They Call Me Yovo

I love being in Togo in Africa. Every day I can’t help to think how cool it is to be here and what an opportunity I have. However, it’s far from perfect. It’s not easy being white in Togo and particularly a white woman. Most people here are wonderful and go out of their way to help, but there is another side of being an outsider here.

Yovo. That’s my name here. Children and adults alike call me yovo. In Ewe it means white person. Other languages have other names for white people, but in the southern part of Togo its yovo. I’ve heard the yovo song a thousand times, “Yovo, yovo, bon soire. Ça va bien? Merci”. You can google it and find it on youtube. Put it on repeat for a few hours and you might begin to understand what it’s like here. Sometimes instead of yovo I get “la blanche” (French for white). I ignore people who call me “la blanche” (and its always adults . . . usually men). When in village I correct children and adults when they call me yovo. I tell them I have a name and it’s not yovo. My name is Jennifer.

I think the heart of the matter is identity. I’m seen only for the color of my skin. People seem shocked and amazed when they see me. They may even touch me (especially my hair) if they are bold enough. Most of the time I don’t know if they think I’m even human. Its gets tiring the same thing day in and day out.

Sometimes when I’m in my yard cleaning dishes or washing my clothes the children in my village will gather at my fence and just stare at me. I had one little girl sit down at the entrance to my fence and sit there staring for thirty minutes. I asked her what she wanted, if she needed anything. However, she didn’t know any French and I don’t know Adja. I’ve been here for two months now and every day the children gather to stare at me. I’ve taken to keeping my dog, Swarley, outside with me when I’m doing work in the yard since he hates children and they’re terrified of him.

I have a lot of patience for the children staring and calling me yovo and singing when I’m out and about. But it’s different when they come to my home and do it. It makes me angry when I’m in my house and I hear kids rattling my front door shouting the yovo song. Or if I see them peeking through the gaps in my wood fence and hear “Yovo, donne moi l’argent” which translates to “white person give my money” That really makes me angry. I usually reply with. “No you give me money.”

I understand the children can’t help it. They are just repeating what they are taught. Yovo is just a word to them and has no meaning to them. If you told them the work for white person was “nanana-boo-boo” they would use it. If you go to Atapkame, the Plateau regional capital, they children do call you yovo. However, they are just as likely to start singing “Party! Party! Party!” when they spot you. Party? Who taught them that? Peace Corps volunteers of course. Just goes to show you that the children have no idea what they are saying. Most of the time they are just so excited to see you. Is it their fault you filled your patience quota for the song after the thirtieth time that day?