Voodoo Sacrifice

As I was walking home one day last week, I came to the fork in my road about a blocks distance from my house.  There in the center, where the road splits, was a stake in the ground.  The stake was bent from the weight of whatever was hanging from the stake.  As I got closer, I noticed a foul odor and then I could see that there was a large dead crow hanging from the stake.  My first thought, was that this had some Voodoo significance, and my second thought was….hope it doesn’t have anything to do with me!

I asked Alougba about it later in the day.  She told me in a very matter of fact way that the crow had been a “fetish” sacrifice.  With a worried look she said a lot of babies had been dying.  She said there had been a Voodoo ceremony.  They sacrificed the crow to stop the babies from dying.  I asked her if it worked, and she said, “oh yes!”  I think there was much more to the ceremony, because the night before I had heard Voodoo drums and chanting all night long.

The stake and the crow are still there…
three days later.

The Marche

There will be much more about the Marche through the upcoming months.  One of my primary projects will be to help these women and their businesses become more profitable.  During training we learned how to do a needs assessment with village businesses.

Bookeeping

We also learned how to teach them how to budget.  Not just how to budget, but what a budget is.  One facet of our work is to show them the value of keeping records and bookkeeping.  In training we learned how to demonstrate these things to them visually.  For example if I am teaching them what a budget is, I will make a chart, and on one side, have a list of all possible expenses for one week.  I will begin to ask them what they need to sell their product.  I'll have cutout pictures of those things, and begin to place them on the expense side of the chart.  How much time does it take?...and how much money do they have to spend?...using pictures.  On the other side of the chart, I will ask them how much they sell in one week and what they sell it for.  By the time we’ve finished the chart, hopefully the value of tracking this information will be obvious, the light will dawn and they will begin to make some changes, and make more of a profit….awwww capitalism.  There is a not so small part of me, that enjoys the way they do it now, but in the end, I know that it will be helpful for them to understand these concepts.  It will enable them to better provide for their families.  It will help put food in their Cauldrons, so to speak.   At this point in time, they have no concept of expenses vs. sales, and very, very often are making less money than they are spending.  They just make or grow the product, and receive money.  They are just happy to go home with money in their pockets.

 Groupement Head Honchos
Tough Cookies

There are over seventy-five women who belong to the ‘Femme Groupement Association.'  None of them speak French, only a few words of greeting.  All speak Ewe.  I have work to do to earn their trust and respect.  Right now, I'm just a novelty.  They really don’t have much use for me since I don’t speak their language, so little by little I’m getting to know them and getting to know about their businesses.  This is going to take time and patience.

The Maker of Kings

Preparing a meal

On one of our “promenades” through the village, Alougba and I stopped at this family's compound.  The woman was, as is the norm, busy preparing a meal.  When I entered their compound I said my Ewe greeting, "Jo-bee-doe," and then as they often do, they started talking full-out Ewe.  I've been told that when I don't understand what they are saying, just say, "annnnnhhhhh," which I do, a lot.  The woman called her husband out from behind a walled off portion of the compound.  He was so welcoming and happy to see us.  “Whiz-unnnn-lowwwwwww,” he said, which is welcome to my home in Ewe, to which I replied, “yo-o-o-o-o-o.” The appropriate reply, which translates to, “thank you very much for welcoming me.”

An artist poses

He had seen my camera, and that I was taking photos.  He immediately motioned me back to his workshop.  His wife and a few other people who were there followed us.  They were eager to see what would happen next. He was very proud to show me that he was the maker of the Chief’s many crowns.  He showed them to me, and laughed, and he made it clear that he wanted me to take his picture, but first he wanted to set the scene.  He first went over to his workbench and pretended to be working; he was posing, and waited for me to snap his picture.  Then he laid several of his works of art (crowns) out on a bench, and asked me to take a photo of them.  Finally, without prompting he put one of the crowns on and wanted one last picture.  Each time I took a picture, I would show him the results on the little screen of my camera.  Oh…. how delighted he was!

A group admires a crown

A 

They were such a fun couple.  The thought occurred to me while I was watching this man and his wife, how loving, sweet, and playful they were with each other.  The wife obviously was proud of her husband and of his work, and she took joy in watching him show me his works of art.

I liked them a lot, and will return.  I loved his face…don’t you?

The King Maker

My First Dinner Party in Tchekpo

I had promised to invite Toussaint (I’ve been spelling his name TwoSain since we met, and recently discovered it was spelled Toussaint, so I will start using the correct spelling.) and his family over for a meal.  They live just up the road from me about two city blocks distance.  Toussaint has helped me with so many things since I arrived in Tchekpo.  I wanted to repay his kindness.  Toussaint loves his family; that is evident.  I admire how hard he works, and how much he does in the community.  He teaches primary Catholic school in a neighboring village, thirty miles away, and rides his bike to and from work every day.  His moto broke down, and he can’t afford to fix it right now. When I asked him to bring his family for lunch, he was very happy.  He double and triple checked the time and date with me for the week prior to the lunch.  We had settled on Sunday at 1pm.  Sunday after church seemed like a nice time to have them over.

Toussaint is very involved in the Catholic Church in Tchekpo.  He took me to his church when I first arrived in Tchekpo, introduced me to everyone, and made sure that I had a front row seat.  He works with the church youth groups, sings in the choir, and he reads some of the prayers during the mass.  He also has quite the cute dance moves, when they all get up and have a procession through the church during the offertory.

I fretted over what to cook for them.  Not knowing what they might and might not like, and also not knowing if what I cooked would turn out well.  Aloughba and Toussaint had been to my house for impromptu dinners, but this was different.  I wanted this to be special.  I decided to prepare Spanish rice.  It seemed like something I could do, something they might like, and also maybe slightly different than their daily fare, yet not too different.  Togolese eat a lot of rice and tomato sauce concoctions; this just had a little different twist to it.  On Saturday I walked to the marche, and picked up all the ingredients I didn’t already have.

Toussaint, Celestine, Philomene and Desire

I went to church on Sunday, and got home about 11, which gave me about two hours to prepare the meal.  I made Spanish rice, a tomato and cucumber salad with oil and vinaigrette dressing.  I also made garlic toast, and tapioca pudding for desert.  I put a tablecloth and flowers on the table.   Toussaint is somewhat overly eager about everything, so I wasn’t surprised that he and his family showed up at noon instead of one.  I was pretty much ready for that.  (I really wanted a whiskey sour about now, but settled for grape Crystal Lite.) Toussaint’s wife’s name is Celestine; his daughter is Philomene; and his son, Desiree.  They are a beautiful family, inside and out.  Celestine, is quite beautiful, and  has a radiant smile, which both Philomene and Desiree have inherited.   I had met Celestine a few times in the marche and also very briefly at their house.  Celestine sells ponja (African fabric) and flip-flops at the Tchekpo marche.   Celestine and I had greeted each other at church, but she was always very quiet and reserved.  I had wondered if maybe she didn’t like me.  Maybe I had taken up too much of Toussaint’s time.  But at the dinner she was very friendly.  She seemed very glad to be here for lunch.   During lunch I discovered she only speaks Ewe, which explained why she hadn’t talked much to me previously.  She didn’t say much during lunch but Toussaint would translate everything that was said…..and Tousssaint doesn’t really know much English, so again, communication was a mish mash of words, hand waving, laughing and pointing.  The kids Philomene and Desiree were taking it all in.  Every time I would look at Philomene and Desiree, they would flash this delightful shy smile.

Dinner was nice.  Toussaint said a prayer before we started eating.   To my pleasant surprise, they seemed to really like the Spanish rice and all of the food, as they each had two or three helpings of everything.  There were no leftovers.  Celestine helped me with the dishes, and then they went on their way home.

Philomene and Desiree showed up at my door about an hour later.  I wasn’t sure why, but then I saw that they wanted to get into my basket of art supplies.  They stayed and colored and played with stickers for about an hour.

Toussaint told me that Celestine wants to have me over for dinner.

It was really, a very nice way to spend the Sunday afternoon.

The Yin and Yang of Lome

PCV Lounge in Lome

I think being a Peace Corps Volunteer in Africa helps me understand the concept of yin and yang; that almost everything you experience comes with the good and the bad.  Every day in Togo, and as Peace Corps Volunteer there are highs and lows.  It seems every day I have moments of bliss, and moments of despair.  Every trip I take in a bush taxi or moto has humor and horror, and when I go to Lome I experience energy and exhaustion, light and darkness.  Yin (the good) and yang (the bad).

I recently returned from two days and one night in Lome.  I will be going to Lome at least once a month.  My monthly stipend is deposited into a bank in Lome, so I have a reason to go there at least once a month.

Peace Corps Headquarters - Lome

Yin of Lome:  I look forward to going to Lome because I get to visit the Peace Corps Headquarters, where I meet and socialize with other PCV’s who have come to Lome for a variety of reasons.   There is a lounge at the PC Headquarters where Peace Corps Volunteers gather.  The lounge includes a library where PCV’s exchange books.  The lounge is air-conditioned…woohoooooo!  There are comfortable couches and chairs, and a wireless connection for computers with a much better speed than anywhere else in Togo.  It’s the only place I can open photos that have been emailed to me, or even look at photos on Facebook.  The lounge also has two desktop computers and a printer.  I’ve been there several times now, and I always meet at least one or two PCV’s I haven’t met before.  There is an instant rapport between PCV’s, and usually you end up going to lunch or shopping or sharing a bush taxi home with one of them, and then you have another new friend.  It’s always interesting to hear the stories about their particular experience; why they joined, where their village is, how their French and local language is going, how long they’ve been here, and what they plan on doing when their service is over.

Yang of Lome: I don’t like Lome because it is a dirty, huge, chaotic city, with too many people and lots of ugly crime, like child prostitution and hard drugs, and it’s filled with unsavory characters.  It’s also a couple hours of bush taxi rides to get there and back.


Yin of Rachel:  My ride to Lome in the bush taxi was unrepentantly easy on this weekend.  I got to sit in the front seat, and for the first time, the bush taxi was not packed full.  I also met a lovely woman, Racheal, who lives in Tchekpo.  She spoke good English.  She was accompanying her father and mother to the hospital in Lome.  Her father used a cane, and looked as though he might have suffered a stroke at some time.  When I inquired about him, Rachel said he was having trouble with his eyes.  When she talked about him, there was worry in her voice.  Racheal and I had an hour and half to get to know each other.  She is a nurse.  It was not hard to tell that she is a very good, compassionate nurse.  My daughter Andrea is a very good, compassionate nurse.  It’s easy to spot the good ones.  They speak about their work with passion and compassion.  Racheal and Andrea are the kind of nurse you would want taking care of you if you were sick.  By the time we reached Lome Racheal and I were fast friends.  I told Racheal about Andrea and Andrea’s work as a hospice nurse.  Racheal told me she had been working a long time for very little money, then one day her Director came to her and told her that he thought she did a very good job.  He offered her a big raise and permanent employment.  She was amazed at her good fortune about this.

I in turn explained to her about the Peace Corps and about what I was doing in Tchekpo.  Because she spoke good English and seemed so compassionate and interested, I asked her if she could help me with something.  I wrote in an earlier blog about my translator, Moses.  Moses is a good boy, and he will continue to assist me when he can, but he’s not available enough, especially now that school has started.  What I really need is an adult who wants to get involved in the community, and who also speaks English.  All Togolese think  #1 all Americans have a lot of money, and #2 that you might somehow be able to help them get to America.  Initially that is the reason 98% of them want to assist you with anything they can.  I explained to Racheal for me to be useful to the community, I must find a “partner” who speaks English and French, and can translate Ewe (the local language.)  I explained that I did not have a lot of money, and I couldn’t help anyone get to America.  A partner would need to want to partner with me for one reason and one reason only, and that would be to help the community.  I could see that Racheal completely understood, we exchanged telephone numbers and she promised to find someone to help.  The ironic part of this story was that when I shared this information with Moses, Moses told me that Rachel was his senior sister.  I had not given Rachel the name of the boy who was helping me.  Small World.  I felt even better that Moses sister was also going to help, and Moses liked the idea too.

Yin of Ashley and Cat:  When I arrived in Lome, I went directly to the Peace Corps Headquarters.  I had arranged to meet Ashley and Cat there.  I hadn’t seen Ashley since our swearing in, though we had texted each other a couple times a week.  Cat has been here about nine months, and she is a spirited, lively young woman.  I met her at the swearing in party.  Ashley and Cat live in a different region than I do, but they have been brainstorming some women’s programs they want to start, and they want me to partner with them.  I like both of them a lot and am excited and pleased they want to work with me even though I’m in a different region of the country.  I spent most of Friday in the PC lounge with Ashley and Cat, visiting and laughing and catching up on everything.  They had been in Lome since Thursday, and were going home on that Friday afternoon, so I only had that day with them, but we packed a lot in; a little shopping in the marche, lunch, internet and visiting with other PCV’s who came in and out of the lounge…OH, also we had all received care packages, so we were sharing luxurious items such as bite size snickers, and M&M’s!  It was my intention to just spend Friday in Lome and go home late afternoon the same day, but because I spent so much time visiting with Ashley and Cat, I still had a lot to do.  I decided to spend the night in Lome.  I stayed in the same hotel that Ashley and Cat had stayed in the night before, and the same hotel that I stayed in during the swearing in ceremony.   The Gallion Hotel is within walking distance of the Peace Corps Headquarters.

Friday night jazz at the Gallion

Yin of the Gallion:  The Gallion is a typical third world hotel for travelers who are on a budget.  The rooms are similar to a really bad hotel in the States, maybe worse, but the food and service is good, and it’s fairly clean.   Fairly clean might be a relative statement.  Ashely woke up with a nasty spider bite after her stay there, and several of the PCV’s woke up with welts (from bed bugs) during swearing in.   The great thing about this hotel is that it has free wireless availability.  My room was on the second floor.  I shared a balcony with other rooms, however I was the only person who used the balcony that night.  The balcony overlooked the courtyard and this was a Friday night.  I had no idea that Friday night is jazz night at this hotel.  They had a fabulous four-piece band playin exceptionally good music all night.  So…Friday night I sat on my balcony, overlooking the courtyard, eating snickers, and listening to great live music.  Pay Dirt!!!  The real topper was that I was able to video Skype with Andrea, Emily and Kittie on Friday night and then Eric, E.J. and Dorothy on Saturday morning.  Again…Pay Dirt!!  I got to chat on Facebook with my goddaughter Jessica, and my friend Pam.  I had just received a care package from Pam and her husband Richard that very day, so it was really fun to be able to chat with her.  It was a great night, and I thought life was especially good!  That was the Yin.

My room at the Gallion.

Yang of Gallion:  I finally ended my Skype marathon at about 2am and I went to sleep curled up in a little ball in the middle of the bed, hoping that I would not wake up with a spider bite or welts from bed bugs.  At the time it seemed like a reasonable tactic.  It worked!  No bed bug bites, and no spider bites.   So maybe that was a yin/yang.

Yin of the morning:  The next morning I went down to the courtyard, set my computer up again, had the most delicious espresso, and egg omelet while leisurely working on my blog and waiting for the time that had been pre-set to video Skype with Eric, E.J. and Dorothy.  It made me so happy to see Eric and E.J. and my beautiful granddaughter Dorothy.  I had not laid eyes on any of them for almost four months.  We had a great visit, and it was almost, almost like being in the same room with them, though I longed to hug Dorothy.

Yang of the morning: OK…I might have taken notice at this point that Yin and Yang were seriously out of balance.  The Yin was greatly overshadowing the Yang.  I didn’t notice until I saw the ominous clouds forming (symbolically and in reality) just as I was getting ready to leave Lome.

Yin of the trip home:  After my too wonderful for words video Skype conversation with Eric, E.J. and Dorothy, I walked back to the Peace Corps Headquarters to spend a few hours.  I had met Becca, a PCV the day before.  She had to travel through Tesvie to get back home.  We decided to share a cab to the Bush Taxi stand and then share a bush taxi to Tesvie.  It would save money, and we could get to know each other.  She had been in and out of the PC lounge on Saturday, but we hadn’t had time to talk.  She had told me her village is in the Kara region, which is where my friend Dillon lives.  Becca has been a PCV for about a year, and she had met Dillon and loved him like we all do.  Becca was great.  We had fun traveling to Tesvie together - much better than going it alone.  Because I had received a couple care packages from home and went grocery shopping at the Yo-vo store while in Lome, I had a lot to carry back.  Becca helped me…as far as Tesvie anyway.  On the trip home I told Becca I was really feeling my age.  I’d only had a few hours sleep for the previous two nights, and I had all this stuff to carry, including my backpack with my heavy computer.  The trip from Lome to Tchekpo is arduous all by itself, without these added elements.   When we got to Tesvie, Becca and I parted.  I promised to come up to the Kara region soon to see her and Dillon, and to see the most northern part of Togo they both talk so fondly about.   We both got in different bush taxis at that point, and both had another hour or so to go.

Big yang of the trip home: The clouds were now impossible to ignore; it looked like rain.  When it rains here, it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.  The bush taxi I was in was bursting at the seams with people, cargo, babies and animals.  It was humid.  The taxi stunk.  It got very dark outside, and it started to rain about half way to Tchekpo.

Big, big, yang of the trip home:  I wondered and worried about how I was going to get to my home from the main road in Tchekpo and hoped the rain would be manageable for just another half hour.    It started pouring buckets, monsoon like rain as we drove into Tcheckpo.  The bush taxi stopped at the entrance to my little road and let me out. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you I was carryin over fifty pounds.

The Big Yang: As I stepped out of the bush taxi into the pouring rain, some neighbors who live on the main road waved me over.  They wanted me to take shelter on their covered porch until the rain stopped.  At that point I didn’t care how treacherous or hard it was going to be, I just wanted to get home, so I hoped they saw me wave through the downpour and I went on my way.   I don’t think I can accurately describe my walk home that day, but I’ll try.

One of the many garbage piles
along the road

I started to walk the road to my house.  It goes slightly uphill all the way, and it is a red, clay dirt rutted road.  On either side of the road there are piles of trash, some piles have been burned, and many times it’s just piles of trash, garbage, lots of discarded black plastic bags.  On a normal day I regularly see remnants of shoes/flip flops, pieces of torn clothing, cans, corncobs etc.  The chickens, goats and baby chicks feed off of this garbage daily.  The rain was so hard, that the middle of the road, which has many gullies, was flooded and the water was flowing very, very fast.  I was never in danger of being swept away as you are in a flash flood.  I don’t know why, but I knew that drowning was not going to be my demise.  I had about a half mile to trudge, and trudge I did.  There was no one else on the road because of course they knew better.  They also knew that the rain would soon stop and that the roads would dry up as quickly as they had flooded.  I, however, thought I needed to get home now…while I still could, lest I be stranded in some villagers hut for the rest of the night.  I thought it might rain forever.

So with my heavy backpack filled with my heavy computer and electronics, and my arms full of cumbersome sacks, I pushed through the fast flowing current and swirling, rapid, dark red water.  I could see shoes and clothing and unidentifiable items swirling on top of the water.  I cringed at the thought of what I was walking through, which was water filled with garbage and trash mixed with human and animal waste.  I could only concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, not the diseases I was surely exposing myself too.  When my feet sunk through the squishy consistence, I wondered if it was mud, or something else!   I happened to have on my favorite pair of Banana Republic short khakis.  I could see that the red clay was splattering all over them.   I had experience with wet red clay on my clothes before.  I had a passing thought that my slacks would be ruined forever. (Well I’m only human…come on, they were Banana Republic khakis!) Because I couldn’t see through the red dark water, I also couldn’t see where the ruts were.  I stepped in many of them.  Sometimes the ruts I stepped in made the water go up as high as my thighs.  Dense, red water, swirling with garbage and shit (to put it bluntly) up to my thighs, but I was almost home, I could see the yellow tint of my house in the distance, just maybe a block away, and then the rain started to slow down.  I saw three young boys walking towards me.  Now I was just dealing with mud.   My shoes became heavy from the mud that was accumulating.   I could now at least see my feet, but the sacks I carried were still painfully heavy.  My arms ached; my back ached.

If I’d had time, I would have cried, but I didn’t have time for that.  When I met up with the boys who were walking towards me, I shoved the two sacks into one boy’s arms.  I asked him if he would help me the rest of the way home.  "S’il vous plait," I said, "to the jeune maison!"  He took the sacks, but started jabbering something to me.  I thought he was asking me how much I would pay him.  I really don’t know what he said, but that’s what I thought, and I was in no mood for someone to be asking me for money, so I grabbed the sacks back from him and trudged the rest of the way by myself.  The boys stood there, and watched me, all the way home.  I could hear them jabbering, but it was unintelligible.  Who knows what they were saying?!   Maybe they were just trying to figure out what I wanted?  They were probably saying, “you stupid YoVo!  What the hell are you doing?”   I don’t’ know.

I made it to my house and immediately took my favorite khakis off, filled up a pail of water and soaked them.  I scrubbed and soaked and washed, and scrubbed and soaked and washed for what seemed like an hour.  I then filled another pail, boiled some water and took a warm shower, scrubbing my feet and my legs until they were raw.

Home at last!

Yin of home and a friend: I’m so glad this exhausting day ended with a Yin!  I had just literally collapsed in a chair when the telephone rang.  It was my friend, of over forty years, Pat.  There was never a better moment to get a phone call from home.  It was so good to hear her voice.  The previous two hours melted away as we caught up with each others Yin and Yang; on what had been happening in both of our lives since the last time we talked.  Pat was recuperating from hip replacement surgery the week prior, and the death of two beloved family members just months before.  She was doing well, despite all of her pain and loss. Talking to her put everything in perspective, and while listening to her my day became a distant memory, a minor annoyance, well maybe (smile).

Yin and Yang.

Men As Partners (M.A.P.)



Aloughba, Toussaint and Douve on the way to the M.A.P. conference

 Last week I and three of my village partners, (Alougba, Two-Sain and Douve) participated in a three day conference called M.A.P. (Men As Partners.) The conference was held in Zafi, a little village about ten miles from Tcheckpo. Every morning the four of us would catch a bush taxi to Ahepe, and then moto to Zafi, and every evening we would go home the same way. Participants came to this conference from six surrounding villages. There were about twenty-five participants, and five trainers. This is a very new program that was initiated in Togo by the Peace Corps. Basically it teaches men how to be more involved in their families lives, it shows them a better or different view of what their wives and women have to deal with on a daily basis, and it teaches women a better understanding of their men’s issues, fears, and the day to day internal conflict they experience as a man in Togo.



The conference kick-off was a fun, inter-active group exercise that illustrated the fact that we need to respect each other’s opinions, and the fact people naturally will have very opposing beliefs about issues.



The conference was amazing, professional, effective and well organized. The facilitators, Sekou, a one year PCV, and Rose, the Area Director for this Peace Corps Program were dynamic facilitators and speakers. They captured the entire groups attention. Everything was well planned out, with a doable agenda for all three days. I wondered how the concept would be perceived and how my village participants would react. It was a lot to ask, to have them spend three days away from however it is they make a living, travel to Zafi and attend this conference.

We broke up into groups and thoroughly examined several difficult issues they all experience, such as sexual harassment towards women, all different kinds of violence towards men, and how they deal with it. Excessive use of alcohol. The discussions were animated and pertinent. At the end of the second day, six groups of four people each put on a

sketch about a particular issue that had been discussed, debated and rehearsed. The sketches were performed in front of villagers from Zafi. At least sixty people from the little village of Zafi came to see the sketches. (This is one of the many things you have to appreciate about an event like this…that the Peace Corps Volunteers, not only put on a great and relevant conference, but they also got the whole village of Zafi involved in the conversation.) At the end of the sketches we had a question and answer session from the audience. The audience was engaged and asked insightful questions.



PCV Abby presenting me with my certificate



The last day of the conference was all about what were we now going to do with this information and insight. How/when/where are we going to bring this back to our individual villages. My three guests already have a calendar of future events for M.A.P. We will meet together soon, and decide how we will get the word out about the upcoming programs. They would like to put on one program a month for the next six months.  The facilitators and the participants each received a certificate for completing the program.



Toussaint - Proud New Trainer for M.A.P.

 In the wrap-up session, we went around the room and asked people for final comments about the conference. Toussaint said, “I want to take the information back and share it with my community, but first I see that I need to make changes in myself."


Zafi M.A.P. Class of 2010



M.A.P. (Men as Partners) A Peace Corps Success Story

 







Vignettes!

One Swallow Does Not a Summer Make!

Moses and I were sitting on a bench in Alougbas compound. We were waiting for her to finish making gari. I filled the time by explaining to Moses that I needed to find more people who wanted to be involved in the community. Alougba and Tou-sain and Moses are great, but I need input from more people. Moses in all of his infinite sixteen years of wisdom looked at me and said “One swallow does not a summer make.” “Huh?” I said, thinking I had lost him in translation. He repeated the sentence, and then proceeded to tell me that this was an African proverb and it meant one persons advice is not enough. One needs to get advice from many people. I just stared at him speechless at his insight. He smiled and said, “We will find more people!” “D’accord,” I said. Ok!

The Dichotomy of Moses

He is sixteen, the youngest of eight brothers and two sisters. His father died two years ago, which forced his mother to move from Ghana to Tcheckpo so that she could live closer to and have help from relatives. So Moses left his friends and the only home he had ever known at the tender and sensitive age of 14. Culturally the difference between Ghana and Tchekpo is stark. It would be like moving from inner city, New York City to rural Kansas.

Moses is a leader in his Catholic Church Youth Group, “for orphans,” he explained to me. By orphans he meant that these children have lost one or both parents. By my count, there were at least twenty kids. When the group gets together on Wednesday nights and Sunday afternoons, they have variety of projects. They sing and dance, and play the African drums, and put on sketches. They invited me to attend their group last Sunday. It was a lot of fun, and it was fascinating to see how Moses leads the group, and assures that everyone is involved and happy. The children’s ages range from three to twenty.

Moses likes to come to my house. He likes to listen to my iPod and drink my crystal lite and eat my snacks. Occasionally while I’m working at my desk he asks if he can stay and listen to my iPod while I’m working. He’ll sit in a chair, closes his eyes, and remains perfectly still for as long as I will allow. At times I will hear him humming a little or swaying a little to the music, but for the most part he is perfectly still until I tell him it’s time for him to go.

Good friends from home have sent me a variety of materials for art projects with the children. I keep everything in a big basket in my living room. Word has spread among the children in my neighborhood about the basket of wonderful things they’ve never seen before. They filter in and shyly go through the basket asking what this is, and what that is. I have stickers, and Crayolas, construction paper, magic markers, glue sticks, stencils, etc.

Moses found my basket one day. He brought each item out and asked me to explain. He was interested in the stencils and magic markers. I showed him how the stencils worked. He asked me if he could sit and work with the stencils for a while. He sat and colored the stencils meticulously for at least two hours. This brilliant boy, who speaks three languages fluently, sat coloring and was completely content and happy. He wanted to give the piece of art he made to me as a gift, but I told him to give it to his mother. He told me later that she loved it, and that it made her happy.

Voodoo

Voodoo has omnipresence in Tchekpo and in Africa. You hear, feel or see little signs of it everywhere. You get so used to the voodoo drums beating in the background at all hours of the day and night that the sound becomes almost part of the landscape.

The beat of the voodoo drums provides my African day or night with a musical score. Just as in a film that is well produced and edited, you rarely notice the musical score in the background. In a film musical score you shouldn’t notice when the music stops or starts. The music sets the tone, prepares you for what might happen next, builds tension, or fear or enhances humor and sorrow. I think the voodoo drums work in the same way.

I’m intrigued with the Voodooese (Moses said that’s what their ethnic group is called). They are everywhere, yet you feel rather than see their presence. One day as I was walking to Alougba’s house I ran into a Voodoo parade/celebration. It was around 4pm on a Sunday. I heard the drums first; they seemed louder and closer than usual. Then I saw a procession of maybe fifty people. Most of the people in the procession had streaks of white painted on their faces, arms and legs. The drums were loud and constant. The procession appeared to be surrounding five or six people who were wearing masks and bright colored clothes. These five or six people were also wearing brightly colored hats with brims all the way around, with strings hanging from the brims, down around their faces. All of the people in the procession were moving to their own beat of the drums. Villagers came out of their compounds and lined the road, watching respectfully and as curiously as I, as the Voodoo procession marched by.

I saw Moses later in the day, and asked him about the procession. He explained that he thought it was similar to a coming of age celebration for the five or six central figures. That made sense. Neither Moses nor anyone else who is not Voodooese understands more than the very basics of Voodoo. From what I’ve seen there is a tolerance, respect and maybe a certain amount of awe of the Voodoo ways and customs. There is certainly a reverent acceptance.

The Doll

I’ve noticed a few times little children carrying around very strange looking little dolls. They are carved out of wood, with painted hair, and they have bright colored clothes on. These are the only dolls I’ve seen, and really one of the few “toys” I’ve seen, so I always noticed them. The dolls bodies look a little like totem poles, by that I mean the bodies are somewhat distorted - short, and wide. They are wearing colorful African ponjas. The children who are carrying them look as if this doll is their most prized possession, and several have walked up to show me. One little girl, Adele, who has become a particular favorite of mine, has one of these dolls. She’s three or four with huge eyes and dimples, and a fearless, playful really happy personality. I've never seen Adele without her doll.

Alougba noticed my curiosity about the dolls. She explained that when twins are born, and one of them dies, which apparently happens often, the Voodooese make a doll for the surviving twin to keep with them forever to remind them of their sister or brother.

Tres interresant!