There's nothing like waking up to rain. The torrential rain does to Togo what snow does to England. Everything grinds to a halt. Meetings don't happen, visits are postponed. So when someone walks through the gate into the centre you know something's up. This morning it was the mother of Dzigbodje. Her face revealed nothing about the reasons why she braved the rain. Dzigbodje is the woman whom I first met in hospital last week after she lost her child. She didn't eat for a week and had chronic diarrhoea. All too soon the reason became clear. She is dead. I wonder if she just gave up the fight, two dead children, a dead husband and no future, not in this country as a person with HIV. She was a year younger than me.
In the hospital last week I was happy to find out that Alexandre's doing well. After he passes his medical tests (paid for by PDH) he will hopefully be in the care of Terre des Hommes. They will send him to Europe (either France or Switzerland) to have the hole in his heart surgically fixed. As I stand outside the ward talking to his mother I suddenly notice two hands on my head, admiring my hair. Alexandre's grandmother just adores the straight blond locks that I occasionally wish I was without. Every time she sees me she touches my hair and says she'd like some too. The blond white young female thing does also attract lots of attention from the male folk here and I am starting a decent collection of phone numbers. I have also received 3 marriage proposals so far...none of which I have accepted.
During a torrential rain storm while at Koffi's house today we get 'stuck' there for 3 hours. I am relishing it as I watch a little slice of daily Togolese life unfold around me. The room quickly fills itself with the smell of firewood smoke as the rain quenches a cooking fire outside. Yet the cooking continues while some members of the family get drenched. Around me children fall asleep while others wake up. The older kids, who can't be any more than 7 or 8 take care of the babies and keep each other entertained. They offer me food but I politely decline, this family of 11 is severely impoverished. Only yesterday I brought them an aid parcel with rice, smoked fish, canned tomatoes and some cooking oil. Thankfully declining food is not something that is considered impolite here.
During my stay at Koffi's family someone asks me "This thing you call snow, what is it like?" I start by saying that it is cold, that it covers everything in a layer of white stuff, that it is soft, sticky, fun to play in and with. It doesn't appear to be a satisfactory answer, but how to explain it to someone who doesn't even have a fridge, let alone a freezer! I think about it for a bit while the rain pounds on the roof, it drips on me through a small hole. Suddenly I know. I realise that it is not the facts but the emotion that it evokes that is of interest. "Snow is very special. It is beautiful, quiet and tranquil."
Life in Togo has shown me many ugly sides: hardships and difficulties that we can scarcely comprehend or imagine. Yet today, during the rain, I also got to see the other side: family life, something highly prized and valued here. Tranquil? No. Beautiful? Yes.
No comments:
Post a Comment