“doing” pumps

Yesterday, visibility was about 4k.  As in I could just make out Mt Bassar rising through the dust from 4k away.  Today, even the slopes of the mountain outside of D’s house look misty.  If one looks off into the distance, it looks like the landscape is obscured by a gentle snowfall.  Then one wipes the sweat off of one’s brow, hocks up a gob of mucus, and remembers that one is in Togo during harmattan. 

Our pump project was done until we sat down to do our accounts this morning.  Between over-budgeting, frugal spending, and a good exchange rate, we have enough money left over to do at least one more pump.  

By “doing” a pump, what do I mean?  

So, there are 3 basic types of mechanical pumps in Togo—human powered pumps, not electric.  One is a hand pump.  It is made of galvanized steel pipe and metal parts.  Another is a foot pump.  It is made of plastic pipe with few parts.  The third is called a UPM, which is what I will call it because I do not know how else to name it.  It looks like something out of a gym.  It has a massive metal structure and plastic pipes.  Its use can allegedly cause miscarriages in pregnant women.  The latter 2 types of pumps are difficult to repair, due to the fact they are plastic and due to a scarcity of parts.  

A totally new hand pump costs, depending on the depth of the well, about 2000$ USD.  One can buy a decent car for less than this, or 3 brand new motos. The cost of a new pump is beyond the means of the rural villages in which we work.  Furthermore, pumps break a lot.  An NGO working in sub-Saharan Africa estimated that 2 out of 3 pumps in this region are broken.  Rural villages do not have the financial resources, nor the expertise to replace a pump when it wears out or breaks.  When this happens, their only source of drinking water during the hot season is usually holes dug in a stream bed

Our project replaces old/worn out/broken pumps with new, hand pumps in existing wells (a well being a vertical groundwater extraction point for our purposes here).  In other words, we replace the device for extracting water from borehole wells.  At the same time the pump is being replaced, members of our team hold informational sessions for the pump’s community about the importance of clean water, sanitation, gender equality (girls are usually the ones who get water), and pump maintenance.  The funds we raised for the project pay for 75% of the project.  Communities must contribute the remaining 25%. 

Last year D and I did a tour among villages that had applied to be in the project.  We collected over 20 dossiers and estimates.  We narrowed these down to 15 based on a variety of factors, such as proximity to other pumps, population, location of the village etc.  Once the money came in we were able to add another pump because the exchange rate was higher.  Thus, the school children at Nampoch now have water.   

Once the money came in, our main counterpart, Kader, ordered the parts from his supplier (Kader is a water technician), and had them delivered to the villages.  This process began in October.  

Finally, the first of December, we began installation.  We have a team of 5 Togolese—a pump mechanic, 2 helpers, Kader, and his helper.  D and I are the PC team, but we have had a rotating group of other Volunteers who help us out.  

The project in action looks like this. Our cavalcade of motos rolls into a village, that has been alerted a week or so in advance that we are coming.  The mechanic, Daré, and his helpers, start dismantling the old pump, although in some cases it is already out of the well.  Villagers bring out the parts of the new pump and we prep them for installation—like wrap the pipe joints in teflon tape.  At the same time, Kader and D are talking with the villagers—getting people together for our informational sessions, making sure they have their 25% of the money together, etc.  Once the old pump is out, Daré and Gbandi, his main helper, start installing the new pump.  Daré tests the cylinder to make sure that it works, then they attach the first pipe and piston rod, then Gbandi gingerly lowers it in the well as Daré fixes a clamp over the throat to hold the pipe.  The only problem with hand pumps is that they have to be installed piece by heavy piece. 

If a pipe falls down the well, it is all over. 

With deeper wells Daré recruits some villagers to help him and Gbandi lower the sections.  While all this is going on I am usually yelling at people to lower slowly and be careful, or I am prepping the pump head for installation, or I am handing Daré wrenches etc.  D is doing her hand washing talk, or her water health talk while Kader or Usman, his helper, is translating.  Or maybe another Volunteer like Bry or Saye is talking about gender equality and how girls will not do as well in school if they have to spend their evenings making trips to the pump.       

The last pipe section screws into the reservoir which bolts down over the throat of the well.  The whole pipe/cylinder/piston rod assembly hangs from this down into the well.  Once it is in place, I always breathe a little sigh of relief because there is no longer any danger of the pipe falling.  Once the reservoir is bolted down, Daré measures and cuts the piston rod for the pumping assembly (you have to install the pipes and the piston rods at the same time since the rod runs up through the middle).  He uses a die (or the opposite of a die?) to cut threads into the end of the piston rod.  This is easily the most fascinating part for Togolese, as well as for Volunteers who have never seen threads cut on the end of a steel rod before. The chain screws onto the piston, then we lower the head into place, Daré connects the chain to the handle, and the head housing is bolted onto the reservoir.  

In the meantime, the information sessions are usually finished and D has made sure we have the money.  Kader is helping the villagers fill out a questionnaire that we will use to write our final project report or is explaining to them how to buy replacement parts for the pump head.  Gbandi has begun packing up tools. 

Daré usually starts pumping as soon as the bolts are in place.  It takes water a long time to mount up 30 meters of pipe. Koutchala, the second helper, is still scrabbling around tightening nuts as the first flush of water spurts out of the spout.  I wash my hands.  The water is warm from the pipes that have been in the sun, and red from the dust in them.  As excited villagers crowd into the pump enclosure Daré lectures them on the importance of pumping correctly—work the handle straight in smooth strokes.  My last job is to give the person responsible for the pump a set of wrenches and the lock/key to the pump.  The wrench set allows the community to do basic maintenance and the lock allows them to control the pump. 

Usman, Koutchala, and Gbandi are packing up the motos, we Volunteers are receiving the village’s customary gift of yams and arguing over who has to hold the chicken (usually me).  Then we shake hands all around, fasten dust masks, ear buds, and helmets in place, and climb on to the motos for the next village. 

Usually

D and I were shopping in Kara yesterday and found Cheez-its.  And tortillas. And cheese singles.  Seriously, words cannot describe how awesome this is.

If snot was exportable, Togolese kids would be millionaires during harmattan. 

We found Mountain Dew too.  It was awesome. But I could only stand to drink half a can. 

this is what people drank before the pump

getting to work

Daré showing a girl how to use the pump

D trying out a new pump

Um. this is D. on a pile of pump parts. with children. and a woman who is posing for the photo

Update

So, since I wrote the previous post, we have been working on our pump project.  As of yesterday, we have replaced 7 aging/broken pumps in southwest Kara.  The project has currently supplied potable water to an average of 400 men, women, and children per pump.  We have traveled 240k by moto over the past 3 days.  Villages have gifted us 7 chickens and a pile of yams that is probably as tall as I am.  Three villages have danced for us.  D’s laundry girl probably washed 5 pounds of dust out of my clothes.   

In other news, to continue my electronic crisis, my mouse broke. All I can do on my computer now is watch movies.  And so it goes. 

And counting . . .

As of sometime this evening I will have been a PCV for 2 years.  My dad will be somewhere in his late sixties.  And so it goes

One thing, among many, that is different about northern Togo vis'a vis southern Togo is the number of women one sees on motos, or mopeds.  A friend of mine visiting from down south actually brought this to my attention when she was up here.  you see a lot more women driving motos here than in the south.  I dont really know why this is.  true, the majority of women drive mopeds instead of motos-- i assume because mopeds are easier to ride with skirts. i think there are more mopeds up here because they come down from burkina.  but there still seem to be more women driving in general up here.

ive been craving chocolate chip cookies recently.  a lot. 

the weather has finally changed.  a tan haze permanently rimes the sky.  i woke up this morning and thought it was foggy-- until i realized, again, that fog is soft and grey, not khaki and and crunchy.

vegetation is dying.  except for mango trees, they are sprouting leaves.  i can begin to see things in the distance again.  the kids play football in drifts of golden leaves under the neem tree by my house.  the air is dry and dusty.  my allergies, such as they are, have been noticeable.  D's allergies are so bad she has to drug herself to sleep at night.  benedryl is wonderful.

i found a roadkill viper on my way into town today.  at least i think it was a viper.  it was short, fat, and spotted.  what was left of it anyway. 

i was laying in bed one night last week about 1 am.  i couldnt sleep because of a bad reaction to something (dont ask).  anyway,  i was laying there and heard something in the other room.  that did not sound like a cat.  i shined my flashlight around the corner and a goat bolted out through the curtain that is my front door.  i managed to drift off to sleep until something woke me up again.  because i am smart like that i figured it was the goat again, so i waited until i actually got into the other room before turning on my flashlight.  sure enough, same goat.  only this time it got confused (blinded?) and ran into the corner instead of out the door.  i neglected my glasses but i could see well enough to grab my broom handle and start wailing on the thing.  i realized that this goat was apparently lacking in the brains department, so i stopped beating it and drug it out from the corner.  whereupon it missed the door again and jumped up on my lit picot, trampling a pile of books.  beating did not dissuade it.  i wound up having to wrestle the goat out of my front door and sent it on its way with a kick.  it hasnt been back.

another holiday season in togo.  i find that i do not really miss most of the crap that goes with the holidays.  like the constant jingles, ads, commercials, etc. 

N'tilabi and Adji dug up a basin of huge sweet potatoes from my garden last night.  it was a pretty sight.

beneath the wide blue empty sky

A week ago sunday was the last rain of the year in Nampoch.  Until it rained again the other day.

Rain right now is bad because the cotton is budding and corn is drying.  Rain knocks off cotton blossoms and rots cornstalks still in the fields.  If the corn hasnt been harvested yet, ears that fall on wet ground sprout and are thus useless.  Bt corn hasnt made it to Africa yet.  People shake their heads every time it rains now because it screws with their harvest. 

But, on days when it doesnt rain, the sky is usually empty like it is in harmattan and hot season.  It is this bowl that stretches forever.  Infinity looks like a wide blue empty sky. 

Rain now is such a weird contrast to everything else that is going on.  Trees are losing leaves.  Well some of them.  Mango trees are putting out new leaves.  But the undergrowth is dying off.  The seas of shoulder-high grass are changing from green to brown.  You can see the ground in my garden again.

Djiddah is finally getting better.  she's walking around and smiling again.  its scary how much weight, relatively speaking, that she lost.  i had to find her this one kind of medicine that is used to treat meningitis and autoimmune disorders in cancer patients .

Yesterday Petit and i were getting a calabash for Obama's eventual victory-- Petit was confident that he would win-- when a couple guys walked up.  One guy was like "american!  whats up with the election?  Romney and Obama are each at like 48% although some polls say that Obama is up by 3 points."  Togolese know as much about the election as i do.  This morning i was in at the poste and they started asking me about it.  The postmaster and i got in this discussion about why Romney didnt win.  He is of the opinion that Ryan could have beaten Obama because he is more fiscally solid and more likeable than Romney.  Its kind of humbling how closely people follow US politics when, at one point in my adult life, I could not have named one West African leader.

Petit is one of my favorite people in Togo.  he's in his early forties i think.  in many ways he's kind of a stereotypical farmer-- somewhat conservative, laid back, polite, even tempered, complains a lot about the weather.  he's one of the most easy going people i know. he likes a good joke. on fridays, when my host mom sells tchakpa, if i am gone, he drunk dials me to find out how Im doing.  one thing Petit is not very conservative about though is education.  yesterday he and i were talking about how this one woman is going to Kouka to be like an apprentice-secretary.  Petit was like "yeah, i wish that my daughters could do something like that but you need (the equivalent of your GED)."  I've always wondered why he is so adamant about all of his kids getting a good education when girls education is a problem in our area.  I started asking him about school and he said that he only made it through the equivalent of junior high because he didnt have anyone to support him.  it is interesting how some people strive for a better life and a better world for their children. 

I think its kind of funny what makes me happy these days.  stuff like getting new books for my nook. getting Angry Birds for my nook, a package of granola bars from my mom (food that i dont have to make/sterilize/kill/deep fry/chase/think about is so amazing). finding someone selling peanuts.

speaking of my nook, i find myself using my laptop as a nook charger these day. i love the thing but i wish it had more battery life . . .

the decline of child mortality

Djida, my littlest host sister, should probably be dead.  the fact that she is not is a demonstration of why the child mortality rate in Africa is declining.  Djida is probably about 4.  she is usually this precocious combination of peppy and serious.  she’s started carrying little basins on her head like her mom.  when I cleaned out my house a while back, I tossed out this half pagne that was collecting dust.  Djida took it and wraps herself up in it like her older sisters.  The only french she knows its “merci” which she gravely says every time I give her something.  

Djida gets seriously sick every 4-5 months or so, like most people around me.  They get malaria and spend several days laying around.  With Djida though, its sometimes different.  I don’t know if its her immune system or a perfect storm of malnutrition and malaria, but she gets really sick.  This happened earlier this week.  High fever, no appetite, lethargic. Djida didn’t have the energy to brush flies away.  last night I’m pretty sure I could see every bone in her torso.  being able to count every rib above a distended belly messes with my mind.  

Petite took her to the local clinic a couple days ago, and they said to take her to the hospital in kouka for tests.  He came back with a sack of vials and medicines.  From what I see, Djida has malaria, intestinal parasites, and anemia, and some other stuff that I couldn’t figure out.  I looked at her health booklet.  Petite paid over 5 mille for just her medicines alone, not counting the examination and test fees.  They have to take her to the clinic every day for like a week for a shot.  But she was out and about this morning, so I think she’s getting better.  I was really worried about her for a couple of days. 

Last year Djida got so sick that they had to take her down to Sokode for a blood transfusion. Just that alone cost something like 20 mille.  Petite is a fairly well to do farmer and he manages his household finances well enough that he has enough money to pay for his childrens’ medical bills.  Thanks to the Catholics, there is a good rural clinic in Nampoch.  One can get decent (i.e. life-saving) medical treatment in Kouka, plus the medicines to treat the most common problems.  Cheaply.  I hear of enough children dying in Nampoch to know that not everyone has the money or the wherewithal to take their kids to the doctor.  5 mille ($10) is a decent amount of money to a farmer, let alone 20 mille.  The cost of a pizza could mean life or death for a child here.  

Peanut season is over.  This makes me sad.  

Rainy season is almost over, much to the joy of my farmer friends.  They’ve had too much rain here this year.  Peanut, bean, and corn yields are down because of it.  Now, since it is starting to flower, any heavy rain will damage cotton yields as well.  

I find myself reading Russian authors in bunches.  I just re-read The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand interspersed with Emma Goldman’s Anarchism and other essays.  Super pumped about that election now.  Sadly, my status as a (technically) US government employee means that I cant really talk about how pumped I am.  

I suppose I can go this far though.  It is kind of tiring reading stuff from the US about the current election with regards to the reaction against the “Washington establishment.”  Many people in the US seem to vote for candidates simply based on the fact that these candidates are not career politicians, or are somehow removed from Washington. These voters vote for amateurs, not professional politicians.  Um, really?  In what other profession, except college sports, would you want an amateur over a professional?  Amateur plumber—your house floods. Amateur electrician—it burns down. Amateur carpenter—it falls down.  Etc.  Look at the “debt crisis” of last year to see what amateur politicians do.  Professionals do their jobs well. They keep things running.  Policy change with a gargantuan, entrenched bureaucracy is a different story.  But professional politicians, in my life time at least, have made sure that I, when I’m in the States anyway, enjoy roughly the same quality of life as I always have.  The price of this quality of life, and even its morality, is, of course, another discussion.  But “those people” in Washington keep the lights on.  Regardless of the party.  This probably says something about the two party system, but thats another discussion too.