the day. The funeral, in fact, did not commence until after dark. I arose to the sound of loud gospel music, Cowbell, children wailing, adults crying and preaching on a highly advanced PA system at around 12:30 a.m. The festivities occurred until 5:00 am, or dawn. This was repeated for two nights in a row, and I had the “privilege” of listening to the entire production loud and clear from my bed. The Togolese people that I’ve talked to about funerals say that when a child dies, the funeral is very somber but when an old person dies it is a celebration of the person’s life and can be quite jovial. I tried to keep my annoyance of the « bruit » to myself as host Maman told me she knew the gentleman who passed very well.

A beautiful child has entered this earth. My host Maman went to the capitol to have her third child, a perfect little boy. She had some complications with the pregnancy, and had to have a cesarean section. I was worried about her because I know c-sections are risky anywhere and my host dad told me she could have died. I was interested to see the hospital she stayed at for about a week with her baby and her mother. It was a small clinic responsible only for delivering babies and there were nurses and doctors constantly circulating checking on the patients. It seemed to be first-rate care here in Togo and I don’t think all Togolese women have the resources to receive this kind of care. Maman finally came home with the baby and we’ve had a constant parade of visitors to « saluer » the family and greet the baby. Grandmaman also has come to stay at the house and despite her age has taken on many tasks to care for the baby, including washing him, which makes him squeal at the top of his tiny lungs. Maman’s identical twin sister also came to stay with us for a while, and she went to get her hair done exactly like Maman making it very difficult to tell them apart!

I know I will miss my host family when I move to my post. I am currently on a one-week post visit in the ville I will be living in for my service, and I miss them already! I can’t disclose the exact location online but those of you itching to know can just asking me. I’m in the Centrale region in a larger town. I have a ridiculously luxurious house, but it hasn’t been lived in for a while by people but only by plenty of arachnid friends. My plan to transform my little piece of Togolese soil into a petite palace is definitely HGTV worthy. I live by myself in the compound so basically anything goes so I will be building a garden, buying a chicken for fresh eggs getting a kittenand eventually be inheriting a guard dog. Everything is built to order here in Togo, so I’ll be designing and commissioning my own furniture and curtains as well as painting all the walls. I will have a comfortable guest room so now those of you reading this blog can come experience Togolese life first-hand!

My goal this week is to meet the people I will be collaborating with as the authorities and neighbors. I will initially be working with an NGO, which provides opportunities for students to attend camps to utilize their creativity including drama, music and radio broadcasting. I will be working with the radio, as the NGO has a public radio station on which I can do « sensibilisations » on issues surrounding girl’s empowerment. Besides the initial definite project, I will be working with the other 5+ NGOs in the town that work with youth development and specifically girl’s empowerment as well as collaborating with the Health volunteer in my town and the Natural Resource Management volunteer only 7k away. Before coming to Togo, I was concerned about not having enough work to do but now I am sure I have a plethora of opportunities and will be working against the clock. I feel very lucky for my post because I’m in the middle of the action here in Togo and I can get coffee and bread!