My Togolese Host Family

As I skimmed through my blog just the other day, it occurred to me I hadn’t posted anything about my Togolese host family.

Without further ado, I present la famille TSIVANYO.

The day CHAP Trainees were paired up with Togolese families in Gbatopé is one I’ll never forget. Parents and children, dressed up in their finest pagne complets, sang and clapped their hands to the music as they awaited the arrival of 13 PC Trainees. We were all so nervous and scared, yet fired up to see our new families. Administration pressed formal attire for our welcoming, so I chose my purple silk dress from Shanghai. This was first-rate dress because I happened to match my host mom’s ensemble. Other families were overjoyed to witness the cute combo.

Without hesitation, my house was very much comparable to a summer cabin found in the upper lower peninsula of Michigan. It was a small, yellow house hidden by bushes with hundreds of red-orange flowers. The house didn’t have running water, so my host brother, Fogant, fetched water from a nearby pump. Or since it was rainy season, we relied heavily on rainwater—two long gutters that channeled water into three concrete holes. I didn’t have electricity, but my family had cut off a foot long section from a bamboo tree, packed four large batteries inside with rocks holding wires in place, and then connected the wires to what looked like old Christmas lights. Boom. This set up, though brilliant, didn’t work until a week before I left Gbatopé. Better late than never!

The family, même:

My Mom, Mamasan, was lovely woman—a street seller of manioc and tapioca. She was married twice—quite a knockout—and has eight children. She was a phenomenal cook, even though my stomach was intolerable.

My sister, Ademe, was cute but very quite. I think what I liked most about her were her kids: two twin girls and a boy. I nicknamed the twins La Folle and La Grande (Crazy and Big). The boy was the oldest, but such a crier!! He never got habituéd to the yovo in the house, screamed bloody murder whenever I walked up to him. I did this a lot. Hehehe.

My brother, Fogant, was nice though a bit strange. He was incredibly helpful and carried my heavy bags and packages on top of his head numerous times. In the end, I chalked up my irritation to his incessant repetition of “il faut,” meaning “it is necessary.” The number of times he said “il faut” exceeded that of my fingers and toes over a three-day period.

One thing I’ll never forget:

The daily trips to my latrine. The distance from my bedroom to the latrine was approximately 40 feet, plenty of time for a mini conversation with my mom. My post-wakeup walk to the latrine convo usually went something like this:

Me: Bonjour Mamasan! Ça va?

Mom: Bonjour Sam! Oui, ça vas très bien? Tu as bien dormi?

Me: Oui, j’ai bien dormi. Merci. Et toi?

Mom: Oui, bien-sûr! Tu te sens bien? (Are you feeling well?)

Me: Oui, merci. (In my head: I just have to go to the bathroom, Mom!!)

Every time I needed to go to the bathroom, some variation of this conversation took place—with the exception of replacing bonjour with bonsoir depending on the time of day.

What else?

When I had giardiasis, one night I told Mamasan I needed to consume a lot of food for dinner with four tablets of Fasigyne 500. So what did Mamasan make? Roughly four servings of spaghetti with tomato sauce, a plate full of pineapples and bread! Wow. And I ate almost everything. Of course, I could barely breathe and slept on my back all night because I was so full. Nonetheless, she did well. Merci Mamasan.

Overall, I had a good experience with the Tsivanyo family. I plan to visit Mamasan soon, or at least the next time I travel south.

Intestinal Parasites

Before Togo, intestinal parasites were foreign to me. Common illnesses chez moi prior to Peace Corps were mononucleosis (twice), typical winter colds (e.g. scratchy/soar throat, itchy/watery eyes, nasal congestion, etc) and seasonal allergies.

Needless to say, my body got quite the wakeup call.

My first illness wasn’t at all unfamiliar to the nurse practitioners at Peace Corps’ Medical Unit in Lomé. My insides babbled like never before. Did I mention this took place just two weeks into Training? A friend even dubbed her rambles Sigourney, referencing the leading actress in Alien. Strong yet subtle baritone notes and a roller coaster throughout the stomach and intestinal tracks are rambles worthy of such a title.

During Training, many pre-Volunteers need to become habitué'd (get used to) to living in a developing country. To this day, I blame the first round of diarrhea and vomiting to my diet in Park Slope, Brooklyn—i.e. homemade juices, fresh salads, exotic fruits, whole-wheat breads and pasta, etc. Not to scoff at Togolese food since I am quite fond of it now, however, beans and rice mixed with palm oil isn’t exactly a spinach salad lightly drizzled with walnut dressing. And no, not Snooty Samantha, it was just the grub of choice for more than a year.

Shortly after Post Visit, round two of gastrointestinal complaints commenced. I voiced my concerns to the medical officers, did my first ever stool sample, and impatiently awaited the results. It was giardiasis, an infection of the intestine with a flagellate protozoan. Boom. Yes, symptoms associated with giardia are unpleasant, however, the wicked designs left on my intestinal walls—after four tablets of Fasigyne 500 nuked these parasites—made me smile for days.

So what happened after?

After Thanksgiving, I impressively spent my weekend in bed—impressive because it isn’t an exaggeration by any means. The Monday following this weekend RESTathon I was advised by medical officers to do another M.I.F. kit and have it analyzed at Win Pang Hospital, a Chinese hospital in Dapaong.

My PCV neighbor, Maggie McRae, accompanied me to the hospital. Interesting? Picture this…two women on motos, one woman with tightly-sealed tube of her own feces in her locally-made handbag. We get there, and folks, this wasn’t my first rodeo. I’d already been to this hospital for an analysis of a different stool sample couple months ago. So I properly greeted health professionals, handed over my sample and then got a marriage proposal. Boom. If that’s not a boost of confidence, tell me what is!

Fifteen minutes later, I got the results. I have amoebas. What’s an amoeba? An amoeba is a single-celled animal that catches food and moves about by extending fingerlike projections of protoplasm. Amoebas are either free-living in damp environments or parasitic.

Surprisingly, it didn’t shock me at all. Over the weekend, I had plenty of time to review my S.H.I.T (Staying Healthy in Togo) book and thus linked my symptoms to those listed under the page-long description of amoebas.

A medical officer once again prescribed the fantastic Fasigyne 500. The kicker? This time, I had to take four tablets once a day for three days. Whoa. Okay amoebas, new ballgame!

McRae and McCullough then walked to Dapaong’s local pharmacy, bought “the goods,” parked our yovo asses on steps outside the building, sipped on a couple of Sport Actifs and greeted locals as they entered. That was fun.

The events subsequent pharmacy fun weren’t all that fun. To avoid the pity parade, I won’t go into great detail of my physical and metal state during the amoeba recovery. However, there was one moment when I graciously (and slowly) dropped from a couch at Dapaong’s PC Work Station to the floor and slowly (yep, slowly again) millimetered my way toward the bathroom.

On a positive note, I’m feeling pretty good and sent this text to McRae this afternoon:

“I’m not feeling 100 percent, but I just blared Lady Gaga and sang along. McCullough’s coming back!”