Well, I was right about the privacy part but VERY wrong about the quiet part. As I mentioned before, sleep in Agou (even with earplugs) was very difficult due to the church bells, roosters, goats, crickets, frogs, etc. (There is even one early morning bird here that sounds like an alarm clock.) The fact that my host mother never slept (day or night) also didn’t help. My host father always kept the radio on at full volume (throughout the night) and, ironically, slept the most out of anyone in our house.
Funny side story: One night I got up at 2 AM to use the latrine and due to the total darkness, my host mother and I, both wandering across the courtyard, scared the crap out of each other. (For me, fortunately, not literally.)
“What are you doing?” She asked.
I wanted to say, in only the tone a child can use with her mother, “well, MOM, due to my fast pace toward the latrine at 2 AM, I’m about to go get sick!!!” …But, sadly, French is not my strength when I’m about to be violently ill. Instead, I repeated what she said. “What are YOU doing?”
My host mother shook her head, laughed, and responded, simply, “Oh, Emily…” What I can infer from that interaction is that I was supposed to know she didn’t sleep…EVER. I wanted to tell her she might have better luck if she broke my host father’s radio but my aforementioned problem prevented me from discussing this further with her.
Here's a picture of my host parents and two of my host sisters:
But, I digress. As I was saying, Agou was a noisy place. As you may recall, I had a mouse friend living in my ceiling in Agou. Well, I must have made a good impression on him because he called all his friends in Pagala to welcome me. I found, after a few days of pulling my hair out, that the only way to keep food safe was to put anything edibe (including crayons) in a metal casserole and put a brick on the lid. Thankfully, these formerly well-fed mice are quieter than their Agou pals.
One noise that has been added to the mix, however, is the call to prayer. My house in Pagala is flanked by two mosques. In general, I think Muslims pray five times a day. To announce prayer time at the mosque, they broadcast a message.
You know when you were little you would take the empty wrapping paper tube and put on a deep voice and make a pretend announcement? Well, that’s what call to prayer in Pagala sounds like. It sounds like a five year old is calling all the Muslims of Pagala to payer, in Arabic, through a wrapping paper tube. One time, I swear I heard him say “Mommmmma, what’s for dinner?” Either that or he said “Allllllllah, what’s for dinner?” I couldn’t be too sure.
Now, the interesting thing is that these two mosques have their call to prayer about fifteen minutes apart. My theory on why they do this is because there’s only one guy in Pagala who speaks Arabic and he has to run from one mosque to the other. Due to the fact that call to prayer can start as early as 2 AM (we’re in Ramadan right now), I’m often finding myself cursing under my mosquito net secretly hoping this guy will get lost on his way to the next mosque, providing me with enough time to fall back asleep before the next round at 5 AM.
Now as we all know from cartoons (or maybe just cornflake commercials), roosters crow at sunrise, right? Au contraire, mon frère. My very scientific roo-search proves otherwise.
FACT: Roosters crow throughout the day, often prompting me to yell, out loud, “You’re a little LATE!”
On more than one occasion when I have woken up to the early morning call to payer, roosters are already crowing. Which leads me to my next research topic: Which comes first- the rooster or the call to prayer? In a world with no alarm clocks do the roosters wake up the call to prayer guy or vice versa? Discuss.
Since we’re on the topic of sleep, (one of my favorite subjects), or lack thereof, it’s only fitting to share the story of how my new mattress came to be. When I was in Lome, I bought a mattress as there are none for sale in my village. The bed frame was left for me for the previous volunteer. By the time I made it to my post from Lome via bush taxi I was looking forward to a good night’s sleep chez moi. As we arrived at dusk, I took to setting up my new bed (#1 priority) right away in anticipation of the sweet dreams I was sure to have. As I unwrapped my mattress I discovered another problem (other than the mattress’ weight due to the absorption of water): the mattress was too big not only width-wise but length-wise as well. I made-do for the night but vowed to get the mattress fixed the next day. I rose early (thank you Mr. Wrapping paper tube) and rode my bike over to see my Togolese counterpart, Emmanuel.
After many salutations, I asked him if he knew someone who could cut my mattress. As it turns out, that happens to be Emmanuel’s trade. A few days later he sent an apprentice to measure the frame and take my mattress (via moto) to his shop. As most Togolese don’t sleep on mattresses, I was very clear with the apprentice (as I had already taken the measurements myself) that I needed a little room on all sides for my sheets and mosquito net. I showed the apprentice the measurements I had taken. He scoffed and took my mattress to the shop.
Two days later (after sleeping vrai Togoloese on the cement floor) my mattress returned. When I tried to place the mattress in its frame, it fit like a pair of skinny jeans does after a weekend of too many indulgences. It wasn’t pretty and, worse, it was still too big.
I sat down, feeling defeated. I cursed the gods. As I lay back for my one man pity party, I hit my head on something decidedly not a mattress part and yet decidedly something in my mattress. I decided to put my new Leatherman knife to use. I cut my mattress open to find...a MACHETE! After freaking out for a few minutes about the absurdity of the situation, I realized the gods had been on my side the whole time. I removed the rest of the mattress cover and proceeded to trim the mattress myself with said machete. Bon Travail, if I do say so myself.
After I was finished I did what any of you would do with a machete and a free afternoon. I whacked some weeds and then practiced my ninja moves.
I seem to have a knack for finding “surprises” inside things here. One time in Agou, I went to boil drinking water and as I began to fan the charcoal, something told me to open the lid. Inside was a fish swimming around.
“Mom! I called, “there’s a fish in here!”
“Hmmm…Your sister must have gotten the water from the river!”
I pulled the fish out with a cup and showed it to her and could see what was on her mind: Dinner.
It’s an animal, isn’t it?
Here’s a picture during my post visit to Pagala with the chief of my village.
If showing up at your assigned post for the next two years to be greeted by an OSU sweatshirt is not a good sign, I don’t know what is. I tried explaining to the chief that he was wearing a sweatshirt for my university in the United States but it was clear we wouldn’t be singing Hang On Sloopy together anytime soon.
You know all those clothes that you donate to Africa? Well those clothes are popular fashion here (think puffy sleeves, jellies and “Vote for Pedro” shirts). You can find “Dead Yovo” clothes, as they’re called, for sale on the street on every corner in Togo. The clothes are called “Dead Yovo” because Togolese can’t believe people that are alive would give away their clothes.
On my next visit to the chief, he wasn’t wearing an OSU sweatshirt, but he also wasn’t wearing a Michigan sweatshirt so I consider that a good sign. I greeted the chief, through his representative, in Ewe, the local language. As my chief speaks through a representative, the representative informed me we would be blessing my arrival and secure a healthy two years in Pagala. Then, out came a bottle of whiskey, enclosed in a box. Also enclosed in the box? A giant cockroach. I tried to keep in my laughs as I continued to move my eyes between the rep and the floor. (You’re not allowed to look the chief in the eye.) After we blessed my arrival with an 8 AM shot of whiskey, my chief asked (through his representative) if I knew any other Ewe words. I point at the ground and said the Ewe word for cockroach. After the chief stopped laughing, he reached out his hand and said directly: "Welcome to Pagala."
One word I don’t know in local language? Snake. Based on recent events, I have decided it is necessary to learn this word in ALL 10+ local languages. As I’m sure you can see where this is going, I will say this only once: If you are not interested to hear of my first snake encounter in Togo, I suggest you stop reading.
In general, I bathe twice a day here- once in the morning and once at night before I go to bed. My shower in Agou had no ceiling, providing beautiful views of Mount Agou at sunrise and many spotting of shooting stars at night. My shower in Pagala, however, had a roof. When I was visiting Pagala during my post visit, I thought to myself “this would be a good place for a snake to hide. It’s cool, damp and dark”. Because of this fear, my first week here I asked my counterpart if he could help me find a mason to take off the roof. Every time I brought this chore up, I got the reassuring, “sure, next time…” (This is a common response in Togo.)
My first week at post, I took an evening bucket bath (by candlelight) and went to sleep. I woke up and began my morning routine with a trip to the shower room. I was surprised to find evidence of a snake in the form of a snake skin. It was then that I decided the following:
1) A shower was not necessary that morning.
2) The roof needed to come off immediately.
I rushed over to Emmanuel’s on my bike and as soon as I said the word “snake” we took off on our bikes together to find a mason. Within two hours my ceiling was off all for the price of two US dollars. As Emmanuel was leaving, he handed me a giant stick and said, in a serious tone, “You should keep this in the shower room. If the snake comes back, just hit it with the stick.”
“hmmm…” I said, “If I see a snake again, maybe I could call you to help me?”
“Sure!” he replied. “Then we can eat snake together for dinner!”
“I’ll tell you what, Emmanuel, if you kill a snake in my house, consider it a gift.”
That night before bed, I went on snake patrol (as I have continued to do every night since). Now, if you ever feel the need to do snake patrol chez vous, I recommend the following course of action:
1) Carry a lantern AND a headlamp just in case one happens to go out midsearch.
2) Carry a bottle of insecticide (you never know what other creepy crawlies you may encounter).
3) Carry a big stick. (I'm not really sure what you would do with the stick but the Togolese seem to think big sticks are necessary.)
After checking for the potentially real monsters under my bed that evening, I tucked and re-tucked my mosquito net many times. As I lay in bed the jaws theme music began playing in my head. I was over-thinking every noise and every shadow provided by my lit candles. As I lay there, my final thought of the evening: We’re going to need a bigger stick.
