In September 2001, I was newly 24 years old and close to wrapping up my 2-year Peace Corps service in Togo, West Africa. Here is a letter I wrote my parents right after 9/11 happened, before we truly understood what happened, who did it or why; before it even had a 'name'. (I refer to it as 'the disaster back home.')
What stands out to me is the normal sounding tone and how I focused mostly on things that were NOT 9/11. The world had changed, but also village life went on: a soccer tournament created drama, a health training wrapped up, a goat gave birth, and children wanted me to paint their nails.
I also cringe a bit; I still could have used some more patience and cross-cultural understanding.
It's a long letter, edited a bit for length. Happy reading.
September 15, 2001
Dear Mom and Dad,
Hey there. How are you guys? Every time I write a letter, I ask that question but I have to wait to find out the answer. I hope all is fine.
As I said in my e-mail on Thursday, I learned about the attack on the U.S. right after it happened. It still seems unreal... like a modern day War of the Worlds or sci-fi movie. It's really scary... that somebody could be so evil as to be able to do something so horrible... and what the resulting actions will be. No matter how pissed off Americans are, they've got to keep their head. Nobody wants a 3rd world war, much less something that could involve nuclear, biological or chemical weapons. And they still don't know who was responsible...
And let me tell you, being an American in another country when that happened was/is bizarre. I haven't seen another American since it happened; I've had to discuss it in French with Togolese people... who have understood better than I expected. I want to talk to Americans about it! I want to be watching it on TV and going to give blood or volunteer to help somehow.... but I have to listen about it on the BBC by myself in my room. And it just makes it that much more scary; I have to get on a plane to come home [soon]. With those planes being hijacked, and Americans being targeted, international travel does not sound too appealing.
Well, that's just me worrying too much. This isn't the end of the world... at least not yet.
Today is a beautiful day, very springtime like, cool and sunny with a blue sky. I'm at the very last ASC training (agents de santé communitaire - community health workers). Yesterday was on Family Planning and today is on malaria, and then we're done. Finally! It's going well. Mr. Kaditche ... is dressed very American today - blue jeans, boots, sweater, complete with cell phone. That plus the weather makes today feel very home-like.
Other than the training, things are fine. The soccer match debacle is over. The team finally gave me the cup back - which was a small ordeal yesterday. In short, the story is... Agbele won the soccer tournament. They are Kotokoli, and they beat the team from Keriade who are Kabiye. My friend and co-organizer Alhadji is the Keriade coach, but he is Kotokoli; he lives with the Kabiye. Nobody was happy that Agbele won; they're kind of the 'bad boys' of the village with bad attitudes. Alhadji was pissed, but they won fair and square. I gave them the cup/trophy (I'd borrowed it from Chad in Sotoboua) and asked them to give it back the next day.
The next morning, they came to my house saying I should give them the soccer ball used during the match. After deliberation, I gave it to them. I would have given it to Keriade had they won so it was only fair.
But Alhadji got pissed and demanded I ask for it back. To avoid problems, I asked for it back but they (Agbele) thought Alhadji (their "enemy") had forced me to get it back so I could give it to Keriade. I got scared they would go beat up Alhadji so I dropped it... they could keep the ball. I didn't care. But Alhadji said even if I throw the ball in the latrine, it's better off than in Agbele's hands. When I refused to pursue the matter, he got mad at me and called me "yovo" (white person). The next day, he had calmed down and came to apologize... I think he felt bad. He was joking and trying to make me laugh, so now we're friends again.
He's been really great about the disaster at home; he's come over every day to talk to me about it and offer his condolences. We swap news information and he speculates about what's going to happen now.
But Agbele still had the trophy; they didn't bring it back despite two notes I had written asking for it. They wanted me to meet with the village notables to "discuss the problem." There was no problem! [...] So this meeting was held yesterday, me and about 30 men who did not want to give the trophy back. ... I explained again that it was borrowed so I had to return it... So after 20 minutes ... they theatrically said the community had decided to give it back. At one point they were going to hold it hostage until I gave them 15000 CFA but they dropped that. And they were worried I was forced by Alhadji, their 'enemy' to get the trophy. [...]
Well that may have been a boring story for you guys, but let me tell you, that's all everybody was talking about for a week. The week's village soap opera starring me. When I got home, I found a dead scorpion on my floor. Maybe some sort of sign or symbol, but I don't know of what.
What else? We're still talking about malaria. Leave it to Mr. Kaditche to make malaria prevention sound interesting. One of my ASCs has malaria today, poor guy. Kaditche keeps making an example of him. The Togolese style of education is a tad different from ours. Embarrassing the students is almost a matter of routine. Nobody seems to mind; they just laugh and look at the floor.
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Back at the homestead. [...] The goat who likes to hang out in my shower finally gave birth.... twins! That goat and I have become friends; I call her Maizy; seems to suit her. Her babies are so cute... they're just beginning to explore a little on their own. They're so cute when they jump around, just like little paper clips or tightly wound springs.
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September 16, 2001
...I forgot to tell you my favorite part of the soccer match. The evening before the event, Alhadji and Nassar and I had a last-minute planning session to go over the schedule and make sure we had everything we needed. So I asked, "What do we do if it rains?") (In America, we set another day or time in case of rain, right?)
Alhadji says, "I know this guy.... tres fort... very powerful, in Adjengre" and Nassar says "they call him "rain maker" [in English he says this] and they both lament that we hadn't thought to enlist his services earlier. So I insist... "Well, what if it rains?" and Alhadji says, "No no, I know another guy. He's not as powerful, but I'll talk to him." At first I thought they were joking, and I even laughed a little but they were absolutely serious. I said, "Ok but seriously what do we do if it rains?" and Alhadji said, "don't worry, you'll see... the rain maker will handle it. It won't rain."
Saturday -tournament day - was a beautiful day, maybe even a little too sunny. Didn't rain at all, not even a menacing cloud. At the end of the final match, it started clouding over and after everybody had left and gotten most of the way home, it started pouring! So I talked to Alhadji the next day - "Hey it didn't train yesterday! Did you talk to the rain maker?" and he just kind of smiled and avoided the question so I said "Is it you? Are you the rainmaker?" and he kind of looked at me like "I won't ever tell" and shrugged, and said, "Didn't I tell you it wouldn't rain?"
The tournament itself was great. I'd guess over 400 people came to watch. The guys played great soccers, and the ASCs did 5-6 skits on health. We had a megaphone. Two guys did the play-by-play with commentary. My favorite comments were: "The ball's in the air. The ball is still in the air..." and "Oh lala, the ball has gone to visit its friends in the corn field." They would interject messages to "Madamoiselle Koudjoukalo who organized this tournament" and remind everybody we were doing this to educate about HIV/AIDS. The whole day was really cool.
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Sept. 18, 2001
Hi again - guess who!
Today I'm reading "Crime and Punishment." I set aside the morning to do laundry but was done by 8:30. Today was also a market day so I went to try to buy lemons (no luck) so I stayed maybe 5 minutes. This evening, I weeded my tomatoes and taught an English class. We're on 'Physical Descriptions" as in "Describe so-and-so." They had to come up with 3 sentences to describe family members, and 3 to describe me. My favorite sentence was Elise's: "Koudjoukalo is not black." :)
The matronne (midwife) isn't back from Kara yet. She went to visit her family and tell them she's been sick. She says it's malaria but I think it's arthritis from how she describes it... pain in her hips, difficulty walking. She keeps getting injections on both hips and about a month ago, the injection sites became cysts and now they are big gaping infected holes. It seems like it's burning her from the inside out. She had no money to buy antibiotics so I bought them for her. She's in bad shape. Hopefully she's ok. She was almost crying the other day, tell me how unhappy she is, sick, and has gone without pay from the state for 3 months; all her family is in Kara and she doesn't do much here; she's bored.
I wanted to tell you about yesterday when the kids came over to color. It started with Pelegie and manjalesso (both around 2 or 3) wanting their nails painted. Neither speak french except for "oui" and "je joue le ballon" (I play with the ball) and "venis (nail polish). Manjalesso used to be terrified of me. Anyway - I soon I had a yard full of kids with crayons and coloring books and Anasai said she wanted me to teach her English. She's 6 years old; so we learned Hello, Goodbye, How are you, Fine, Thank you and I want to draw. She's a smart little girl and her French is really good. When the other kids want to communicate with me, they call her as our translator. Future Togolese ambassador, I'm telling you!
Anyway, I suppose I can't tell you about every little thing. Writing letters is kind of entertainment for me, without movies or TV - only books. There's so much I don't want to forget.
I'll email you Friday for sure. Abrahim is going with me to Sotoboua so see a computer and learn how to use the internet so he can email me when I leave. He's really excited.
Anyway, I love you!
Take care,
<3 Mary Beth
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