Tuesday, April 22, 2008

22 Avril - Français à la Togolais

My French is completely different than it was when I arrived here…language is a fascinating thing. My mom noticed it the first time she heard me say Merci to someone on the street while we were talking on the phone, about 2 weeks after my arrival. She gasped, saying Kira! Did you just roll the “r” in Merci?!

I quickly realized that no one could understand me when I swallowed and hacked out my Parisian/Quebecoise sounding R’s and rounded out the ends of my biens and bonjours. Much worse, people thought I was French! This is one of the biggest insults I can receive here, which I also quickly realized…when people find out I am American and not French (or Belgian or Swiss or another French-speaking, European country) they are thrilled. They are also always shocked that I speak French, which makes total sense, considering that Americans aren’t the world’s most renowned for embracing foreign cultures, particularly languages (must we remember Pat’s Steaks…)

The hesitation-bordering-on-full-out-disdain surrounding Les Françaises is partially due to the horrific legacy of colonialism, but more (as with most European countries) a result of their utter lack of effective development assistance and general interaction with modern Togo. However (and I have really heard this kind of praise from so many people here) when people start to go on and on about how wonderful Amerique is and all we do for Africa I can help but wonder…Don’t they remember slavery?! It really shows the desperation and trusting optimism for anyone who is here to help them…which makes me a bit sad, but at the same time does make me a bit more confident in the real impact of my country’s work around the world. IPA and my work at the UN jaded me a bit about the US’s contributions to the World Food Programme, USAID, African Development Banks, and the most well known international NGOs, which, for all of their shortcomings and disastrous faults, are there, when everyone else is gone, to care for the world’s most desperate populations. Sure, China provides instant gratification in the form of sandelettes and shiny cellphones, but at what cost? And what about sustainability? If there is no cost-benefit analysis that exists in their favor, there is no way they will go on. And most European countries can’t say that they have done either!

I’d like to think that what makes us different is our attitude, and that Americans, like me, have grown up in a culture of diversity and globalization, as opposed to the rampant xenophobia and racism that clouds so much of Europe’s much more recent past…but really, what about the lynchings that still go on in the Southern US? What about the silent and appalling segregation of our urban centers and schools? What about the fact that our economy would collapse in a day if it weren’t for illegal immigrants and Texans and (even East Coast Republicans!) still want to build a 20-foot-high wall to keep those damned Mexicans out…so maybe it is just some of us. But here in Togo, I have seen the impact of a few, and it makes me a little bit more content.

But back to our discussion of language, a much less loaded topic…or is it…

Influenced by Ewe, Kabye and other indigenous languages, Togolese French just sounds so cool (I know that isn’t so eloquently put, but I have no better words for it.) The West African accent, which I have completely taken on, is characterized mostly by the rolling of the “r’s” and by the tonal nuances taken from Ewe. Conversation is highlighted by woops and high-pitched sighs that signify excitement, surprise or frustration and a distinctive clicking in the back of the throat to express annoyance or anger (which is often substituted for a lip smack that sounds like it has been sucked back into the mouth.) When you are laughing too hard you draw out the 2 syllables “ah-WO!” while grabbing your burning abs.

The usage of French here very much reflects West African lifestyle and culture, manifested in commonly used phrases and slang. European/Conventional French sounds totally out of place here and I half recoil/half giggle when yovos use adjectives like “sympa” (nice) and “super!” and verb phrases like “faire le footing” (to go for a run.)

I have created a little dictionary below, of the most common ones, and I hope you all get as much of a kick out of it as I did making it :)
(the things I sometimes resort to when I have nothing to do and no electricity, haha…)

1. Ça va aller/ Ça ira
Literal translation: It is going to go/it will go
Meaning: This too shall pass; It will be ok
Usage: To provide comfort, strength and optimism through adversity; Any time from a cut on your finger, to a lack of rain, to a death in the family or a bad bout of palu, to generally feeling frustrated or disappointed; often used in conjunction with “Du Courage” (see below) This phrase is listed as number 1 for a reason, I hear it 800 times a day. I really see this phrase as a microcosm of life and reality in Togo – shit happens, but we’ll get through it, we always do. It is both beautiful and tragic.

2. Ou bien?
Literal translation: Or good/well
Meaning: Right? Don’t you agree?
Usage: Posed as a question and similar to the Canadian “eh,” this useful little phrase is often added to the end of a sentence to gauge consensus and others’ opinions of what you have just said. It is also used in reverse, as a response if you really agree with someone (“I know, right!?”) Robert, le Directeur d’Audit et Controle, is a big fan of throwing an “ou bien” at the end of his biggest points during trainings and presentations, to make sure that everyone understands his statement and/or is paying attention. People often use this phrase with me when saying (sometimes with a big grin, sometimes in utter seriousness,) “You’re going to leave that laptop with me when you leave! Ou bien?”

3. Il faut aller et revenir (Ewe : MaheMAva)
Literal translation: You must go and return
Meaning: Go so that you can come back!
Usage: Whenever anyone leaves in the morning, goes out to run and errand or is in a hurry to get somewhere. I put this one in Ewe too because it was one of the most important phrases I learned here. It is a striking testament to how people enjoy each others’ company and wish them well, so that they can return safely home (which is also sad, because life is hard, and simply making it through the day and coming home to your family can sometimes be difficult.) Daniel’s wife always says this to me in the morning when I scurry past the boutique, trying to get to work on time amidst the flurry of greetings.

4. Du courage
Literal translation: Of courage
Meaning: Be strong! You’ll get through it.
Usage: Often employed as a little joke when people complain unnecessarily about the heat or a mosquito bite (usually directed at me…haha,) “Du Courage” is similar to “ça va aller,” but is used more specifically to express understanding of suffering and to provide, literally, courage, strength and endurance. This is used to encourage someone with a tough job (aka a woman who has to walk 5 miles into town every day from her village with a huge bucket of tomatoes on her head, a baby tied to her back and 2 toddlers trailing behind her,) whose child is sick or whose entire livelihood has just been destroyed in a bush fire.

5. On es là?/Tu es là ?
Literal translation : One is/You are there ?
Meaning: Are you ok? Is everything good?
Usage: Anytime someone looks confused, troubled, tired or otherwise spacey; often used when it is particularly hot, the electricity has been out for hours, or someone has made a long trip. This phrase is also a good example of the West African use of “on” (one,) which is more often than not used in place of “je” (I) or “tu” (you.) I have started doing this a lot too – instead of saying “Je vais manger” (I am going to eat,) I’ll say “On va manger” (One will eat.) As I said, language is a fascinating thing…

6. Doucement
Literal translation: Carefully
Meaning: Be careful/Go carefully
Usage: Whenever someone revs their moto too agressively, trips, bumps into their desk or falls and breaks their leg (note that there is no discerning between the pains involved with these things…one of the peace corps girls went on about this angrily, saying how it drives her crazy that when she is in pain from stubbing her toe the Togolese will simply say, “Oh hunny, doucement!”) I think it is hilarious. Needless to say, people say this to me numerous times a day, in my graceful state, tripping over cords and tree roots, knocking over chairs and struggling with the FECECAV gate. I’m sure you’ll all love this, and I will never live it down, but due to my constant poise and elegance, Athanase has taken to calling me “Gracia.”

7. Bonsoir
Literal translation: Good evening
Meaning: Good “afternoon”
Usage: Anytime after 11am. In Kpalimé, if it is possible that you have already eaten your midday repas or have just said Bonjour too many times already, it is perfectly legitimate to start saying Bonsoir. I was initially very confused by this phenomenon, but now have started doing it myself, shocking every European I meet, greeting them with a Bonsoir! at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. The Togolese nature of this trend is also apparent in its use in the children’s song, “Yovo yovo bonsoir! Cava bien? Merci!” that they chant in a sing-songy, nursery rhyme type melody anytime I walk past – even if it is 8am.

The Ewe that I have learned is a testament to not only how we quickly learn “useful phrases” in other languages (just like the little guides found in Barnes and Noble,) but also to what these phrases are in Ewe and what it says about the culture here. Meeting someone, seeing someone for the first time in the morning and saying goodbye for the evening are long-winded, As I have already mentioned (in reference to the African businessmen,) conversations are characterized by incredibly long introductions – “Good morning Director, how are you? Did you sleep well? And you health? How was the voyage?” (I now know how to say all of these things, as well as their responses, and absolutely love the looks on peoples’ faces when I am able to have a petit conversation with them in Ewe.)

This definitely says something about Togolese relationships, in that people do care about each other in a different way here – can you see anyone on the subway in New York, even if I knew them well, asking me every morning how I slept the night before? On a different note, it also indicates the fact that everyone cultivates relationships in a careful and calculated manner. Everyone knows everything about everyone else and often wants or expects something from everyone else (often because no one has very much…)

I have really enjoyed being immersed such a captivating linguistic environment, and am really going to miss it…I am sure that when I come back I am going to be surprised by something and let out a swooping ah-WO! and everyone is going to look at me like I am a martian…

Thursday, April 17, 2008

16 Avril – Assemblés Générales and Solar Systems

So since I haven’t written a blog in a while this is seriously long…Mom, I know you’re the only one who will make it to the bottom, haha, but thanks to all who are still checking in here! I love sharing all of this with you and I hope that one day you’ll get through it.

We are in the midst of the sequence of annual Assemblés Générales. There are 5 scheduled in the next 3 weeks (what luck!) Les Assemblés Générales are the crux of a Microfinance Co-op like FECECAV. They represent the basic and moral principles on which the organization itself is built upon, and are the most significant event in each bureau’s annual calendar. In literature and theory about Microfinance, AG’s and the like are alluded to as almost mythic presentations of the ideology of Microfinance and showcases of the doctrines of the Cooperatif. FECECAV’s organizational structure and credibility as a Social Business relies on the fact that the borrowers themselves are the patrons of the organization. FECECAV belongs to its clients. FECECAV exists because they make it work. The Assemblé Générale is an annual gathering for all of the clients of each FECECAV caisse.

I will now take a moment to comment on FECECAV’s eleven branches – if only on their names, because I think they are so symbolic. Literally. Each caisse is called CECAV (Caisses d’Epargne et de Crédit des Associations Villageoises, Loan and Credit Banks of Village Associations – it makes much more sense in French, but you get the idea) and the “FE” at the beginning of the organization’s formal name, “Faitiére des Entités,” (literally, the maker of entities) is employed to group all of the CECAVs together. Finally, I understand this acronym. But the English version just doesn’t capture it…

Each CECAV is accompanied by a word, in French or Ewe or a mélange of both, that intensely exemplifies the essence of FECECAV’s impact and its mission. Once again, the English translations won’t fully portray it, but here it goes:

• CECAV Avenir (The Future) – Kpalimé
• CECAV Espoir (Hope) – Aventonou
• CECAV Duanenyo (La village/localité ou tout va bien; The town/place where all is good) – Danyi
• CECAV Nevame (Ca soit accompli; It will be accomplished) – Womé
• CECAV Fraternité (Brotherhood) – Lomé
• CECAV Fidelité (Fidelity) – Adéta
• CECAV Solidarité (Solidarity) – Amoussokopé
• CECAV Enyo (C’est bon ; All is good) – Atakpamé
• CECAV Yayra (Bénédiction ; Benediction/Blessing/Approval) – Lomé
• CECAV La Grace (Grace) – Assahoun
• CECAV Abwe (Enyo; C’est bon; All is Good) – Badou

Interestingly, there is a complicated and hidden dynamic underlying the relations between these offices due to the laws surrounding mutuels in Togo. The government set up a system of regulations to govern these institutions, which have multiple branches and offer both loans services and savings accounts. In theory, these regulations work in the interest of protecting clients’ savings. In reality it does not necessarily endorse or enforce these kinds of good practices and instead acts as serious obstacle to efficient intra-organizational collaboration and functionality. Each branch of FECECAV is, by law, an autonomous institution that could at any time choose to separate from the larger structure and become its own institution. Not only does this create a nightmare for centralization of data and other practical concerns, it generates a vacuum of power, complex battles for influence and ambiguous as well as superfluous roles within FECECAV. The very idea of authority becomes convoluted. Each Chef d’Agence (General Manager/Branch President) wields significant clout, as do his clients. Once again a great idea, in theory.

Daniel is the “CEO” (“DG” as they call him, Directeur Général) and should have the ultimate command of all the other branches, if only for efficiency’s sake! In theory, he does, but the national laws restrict his ability to organize and implement. Imagine the CEO of Chase Bank being at the mercy of every General Manager and his flock of account holders and having to compromise with them on every policy and process change…this is one of the big reasons why things take so long here sometimes…and why things get watered down, simplified or simply not done...this is also why each branch works towards its own objectives and targets without much regard for the general, far-reaching strategy of FECECAV as an entity. This is not sustainable…

It also makes Kiva work hard, as it is difficult for Daniel to implement new processes for centralizing data and use of IT systems throughout the FECECAV branches, and importantly, to choose which branches will submit loans to the site. All of the Chefs d’Agence are in a covert battle with each other to receive the next donated camera and the opportunity to post loans on the Kiva site, as the free money obviously improves their numbers. This kind of intra-organizational competition in a Microcredit Bank seems very dangerous to me…

But back to the Assemblé Générales…Daniel explained their essence to me in detail a few weeks ago when he invited me to attend, and asked if I would be willing to speak for 2-3 minutes (I elatedly accepted of course.) The first was last week, in the mountain village of Danyi.

It works like this – FECECAV convokes all of the clients of Danyi’s Bureau, Duanenyo, through word of mouth, personal invitations, radio and press. Daniel explained to me that clients’ attendance at the AG’s is their right, and FECECAV makes every effort to ensure that they are informed. It is not obligatory of course. The purpose of the Assemblé is, in a nutshell, to present the rapports (financial and otherwise) of 2007, to present the workplan for 2008, to have elections for new leaders and to generally celebrate the notion of clients as proprietors and the successes of their thriving microfinance organization. The meeting itself is followed by a lunch, complete with music and dancing, Fufu, Flags and Castels and much revelry.

The elections take place to vote in new presidents. Each caisse has 5 presidents that serve for 3 years. The presidents, clients themselves of course, serve as liaisons between the CECAV staff and the rest of the clients. They are leaders and advocates for the clients and work in tandem between the functions of the bureau and clients’ daily lives in order to implement developments, resolve issues and, by their mere existence, ensure accountability. It is an interesting and fundamentally democratic role – both a patron and a client, elected by both patrons and the clients, to serve both patrons and clients (which all essentially embody the same function, work towards the same goals and are held to the same obligations and regulations – underlined by mutual respect, cooperation and commitment.) The presidents are selected for their performance with their own businesses, conscientiousness and responsibility, and of course their personality. Each president serves for 3 years and elections and terms are staggered so that only 2 presidents can ever leave at the same time, ensuring that knowledge and experience will be left behind, but that there is a constant flow of new blood and invigoration.

Unfortunately, the irony of it all is that these presidents, and their respective boards, are not the most qualified, nor engaged, to be deemed “advisors” or “board members” in any true sense of the word(s)...after spending enough time with the president of the board of CECAV Avenir, I am not convinced that she understands anything beyond the prestige she has gained in her community by having a stamp made with her name on it. It is a shame that it is more symbolic than anything else…because its very existence is essential and the theory behind it is better than almost any organizational structure in the developed world – even more beautiful because it embodies the nature of community that defines this place.

On the morning of the AG, at 6:45am, proudly wearing my pagne, I sleepily walked over to the FECECAV gate, shocking Koffitse with my early arrival (and my outfit) and walking into the front yard expecting to see Daniel, the car and others ready to go. The AG in Danyi was meant to start at 8am, and it is over 50 kilometers away. I therefore assumed we would leave by 7 at the latest…wrong…Louise was the only one ready to go, haha (and this is because she is Daniel’s assistant and has to at least appear punctual) but she knew we wouldn’t leave for at least an hour or so. Others were busily working, as most of the office is here and running by 7am (if there is electricity.)

Daniel sauntered in around 9, a short sleeved olive green suit whose pant legs were a bit too long, and bunched up around his black sandals. We left at 9:30, heading towards Adéta, a drive that has actually become very familiar – through the outskirts of Kpalimé, past men and women and children carrying on their heads everything from books, massive buckets of water and bananas, to palm branches and entire trunks…past the piles of multicolored sheet-rock for sale outside of Lavié, through the village of Lavié itself, the tiny FECECAV caisse winking at us as we pass, Yao blaring the horn to scare goats and half-naked children…past the women under parched palm-leaved roofs with sleeping babies strapped to their backs, distractedly rearranging enamel trays of avocados, soap and batteries…past the open fields of termite castles, burning or newly planted yam fields, perfectly symmetric rows of their characteristic mounds mocking the lack of rain, the mountains rising at their backs…past the arbitrary, peeling signs for decaying primary schools of past decades, tiny fruit stands and mud huts…past the gendarmie and the naughty village boys who set up makeshift road blocks with cord and strips of old, dirty t-shirts, yelling for argent or a ride somewhere (not that I think they know where they want to go, just anywhere but there)…into the dusty and dirty town of Adéta. We continued through Adéta and towards the fields of palm trees that layer the ground at the foot of the mountains. It is quite a striking panorama, looking down the road past CECAV Fidelité at the horizon, dotted with splayed palm and banana leaves, that seems to run smack into the mountains and the road that carves up their side. You can almost feel their fraicheur and lushness from that far away. I hadn’t been up these mountains before, and although they are similar to Kouma, I was exhilarated by a new place, foliage of a deeper green (which might be simply a result of more rain) and soil of a different color.

We wound up and around the mountains, overlooking green facades bursting with palm and banana trees (these have not gotten old yet, I still love their exoticness,) patches on every face smoldering as farmers prepared the land for planting. Thick ribbons of smoke, the deep and murky kind produced by the burning of green leaves and undergrowth, rose from each valley and summit like distress signals. The villages at the top of the mountain were cool and clean, freshly swept yards and streets of damp, red dirt – much different even from Kpalimé and the villages at the base of the mountains with their dusty power and discarded plastic littering every quartier.

After a quick stop at the FECECAV office we went to meet the préfet (the mayor) of Danyi, who would be speaking at the AG and to whom customary greeting and kow-towing must be made. We arrived at his compound at the top of a hill overlooking Danyi and waited while a few proud gendarmie prepared him to receive us (which was really a presentation of his ability to hold us at bay while another went to see if he was interested in gracing us with his presence.) We filed into his office amidst a flurry of Monsieur-Directeurs, Grand Mercis and finger snapping. I was introduced, the prefet was thanked for “hosting” the AG and within 3 minutes we were ushered back out to Yao, waiting in the vehicule.

The Assemblé itself was held at a beautiful mansion that looked like an old missionary compound, covered in bright red and fuchsia bougainvillea climbing trellises, framed by enormous, ancient palm trees. It must have been built by European colonists because it was very old and built almost entirely of stone, not the typical, indigenous materials. Around 50 motos were parked outside, lined up like rows of schoolchildren. A shaded cobblestone path, semi-covered in moss and weeds (a testament to the wetter environment up here on the mountain) led back to a crumbling statue of the virgin mary and an dilapidated gazebo. The Agents de Credit and others from the Danyi office were thrilled to see me, as I am now becoming familiar and friendly with more and more of FECECAV’s extended staff. This absolutely warms my heart :)

There were far more men than women in the crowd of about 200 people that filled the meeting hall (this didn’t really shock me, considering that most of the women were most likely running their small businesses, taking care of their children and couldn’t afford to take the afternoon off.) Ivorian music crackled out of some busted speakers placed next to the door and we shook hands with several CECAV-Duanenyo staff members lined up in a sort of receiving-line as we entered the hall. The front row of the audience was occupied by the traditional village chiefs, dressed in the customary pagnes and boubous, slouching in plastic chairs and leather sandals while fiddling with their cellphones – that paradox almost made me laugh out loud. These chiefs, although quintessentially archaic in their symbolic role, still maintain a high level of prestige and authority in Togolese towns and villages. They are heavily involved in issues of justice and claim to, alongside the préfet, uphold the moral statutes of law and order.

The entire first part of the AG was “Welcoming Remarks,” fairly typical of these African directeurs and ceremonies (I have come to expect this now, as well as the 3 hour late start.) After the president of the Danyi caisse and Daniel, who discussed grandly the importance of each CECAV as a part of FECECAV, FECECAV’s part in the Togolese national strategy for Microfinance as well as its stark contrast from state programs (“FECECAV n’est pas comme la poste! Les profts sont pour vous!) and encouraged Danyi’s clients to keep up their good work. Each speech was recorded on an antique cassette player, held one inch from their mouths by a tired-looking woman standing next to them. (NB: As an ex-Event Coordinator, I was continually distracted by my comparisons of the A/V capacities of this, the largest annual meeting for CECAV-Duanenyo, and IPA’s exorbitantly expensive “Expert Consultations” and “Roundtable Discussions” at the Greentree Estate every other month. At first I couldn’t decide whether to be utterly disgusted or to laugh – I quickly settled on the former.)

I made my “speech” next. I had prepared it and practiced the night before for Athanase. Its main purpose was to provide motivation as a representative of a partner organization, to explain Kiva in a (very) simplified manner and to end on a note of hope and enthusiasm. I obviously did not have a hard time with the enthusiasm bit and, since I am not shy haha, had no problem getting up there and engaging with my audience. I was introduced by the Chef d’Agence of Danyi who, as usual, took the opportunity to poke fun at the Kiva-Kira coincidence – everyone gets such a kick out of it. With the tape recorder just beyond my lips I smiled and began.

“Je suis une représentante d’une ONG Américaine, Kiva, qui mobilise les fonds sur un site internet pour les organisations de microfinance comme FECECAV. J’étais déjà ici depuis un mois et demi pour supporter le travail sur le site et de voir l’impact de FECECAV, et la microfinance, sur le terrain J’ai eu l’opportunité de travailler à Kpalimé avec CECAV-Avenir, et j’ai visité aussi beaucoup d’autres bureaux. Je suis très contente d’être ici à Danyi aujourd’hui.

Depuis le commencement de l’association avec Kiva en Décembre, plus de 150 clients de FECECAV ont reçu un totale d’environ 50,000,000CFA de l’ONG Kiva. Tous l’argent était envoyer au taux zéro. Ce numéro va augmenter, et chaque caisse va avoir la chance de bénéficier des fonds. Ces fonds viennent des préteurs Américaines (et Canadiennes) qui veulent vous aider à changer votre vie. Ils vous donnent les moyens à le faire vous-mêmes. Voilà l’impact de la microfinance – c’est à vous! Avec Kiva, FECECAV a commencé à développer les rapports partout le monde. L’importance des partenaires globales ne peut pas être sous-estimée, et je vois le rapport avec Kiva comme un commencement de quelque chose beaucoup plus grand.

Chaque fois que je fais une visite à une nouvelle branche de FECECAV je suis toujours impressionnée par l’importance de votre travail, vos accomplissements, et la diligence des employés et clients. C’est vous, les clients engagés de FECECAV, qui créent le destin de cette organisation incroyable, et il faut être fier! Je vous souhaite du courage, de continuer votre bon travail, et de continuer à achever les vrais buts de la microfinance. Vous m’avez tellement inspiré, et j’espère que vous allez continuer avec l’optimisme que je vois en tout le monde ici. Merci pour l’opportunité de travailler avec vous, et pour voir comment vous décidez votre futur et réalisez votre rêves."

Daniel was beaming and told me I should be a politician, laughing at the hilarity of his sarcasm. My speech was followed by a translation in Ewe, where I understood only two words, Kiva and Kira (once again, the joke, and the audience laughing,) the clients seemed to get the true essence of my words and nodded, smiled and clucked in satisfaction.

After a lunch of Ablo and spicy tomato/mystery meat sauce with the Chiefs and other “officiels” and a personal gift of a bag of pineapples from the Chef d’Agence of the Danyi caisse (why don’t I like pineapples, I don’t understand…but it’s ok, Mensah used them for the FECECAV party on the weekend,) we made the winding trek back down the mountains, past the termite mansions and through a massive rain storm back home to Kpalimé. That night was characterized by something that can be called nothing other than an invasion, of termite-like bugs with double the number of wings…

* * *

For the rest of my time with FECECAV (which will now be until the end of May, when my visa expires and I run out of malaria meds) I am going to finish the Kiva Manual and follow up on the IT processes that were elaborated on and organized during Carol’s visit (see the upcoming blog for more on that one) but mostly work on the preparations for the solar project and anything else they need around the office. This is actually quite liberating and kind of what I felt I wanted to be doing here all along…but as far as the solar thing goes, it is almost maniacally inspiring…can this really be so huge as to change the direction of my life? Will the next 5 years of my life work towards developing an NGO of my own – sprung from my Dad’s knowledge, guidance and expertise, catering to my apparent lack of ability or interest in committing myself to others’ organizations enough to actually work for them? Allowing me to criticize as much as I want, continually improve and do something that satisfies my desire to do something that WORKS? Can it be? Once again (Koffitse has told me that this is “my phrase”) on verra.

I helped Olivier write a CV in English and am going to do the same for Athanase. I can just be here, as myself, helping my friends and colleagues as they want me to help them. No ulterior motives (wherever these come from anyway, certainly not my own mind…) no aggressive supervisors with mysterious intentions and corporate mentalities, no miscommunication and moral wish-wash. Just me, taking each day as it comes while working towards a grand vision of something stimulating and REAL – which is apparent to everyone here and to myself. I can live with that.

When it comes to the solar project, it is something tangible (like a zero-percent interest loan, in theory) and effective, without predetermined expectations or intrusions of ideas of development, work ethic or morality – not that we will develop a foreign policy like China or anything, there are certain limitations and finding out what this means will require a dangerous and moral balancing act on a thin, vague line of integrity and common sense. I foresee this as one of my biggest challenges, one whose concept is not even entirely worked out in my head quite yet…These PV systems will power existing enterprises (businesses with social missions of course, most likely Microfinance Institutions, because we will have to narrow it down for many reasons) without any significant compromises – yet.

I am sure we will come across compromises, as I have with Kiva, but these will have to be ironed out in a careful and thorough manner (which, in my opinion, is one of Kiva’s biggest weaknesses and they have instead accepted the costs with the benefits.) The give and take will be a challenge and I am sure that certain concessions will indeed be required in order to succeed. However, this to me does not mean necessarily “finding a middle ground.” We can do better than that! Acceptance of costs in exchange for benefits that can in any way, shape or form be seen to equalize each other (or even come close, which would be straying too far from the initial goal of pure, uncontaminated assistance) is just unacceptable. Not good enough. Why bother if this will be the case? This is why I am going to have to do it myself, and I am so ready.

Daniel has started to realize that I’m not joking about all of this, that I’m not some empty-promising yovo who is going to split without finishing what I start. He is so happy, so encouraged and gets a far off look in his eyes and cries that Ewe “ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo” every time he realizes what some solar panels on the roof of CECAV Avenir would actually mean…he told me that I am “un cadeau qui dieu a donné au FECECAV,” which from him is a magnanimous compliment. He is behind me 100%, different than his support for me being a Kiva fellow (which was equally jubilant, just different) because he senses something in me. That I want to do this on my own accord, and I have a love for everyone here and the essence of this place that is sincere, that I have something inside of me that is special and real and has been waiting to emerge, and that I may have found it.

So in terms of actually making it happen and then making it sustainable…

As I have been thinking and writing and thinking and talking to people and writing and thinking some more about this project, I have come to realize that there is really no way we can do it as a completely private venture without a real consultative and collaborative relationship with someone/some department fairly high up in the Togolese government. Although I do want to keep this a “local affair” and try not to get caught up in the bureaucratic nonsense of cabinet ministers and the tightly wound policies on privatization and natural resource management, I see a degree of cooperation as semi-unavoidable if we are going to do this right. I hope we are not going to open up a can of worms that will be far more than we bargained for…

I came up with the idea of channeling our project through the National Strategy for Microfinance. This is a highly developed program here in Togo and many of their goals and social missions for MFIs, are centered around an IT strategy. I am hoping that if we can convince them that the introduction of a Solar Energy program (our project being the start) will in turn help them to achieve their goals of the proposed informatisation of rural MFIs. I have done some research on this already and have run it by a few of my colleagues, who all think that this is the best way to get the project off the ground.

Now I anxiously anticipate my Dad’s arrival, to evaluate the technical aspects of the system in terms of size and usage, the installation itself and other such details. I cannot wait to see his reactions to this place, the project seen in real time and space and to get started.

Enough ramblings and rêves for today…they’re about to cut the current anyway because the wind is blowing fiercely and we’re about to see another serious storm…so you’re free :)

Myea dogo –
K

Thursday, April 3, 2008

1 April – Snapshot

It is pretty much impossible to sleep in here…

Every morning at 6am on the dot, I am pulled from my sleep by the scrape-scrape-scrape-scrape of the night guard sweeping the front yard of petit suisse…his broom is a bundle of reeds tied together, and he is sweeping mango leaves, dead termites and dirt off of the stones and into a pile to be burned later in the day. This sound has become the staple annoyance of my day (heard all over Kpalimé at all hours, in fact) to the point that I roll over and laugh now when I hear it interrupting my haze of dream-sleep. Some days I silently curse him in my drowsy stupor, then start laughing to myself again and put on my headphones to try to drown it out for one more hour of sleep. Doesn’t usually work. By that time, Kpalimé is awake and my desire for another few minutes of beauty sleep is of no concern.

Roosters have been crowing for hours, aimlessly wandering the quiet morning streets pecking at the dirt, hoping for a kernel. Babies and small children are hungry and crying in every corner of the quartier, or strapped on their mothers backs with a colorful pagne, dozing off again as these patient women set up their stands on the side of the road for another day of miniscule potential profit. If it is a weekend, boisterous soccer teams parade by chanting, singing and drumming in Ewe. Carpenters hammer and saw, installing a new door here and a shutter there, improvement is a constant, yet ironically stagnant process here. Nothing is still in the morning, as this is the coolest time of day, and the most comfortable time to be moving around, before the sun is at its height.

After my cold shower, which is actually quite refreshing, where I wash my hair with a bar of soap (I ran out of shampoo quickly, not realizing I wouldn’t be able to buy more…) I open my room to air it out during the day when there aren’t as many mosquitoes. Then I struggle with the stubborn lock on my door and step out into the balmy humidity of the hallway. I wander down to have my breakfast. Waiting on the nearest table is always a glass, a cup and saucer and a fork with a napkin folded in it – some days it is a fan, sometimes a butterfly, sometimes a rose. Kossi and Felize, the apprentices, find it amusing to change it daily. I have the same thing for breakfast every day – scrambled eggs with onions and a sliced roll, which is (sometimes) fresh from one of the vendors just outside the gate. I drink Nescafe without milk, as it is always warm and halfway curdled, with 2 sugar cubes. While I haven’t gotten sick of this routine yet, every once in a while I can’t finish the coffee because it’s just not good, haha, and I miss the dark roast of a Manhattan morning Starbucks…

Soon I look at my cellphone for the time, bid goodbye to Mensah, Felize and Kossi (Akpene is usually au service – at work) and head out the gate for the short walk to the FECECAV office. The distance between the gate of Petit Suisse and the gate of FECECAV is about 20 feet, but it takes me a good 5-7 minutes to get there because of all the stops and greetings I make along the way. It is a cheerful and energizing commute, with all of these morning people. Much better than the F train or the Schuylkill expressway, that’s for damned sure...

First I pass the boutique that belongs to Daniel’s wife. She sells an assortment of essential items, from bagged water and Togocell cards to onion, tomatoes and canned goods, to the occasional boubou and nail polish, depending on what she’s picked up in Lomé this month. I never know who will be manning the shop, as it changes throughout the day. In the morning it is usually grand-mére, as Grace and Jesu are at school and Maman is au marché. She is, as always, munching on her dentille (the sticks that Africans use to clean their teeth, which are sold in lieu of toothbrushes.) She waves and smiles, muttering in a mixture of Ewe, French and Kabyé. Kabyé is the language spoken in the North, which is where Daniel is from and is grand-mére’s native language. She and I generally communicate through this mélange of languages, taking cues from each other’s body language and the handful words that we commonly understand in all three languages. Note that Grace and Jesu, both under age 10, speak all three…

As I pass, the mechanics across the street, lazing about on tires and/or fixing a busted moto, hiss at me and I wave and pretend not to be annoyed. I keep walking. Soon I pass Koffise (pronounced KofitCHO,) my friend who sells l’essence et l’huile (gas and motor oil) just outside FECECAV’s gate. Koffise is stunningly handsome, tall and very thin, with bottomless brown eyes and dimpled creases that emanate from his smile in rows of concentric circles. He has uneven tribal scars cut into his high cheekbones and often wears black eyeliner under his eyes, drawing even more attention to their mischievous glimmer. Thus far I have seen him every day in the same red courdouroys, slightly stained with dark oil but surprisingly clean, and red plastic sandals. He alternates between a filthy white sleeveless shirt and a striped one, showing off his muscled biceps – despite their small circumference, they exude strength and look as though they have been chiseled to perfection. He wears his cellulaire around his neck in a black pouch. Every week, Koffise fills plastic buckets with gas and motor oil at the Texaco station in town, transfers it to old liquor bottles and re-sells it to moto drivers. He also does ad-hoc mechanical work for some of his customers and FECECAV employees, due to his convenient location. Every time I enter or leave FECECAV Koffise is there smiling and chatting through the perfectly spaced gaps in his teeth, either pouring l’essence into a moto’s tank with a funnel or sprawling his lanky appendages over his moto or the grappling roots of the huge tree that shade his stand.

As I reach the concrete ramp that leads through FECECAV’s huge metal gate, I meet the collectrices and random FECECAV staff milling about outside. Motos roll and sputter in and out of the gate and we all greet each other with the customary and now habitual West African finger-snap handshake and a series of Bonjour!s, Tu as bien dormi?s, and Comment?s This is their equivalent of the morning dawdling around the coffee machine or the water cooler, yet everywhere always seems happy to see each other and not dreading the workday ahead. It is, as Innocent showed me, a combination of truly liking their microfinance job and a relieved complacency at having a job at all.

As I enter the gate, I greet the guards with snaps and smiles, and wave at the collectrices sitting and eating la pâte for breakfast (complete with raw onions and fish sauce, which I can barely digest at lunch or dinner) under the tin-roofed garage (where le vehicule, as Daniel calls it, that the Swiss NGO donated to FECECAV, is parked.) If Yao is not washing le vehicule, even if it is not dirty, he is leaning on it, draping his gangly extremities across its front grate or open driver’s side door, waiting for instruction. He is deliciously dark-skinned, slim and giant, and always calls out a high-pitched “kiRA!” to which I respond, “yaO!” and he laughs. He was the one who picked me up at the airport in Lomé, my first glimpse of FECECAV, and although he speaks very limited French, we are good friends and I have a particular fondness for him.

FECECAV’s driveway and front yard is always a flurry of activity. Shaking hands and snapping with the customary and ostentatious greetings of African businessmen “Ah, Directeur!” “Gérant, Comment?” and “Bonjour Chef!” Certain characters always refer to each other as Mr. Director, Monsieur Manager, Sir the Chief, etc. I have found this very interesting, as there are only certain circles of either political, intellectual or business men (yes, men) that address each other this way. Sometimes they appear as tragicomic caricatures of themselves, sweating in the African sunshine in sandals and linen suits, imitating some grandiose professional tradition that can seems markedly out of place.

After this routine, I head in to see Athanase. Now that I think on it, I cannot remember the first day I decided to sit in his office, only that it came naturally I have shared his desk, fan, plugstrip and comfortable company ever since. Athanase, I have mentioned him before, is the diligent comptable (accountant) here at FECECAV, and probably the person I spend the most time with (besides Akpene and Mensah) in Kpalimé. The first night I bought a few beers for the FECECAV crew, Mako (a gregarious collectrice who is based in Lomé, but we get along well and speak on the phone often) told me that he was timide and that I would have to chat him up. Athanase smiled calmly, and deliberately opposed her. This reaction was a microcosm is his good-natured personality. He is quiet, unassuming and respectful, and, after spending a bit of time with him, opens up to reveal a witty and companionable character.

I sit on the left side of his desk, always resting my feet on the half-open bottom drawer. His door faces the front yard, and we can conveniently spy on everyone who enters or leaves the compound. I have transferred almost half of the music I brought with me onto his computer, because he only likes the pop and hip hop, and I’ve taken some of his favorite African and French R&B. He is solely responsible for all of the accounting for the Kpalimé office and for centralizing the data from all 11 branches. This includes everything from salaries, invoices, financial reporting, and g-d knows what else…it appears to me that everything besides la caisse and has to do with money goes through Athanase. Meticulous and conscientious, he comes to work early, leaves late and is to Comptable as Rogier is to Agent de Crédit. Unfortunately, he dosen’t seem to get the credit he deserves, and for some reason, Daniel chose Athanase to be one of those responbile for Kiva work as well…perhaps it is a tribute to his competence that he manages to get all of this done and is still selected as the one to write business descriptions for the Kiva site, but he does seem to work a lot harder than his gérant. I suppose this is also indicative of the nature of any workplace, haha.

He and I share a lot of comfortable silence, which is something I value in life, as sitting quietly is not one of my strong points…he works in his spreadsheets and in Quickbooks, I on my laptop creating working documents for use with Kiva and writing new business descriptions. Since I “finished” training people in those first few weeks, I have now focused on a) doing a lot of the work myself while I am here b) creating a helpful User Manual in French to leave here – Kiva did provide a manual for use of the site, but it is not entirely relevant and often superfluous in meeting the actual needs here at FECECAV. Since I have done the training and now know the organization very well, I am making one of my own. I am calling it Kiva à la Kira (everyone has thought this is incredibly amusing, by the way.)

When doing Kiva work (which I try to limit with him, as he is already so busy and understands it better than anyone) Athanase and I transfer documents back and forth on my USB key and the identical one that I brought here as a gift, which he always seems to have in his breast pocket. I had to mark mine with a whiteout K after a few days of mixing them up. He patiently helps me to edit my written French and I run documents and copies back and forth to other staff when he is swamped. We listen to the music all day long.

To be continued…

30 Mars - Kpalimé Nights

I have been having trouble sleeping lately. Sleep is never a problem for me, I usually drift off before I even remember to set my alarm clock for the net morning, pop up 5 minutes later to set it, then fall dead asleep again in seconds. I distinctly remember periods in my life when I haven’t been able to sleep, and they have always been surrounded by some degree of anxiety, ranging from mild to severe…this time I am not anxious, and trust me, I know the difference. My recent restlessness on the brink of sleep is caused by something less daunting, just a fretful mental disquiet, interestingly, just at my one month mark in Togo.

I have been here long enough now not to be considered a tourist (which is actually an obstacle I am proud to say I have mounted with significant ease and success, and all of my friends here concur that I am not like most other blanches that find themselves in Kpalimé – which means more to me than I can even explain) but not long enough to even begin to claim that I know the ins and outs of Togolese culture and society, the truths of relations between men and women, parents and children, yovos and ameyibos…but I have begun to notice that I have different set of eyes than I did when I first got here, and I have had them WIDE OPEN. Subconsciously, I have developed a new way of observing, a more broadly perceptive – critical, judicious, yet still idealistic and curious – way of viewing things that before were just absorbed in a sort of sensory overload.

What has been troubling me, I think, is that without me knowing it, a certain process of learning to question these observations is taking place. I will never abandon idealism, couldn’t if I tried, and wouldn’t if you forced me, but I cannot deny that I am starting to contemplate an underbelly of the situations, people, colors, smells and structures (in all senses of the word) I experience every day and have experienced since I stepped off the plane in Accra.

I have also been reading this book that I borrowed from the Peace Corps volunteers in Kpalimé, by an ex-volunteer named George Packer. His book is called The Village of Waiting and it takes place in a tiny village called Lavié, which is about a 40minute drive from Kpalimé. The situations and cultural references are all too familiar, and I have enjoyed relating to them, but his cynicism is startling. Note that he served and wrote his book in the1980s, when independence was not even new enough to be considered history and the cult of personality of Eyadema presided over Togo. Today the national holidays surrounding Eyadema’s “divine” victories, economic “liberation” and “national animation” are no longer celebrated, however, the way certain passages in the book remain entirely true and numerous episodes are accurate to the point that they happened to me yesterday, is a bit of a bizarre experience…

Cynicism about Africa has its value, and I appreciate that fact even more after having seen the real poverty and development predicaments here and their cyclical, stagnant nature…but haven’t I found Togo and its people the most hospitable, wonderful, smiling and beautiful that I have come across in my lifetime? How can these two things live in such close quarters? And how do I fit in the middle, as they have clearly become one in this tiny sliver of land and I appear to be simply, temporarily juxtaposed upon it?

One passage in particular gave me chills. He wrote, “A century of promise and exploitation, the treaties and forced labor of early colonialism, the long, slow submergence that led to independence, the new promise of development and the new whites that came to help, the disillusionment of even the best-intentioned, continued domincance of the economy by foreigners, continued poverty – all of this, and the white was still welcomed, still admired.” This is the uncomfortable feeling I get when Daniel’s wife won’t let me help her clean up the dinner table, when Akpene’s brothers offer me gifts, when Yao drives me into town to go to the bank because it is just too hot – when I know damned well anyone else in the office would have to walk there themselves. I am the yovo, and while it is genuinely good-natured and it is one of my favorite things about this place, the sheer attention I get because I am a white girl is pretty disturbing when you think about it. And I have really started to think about it.

Innocent, one of my friends at FECECAV, is a soft-spoken 22 year old from the North of the country with 2 years of his degree from Univeristy of Lomé under his belt but, as he explained matter-of-factly, “When a job, let alone an office job, turns up, you just take it.” The other day he showed me some Ghanaian rap music videos, which he really likes, on his computer. It was a slow Saturday, as only half the office comes in on Saturdays (like the banks here, la caisse and all those who work directly with it and with the clients – the collectrices, the cashiers, the agents de crédit, etc.work on a Tuesday – Saturday schedule) and we were sitting in his office, sharing his chair to see the monitor and so that we could both sit directly in front of the fan. I was captivated by these African rappers...I’ve seen a lot of African music videos since I’ve been here – as they are the only TV channels that occasionally come in besides France24 – but mostly hip-hop from Togo, Benin and Ivory Coast, a sentimental genre called zouk. The videos themselves are incredibly low-budget, boast mediocre camerawork and 80’s style backdrops, and feature full-screen shots of large, African buttocks shaking and gyrating. They incorporate the West African dance and style, including the large and sensual women that naturally accompany its music. The Ghanaian rap videos were different. They had names like Le Distroyer, not quite English, not quite French – Inno had to ask me what it meant, because “destroyer” is an English word, in French, “to destroy” is detruire. The rappers were all wearing oversized G-Unit and 50Cent t-shirts, driving 2000 model Honda civics (I have never seen a make newer than 1985 here, let alone a Honda,) wearing baggy, low-riding, American-style shorts (I have also NEVER seen an African man in jean shorts, and guarantee I never will,) and dancing with both African women and white women, all of whom were stick thin. Fascinating. If I were still at McGill I would go to one of my cultural studies professors and profess the topic for my next term paper, would analyze the hell out of it. Idolization of the black-American – definitely not a yovo, but definitely not a real ameyibo either. So what is he? And what the hell is he doing in a Ghanaian music video?

After a few videos they all started to look the same and I decided I had had enough. Innocent asked if I could send him a Dolce & Gabana belt from New York, like the ones the rappers wore. I told him it was trop cher, but would get him a fake one on Canal street.

But I disgress…

There are other things I have started to notice. I love the kids here, which is something that I’m sure will surprise most of you. They aren’t brats. They work harder than most of us will in our lives, physically and otherwise, and don’t complain about it. And they are obsessed with me. In my first two weeks in Kpalimé I can categorically say that my two best friends were an 11 year old and a 8 year old, Grace and Jesu. Not only did they love the American chewing gum I gave them, they were at first shocked and then elated by the way I interacted with them…I played a game of edito with them, bought them a lollypop, ruffled their hair, gave them a high-five…all foreign exchanges between adults and children here for the most part.

The parent-child relationship that I have experienced here is one of mutual dependence and a high level of distance – either in kilometers or emotionally, or both. Children work in their parents’ stores from the time they can count francs, carry boxes or just make sure no one steals the avocados off the tray. While Maman or Papa is off at the marché or working in the field so that everyone can eat tonight, who do you think is watching the store and the younger siblings? The kids. Reciprocity out of necessity. The survival thing again. This however, for better or worse (and I am really not sure which way I lean on this one) leaves little time for the kind of coddling and fussing that is so characteristic of Western parenting and replaces it with healthy obedience, discipline and respect. It’s not that African parents don’t love their children, of course they do, and that is apparent as well, it’s just that the circumstances and tribulations of daily life render their relationship much less indulgent. This explains the childrens’ terrified glances at their mother or father before busting into euphoric giggles every time squat down to their height, grin and say Wofo? (Pronounced, Wefowa, meaning how are you, in Ewe) Jesu, every time I allow him to take a picture with my camera, looks at Daniel almost shaking in fear (or at his grandmother, who is quite the menacing authority figure, good thing she is not that strong…I saw her hitting him one of the first nights I was here, shrilling about something in Ewe. I couldn’t decide whether to start crying myself or to intervene, but clearly I just waited quietly until she was done and saw that Jesu was fine. Five year old boys can be naughty, but it was more likely he forgot to carry a bucket of water twice his weight over to the stall for her shower.)

Mensah’s kids (he has 5 children with 2 different women, neither of which are Akpene…but here this is not frowned upon, nor indicative of any negative character traits, nor unusual, so please bear that in mind before you judge my Togolese father J) are the same way. They were petrified when I asked if I could play edito with them, as they had been sitting alone in the entry of the hotel for hours. At first I was upset that Mensah wouldn’t spend time with his children when they were there for the day, and still am to a certain point, but he was resting because he wasn’t feeling well. If he didn’t rest he couldn’t work, and if he couldn’t work he couldn’t give money to the kids’ mother to feed them that night.

This brings me to another point. Mensah hasn’t been looking so good lately…he has mentioned often that he doesn’t feel right, gesturing towards his chest/heart/lung area with a pained expression. And when an African says “Ça ne va pas” you know it’s not just indigestion. This has been going on for almost two weeks, despite my pressuring him to go to the doctor. I, on the other hand, had an infection and was rushed to the clinic in hours, treated and released in the same day. Mensah needs some tests done and he can’t afford it, even though it will cost less than $50, so I have offered to pay for them. He is going to see the doctor on Tuesday. In the meantime, he went to another doctor because he was in pain, who prescribed some medication that will act as an expensive and truly ineffective band-aid until he can have a consultation to figure out what is actually wrong with him. Then I will probably have to give him somemore money to buy the medication he actually needs. This is the tragic story of third world health care systems, a whole different crisis that I am honestly too afraid to delve into right now.

How many children die this way every day, or are crying in the morning because they have dysentery, malaria or tuberculosis and their parents can’t afford to take them to the doctor? Sure, this is the world’s health crisis and I’m not revealing some shocking discovery thus far kept secret, but it is one thing to hear about it, realize it, and understand it but quite another to see its penetrating and devastating reality.

And now, at my halfway point, I have started to think already that my impact on this place will be so small. Not insignificant – I think that I have done some great things that will change the way FECECAV uses Kiva and will hopefully bring them more free money, more easily – but miniscule.

I, like every other volunteer, doctor, NGO worker, missionary, peacekeeper, all of us with our mosquito nets, foreign passports and optimism without borders, will leave. I will leave because I was not born here. I will go home because I am fortunate to have a one – with a family that loves me too much and far too many pets, and they are all in Philadelphia. I will leave because I am comfortable and loved there, permanently. Is it not human nature to seek this?

But the thought of leaving this place and these people is already breaking my heart and turning my stomach.

What is a sacrifice anyway? Is it staying here forever, in isolated dread of the sheer knowledge that I will never see NYC again, in loneliness for my family, but knowing that I have made the ultimate submission and dedication to the people who were born here? Is it marrying a Togolese friend so that he can get an exit visa, because he needs to make more money in the US to support his aging parents, although the complications and implications might be more than either party bargained for? Does the intention of a sacrifice have to make one so miserably torn, in order to deem itself a sacrifice? Why does it even require two separate parties, crawling towards the same, unattainable goal…

I think that I am lucky, that so far I have been able to observe and submit to the discouraging truth of this place, yet maintain an adoration and exhilaration for it and from it. A friend who is thinking of visiting me wanted to know, when I mentioned that everyone is really poor, “Yea, is it depressing?” I didn’t even hesitate when I burst out with an emphatic no.