Lost in Translation

A week ago I was in Atapkame for Easter/Passover weekend to spend the holiday with volunteers and to go to the bank. I decided while I was there that I wanted to do some baking since we have a toaster oven at the maison and I had been craving cookies. So, there I was in the marche looking for the needed ingredients. I knew where to find all but one, flour. I entered the building and went straight to the women who sell dried goods (like rice, beans, and gari) thinking they were my best bet to find some flour.

After asking the first woman how she was doing and how was work and the family I asked her if she had “la fleur” and proceeded to describe flour as white powder used to bake bread. Her blank expression told me clearly she had no idea what I was asking for. However, Togolese people are extremely helpful so she called over another marche momma (this is a term volunteers use to call women who sell at the marche). I repeated the process to the new comer who also did not know what I was searching for. The two women conversed in local language for a few minutes before calling over a young man and I explained again that I wanted “la fleur” to bake with.

Somehow he thought I wanted bread (since I said flour is used to make bread) and he escorted me to the bread ladies. I told him that I wanted to prepare the bread myself. He was very sweet and offered to walk with me until we found someone who knew what it was or had it. I thanked him and said that it was not a big deal that I would look for it another day. Still, I was very touched at the lengths the women and the young man were willing to go through to help me.  

As a final last ditch effort I went to the local yovo store, Parmare’s, which is run by an Indian couple who speak English. I asked the woman if she had flour and luckily she did have a bag in the back. All the hard work had finally paid off and now I could make my chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. I purchased all the other ingredients and went back to the maison to start baking.

It wasn’t until much later that I realize that I had been asking for “la fleur” which is the French word for flower as in a rose is a pretty flower. What I should have been asking for is “la farine” which is flour that you bake with and what I should have been saying. I wonder if any of the Togolese thought it strange that I wanted to bake bread with pretty flowers.