language, language, language.

written on July 27, 2013

Well, that was a little tough.

I went up to Savanes with a nice mix of excitement and nerves. When I got there, communication was more of a struggle than I had anticipated. I’ve had some ups and downs with the language training here, but one of the things that has boosted my confidence has been my ability to converse with my host family (living in Gbatope) in French.

But in Koni, I had a very hard time understanding French, and making myself understood with it, let alone in Moba. I have to remember that my Gbatope host family has been hosting Peace Corps trainees for eight years. They, and the Togolese Peace Corps staff, a good grasp on just about how much I can understand, as well as how to adapt sentences with simpler vocabulary and composition.

All that to say, I had been feeling pretty good about my French up until now. With my inability to communicate in Koni came an onslaught of fears. What am I doing here? Why did I push so hard to come to a francophone country? Wouldn’t I be much more effective in anglophone Ghana?

As my counterpart asked me very technical questions about soil composition and animal husbandry, anxiously awaiting my verdict on the quality of his vast corn fields, my feelings of anxiety intensified. Who am I to tell a lifelong farmer what to do? I’m not trained in this! How am I supposed to find out the complex needs of the community if I didn’t understand a simple directive pertaining to dinner?? I started to feel very overwhelmed with my counterpart’s expectations for me, expectations that I surely can’t live up to.

The thing is, I think that I’m right on schedule with these fears. As one veteran volunteer imparted to my cohort, “2/3 of your job here is just being here.” My results-driven little American heart frequently rebels at this notion.  I like to focus on the measurables. I want data proving that the Peace Corps approach to food security and my chosen projects are effective.

But when I get melancholy about the future prospects for an English-speaking community collaborator in Togo, I’ll have to remind myself of the laughter sheer delight that comes from old women when I salue (greet) them in their native Moba.  In my greeting I want to convey, “I’m here to work with YOUR village, your specific village, which speaks this tribal language. Nobody else. I’m specifically here to collaborate and work alongside you. That’s why I took the time to learn your specific language, spoken in this very remote region where we stand right now, in a very small country.”

I’ll talk in more depth about theories of development and why I think I’m here in a later post. For now, I’ll say that although that the efficacy and relevance of my community collaborations remain incredibly important, there will be times those projects fail. At those times it will be important not to undervalue the merits of cross cultural exchange.

Silver linings notwithstanding, my living quarters in Koni are not ideal when it comes to what I need in an environment (and no, I don’t mean electricity or running water! I can take or leave those.) I was feeling pretty melancholy, and came back to Gbatope to find five letters from friends. Thank you Tiffany R, Allison, Carolyn, Jeannie, and Brita for amazing cosmic timing. Or Togolese mail system for chronic backlog. Either way, I got a deluge of loving words and pictures from home when they were much needed. Thank you.