I tell you what, Its hotter than 6 fat women packed into a Dodge Neon, with no A/C, roaring down I-75 heading to a Kenny Chesney concert at Lakewood Amphitheatre on an muggy GA-August afternoon. I was told that March was the hot month. I didn’t believe it then as I thought every other month was hot. I believe it now. Relief from the heat comes in the form of 2-3 bucket baths of warm water a day. Sometimes you can catch a breeze while you’re still wet—its what I count on. Sleeping, or even hanging out, indoors hasn’t happened in the past 4 weeks as the tin roof radiates heat. Every night I lay down on my mat outside my door and enjoy the nighttime breeze. Mama and Gbati share a mat 15 paces from my door and between us rest a group of 12 or so of Gbati’s friends who come over during the week to study the day’s lesson under the lone lightbulb outside Mama and Gbati’s door. They study, but it always seems to turn into a farting contest, which of course, results in bursts of laughter from the participants. It kills me that kids are the same everywhere.
The other day it rained, which is probably the coolest thing in Africa, literally. The stars are a close second. When it rains, it pours. It was getting to be dusk. I sat in my chair and watched the clouds move in between the mountains and I could hear thunder rumbling off in some nameless distance over the sound of the mosque in Bikotiba calling for evening prayer. I sat with my shirt unbuttoned and my pants rolled up as I waited for the rain, giddy like a newborn goat that I would be able to finally sleep inside again, or at least for the night.
There was a presidential election in Togo earlier this month—you may or may not have heard about it. I walked the 2k to the polls at the ecole primaire with Umain, my mama in Bikotiba, and Gbati, my 12 year old brother. Gbati and I waited with other folks from Bikotiba while Mama voted. While we waited I watched a gray, dry season, haze move past the mountain separating Bassar from Bikotiba. I thought about the similarities between elections in Togo and the US, felt the giddiness of people waiting to cast their votes, and smiled with those who walked away from the polls proudly showing off their purple, ink-stained fingers.
Later on, a day or two later, as the country waited for the results, I rode my bike through Bassar. The streets were literally empty, giving off a very eerie feeling and you could almost cut the tension in the air with a knife. It was quite a change from the campaign period when motos and bushtaxis would constantly be on the move with people waving banners and racing through the streets celebrating their candidates. Being an apolitical Peace Corps Volunteer, I steered away from political conversation and activities. Nevertheless, the excitement of democracy was ever present during the campaign season here in Togo.
I was walking through the bush with my friend Gnon, the best bartender/mechanic in the world, when we heard the election results. We were looking for a medicinal root to give to Gnon’s 91 year old mother who was ill. As we were digging into the hard, dusty soil I looked over and saw Diogie, my dog, chasing after something and heard a muffled roar from one village 6k away, followed by another roar from another village, and soon after that we heard Bikotiba expressing its excitement. I looked at Gnon and, unsurprised, he said they must have announced the election results. We kept on digging until we found what we were looking for.
