odds and ends

I would like to reiterate that it is hot. Even Togolese say so. I am in Guerin-Kouka right now using my friend Karen’s house and electricity. She has a fan. It is heavenly.

The other day I went out to another village close to Nampoch with a friend of mine. We stopped by this one house to saluate some of his friends/relatives. The mother asked if I happened to know of any medicines that could help her 8-ish year old son. He obviously had some kind of mental issue. With my friend translating Konkumba into French I figured out that the kid had had a brain aneurysm. I explained what that was, and drew a picture his mother. My diagnosis met with universal approval and I instantly got a reputation in that village as someone who is medically inclined. Anyway, as I sat there, I realized that the kid has little to no hope. His parents, or even his village, have nowhere near the resources needed to take him to a brain doctor, or to pay for an operation, if surgery like that is even possible in Togo. The kid went from being normal one day to being messed up for the rest of his life the next. Its something that’s hard for me to wrap my mind around. Be glad you live someplace where you can go to an Emergency Room and get patched up.

The rest of my visit to that village, Kpamboea, was better. I went to someone else’s house and got to talk about soja, stockage, and women’s groupements. And everyone gave me guinea fowl eggs. That’s never happened before.

I got a short-wave radio a couple weeks ago so that I could listen to BBC. I think I got it just in time to hear about how an international coalition is blowing up Libya. Anyway, as I sat there flipping through the 9 bands of shortwave for the first time, the whistle of dead airwaves launched me into this weird isolated, existential moment where, even though I was in my courtyard surrounded by people, I felt alone in the world. It was a weird moment. But I really like my new radio even though its hard to get good reception even with 9 bands of shortwave.

Nigarmi update

I was trying to cook dinner last night when I felt something run over my foot. Nigarmi, who was sitting close by yowling like he always does when I cook, jumped on the thing. From the legs disappearing in his mouth, I deduced that it was a spider whose size was directly proportional to its stupidity.

About 4 am though, I had to pull Nigarmi out of the eves of one of the buildings in the compound, after he stopped growling, because Gross (pronounced ‘grO’), the dog, chased him up there.

Nigarmi is getting bigger. He can jump up on the wall around my compound now, hence how he got up in the eves, and he can climb up on my paillote. He’s been trying to catch a lizard, but he hasn’t mastered the art of running straight up walls like they can. Last week I was dozing on my lit picot cum couch when I heard peeping. I looked under my lit picot to discover that Nigarmi had brought me a chick. I had to take it back. He wasn’t happy.

pics

the view out my front door this morning



little David




soccer!

Playing Soccer

The best 8 mille I’ve spent in Togo yet was on a soccer ball in Kara a couple of weeks ago. Comparatively speaking, this is somewhat expensive—I can get more food than I can eat on the street for 2 hundred CFA for example. It seemed like a good ball, but I was skeptical. Quality control is a luxury and a privilege.

I should point out that “soccer” doesn’t exist here. Its football.

Anyway, I brought the ball home and, the next evening, I brought it out while my 2 little host brothers and a bunch of their friends/relatives were hanging out in the courtyard. My oldest host brother is N’Telabi. He is about 13-ish. His eyes got about as big as the soccer ball. I handed it to them after explaining that it was mine and that they had to bring it back when they were done playing with it, and I instantly became the most popular white guy in village.

I realized that I fulfilled two goals at once—I got ‘in’ with the kids and I quenched my desire to watch competitive sports.

The reason why I got a soccer ball for the kids was because I was tired of watching them play soccer with cans, balls of rags, or ripped up rubber balls. Really anything here works as a toy. My second host brother, Adjay, likes to chase around an old moto tire. Old bicycle hubs nailed to sticks seem popular, as does about any manner of junk or trash that no longer has any other use.

I got more actual toys for Christmas when I was 8 than kids in Nampoch get in their lifetimes.

Granted, this dearth of toys engenders some useful trends. N’Telabi, for example, has a reputation in the cartier for resurrecting cheap flashlights. I gave him mine when I was tired of beating on it to make it work, and I see it floating around the compound now.

Back to soccer. A couple of days later, I think it was on a Sunday, the kids went out to this soccer pitch by the pump to play a full-on game with the ball. At about 2 pm. In the sun. I came to watch them and I was soaked in sweat just walking out there. The defense on my end hung out with me under the trees when they weren’t doing anything though. Most of the kids played barefoot. Some of them wore plastic bags, others a sock or two or flip flops. N’Telabi had this pair of boots, another guy had a pair of sneakers. I took pictures. Hopefully I can post them.

Swear-in pics

All (?) the girls



NRM!!!



All the guys. Note the NRM guys sporting facial hair . . .





Me and Alisha



West Kara!!

its going to rain!!! that grove of trees is the sacred grove in Nampoch, home to one of the village's fetish shrines. those are mud bricks. my neighbor is adding on to his house



said neighbor working on his roof.

oh yeah . . .

check out Alisha's blog www.alishawilliams.com

she's a better story teller than i am