Most of my days in Togo are rather boring. I know what
you’re thinking, “But you live in Africa!” However, when there is no work to be
done (school is out for summer break) and your options are reading, cleaning,
hanging out at the bar slow slipping a coke, or sitting with my Chief de Canton;
then life can be pretty boring. The day I’m about to describe is not one of
those days.
It was a Tuesday, so I had plenty of work to do (actually
right now because of school being out Tuesdays are the only day I have work).
First I had my meeting with the Apprenties at my tailor/coutiere syndicate. My
homologue who translates my French into Adja never showed up, but I conducted
the meeting anyways. I had all the apprentices I sent Camp Unity stand before
their peers and explain all that they learned at Pagala. It made me so proud to
watch them speak with confidence and be so enthused.
Next, I went to the baby weighing/vaccination at my clinic
which happens every Tuesday in Asrama. I mostly help with the recording; registering
new mothers and babies, writing in their pamphlets what vaccination they
received as well as the babies’ current weight.
After that I thought the rest of my day would involve me
hanging around my house reading and maybe if I was ambitious enough maybe going
to the bar and drinking a soda. After taking my afternoon nap I got up and
decided to go into town and spend some time with my Chief and give him an update
on all my projects.
The second I left my compound I ran into my host mom. I had
just been with her at baby weighing since she works with the Red Cross. She ran
up to me and explained that there were eight new babies but that four had
already died. I was of course horrified because I thought she was talking about
human babies.
Confusion ensued until I realized she was talking about
piglets. My host family raises pigs and apparently while I was taking my nap
their newest additions were born. Everyone gathered around and we watched the
new piglets squeal and explore their new home. Though I’m not fond of their
parents (pigs are extremely loud and obnoxious even more so than goats) the
piglets were pretty adorable.
I enjoyed the time talking to my host family and explaining
what pigs are like chez-moi. My host mother asked me if I wanted a singe. That
one threw me. I searched my French vocabulary for the meaning of the strange
word. It sounded familiar, but it wasn’t until my host mother said it was an
animal that it clicked in my head. Do I want a monkey?!? I exclaimed in English.
My host mother then told me that a monkey would be an
excellent pet and that we had monkeys deep in the Asrama forest. She could have
my host brothers capture one if I wanted. She called my young host sister in string
of Adja and she came out the house carrying a bucket with a cloth on top.
I’ve been in Togo long enough that I watched that bucket
draw near with a little trepidation. “What is that?” I asked in French. My host
sister stopped with a big grin on her face and pulled off the cloth revealing a
rather large dead monkey.
The monkey was a light grey with darker grey around the eyes
and tail. Though I didn’t ask I assumed they were planning on either eating the
monkey or selling the meat at my host mother’s pate stand. Momma took the
monkey by the arms and made it dance. I was one part curious and two parts
really grossed out. Apparently my host brother had caught it that day in the
forest and killed it with rocks. Momma assured me that they are hard to catch,
and if I ever wanted one to let her know.
So even having lived in Togo for ten months . . . life here occasionally
still throws me a curveball.
