This weekend I’ll be moving from Tandjouare to Mango, a Muslim city about an hour South on the national road. The move has been about two months in the making and at least eight months in the necessary. Tandjouare’s lovely, with tall swaying grasses and fields nestled against large rocks, but it hasn't been an easy place to work or live. As the prefectoral capital, it sits awkwardly between town and village, offering but a few of the former’s resources (electricity, NGOs) and none of the latter’s know-everyone-everything charm. People are constantly moving around here and the surrounding area for business and work, and the result is a populace not warm or welcoming to those who want to integrate into the community itself. I think they’re too used to people using their space as an infrequent bedroom or brief step towards better things to let anyone, regardless of their nationality, get close. And now, their attitude coupled with personal weaknesses, has changed my first Togolese community from a home into a rest stop and myself from an earnest Volunteer into someone who may just be marking time.
I’m not a perfect person, and I haven’t been a perfect Volunteer. When things got rough in Tandjouare, as they often did, I often left for the comforts of our workstation and other Volunteers. I sought refuge in their company, the Internet, and national projects that would take me anywhere but my assigned home. I wasn’t communicative enough with my Peace Corps Associate Director and staff, and problems built up rather than resolved. Now, I feel leagues behind my colleagues in work, integration, and even happiness. After serving for more than a year, I’m still unsure of why I’m here and the changes I’ve noticed in myself haven’t always been good.
The combination of personal troubles and life in Togo’s general difficulties has been corrosive to my mood and attitude. I find myself frequently irritable and snapping at others for issues that used to roll off so simply. I trend towards skepticism and mistrust when I meet someone new or encounter a local project. I’ve stopped seeking anything relationship-wise from the Togolese and have tried to avoid them sometimes. I’ve noticed these changes in reflecting on my actions and thoughts, hindsight illuminating what’s sadly become instinct. By recognizing these faults then, I hope to change course and meditate towards a new me in Togo. The past has passed, but the present and future are, at least uncertainly, in my hands.
It’s become apparent through numerous goodbye conversations around Tandjouare that no one will miss me. They’ll miss the idea of a PCV being here, an exotic American to observe and harass around the market and his concrete cage, but not me personally. The community’s problems are theirs though, and I’ll be moving away from those. Because I know little about my new home, there could be any number of issues there as well. These factors are beyond my control. My problems, however, can easily be carried as onerous emotional baggage to Mango or, with some effort, left behind. I can’t reset my service and get back the time I’ve lost, but I can give Mango an honest try. If I really work at change in this new city and things still don’t work out, if I’m still unhappy and torn all the time, then I can return stateside knowing I gave it my all. There won’t be any shame in that. Is my service broken or breaking open? The answer lies in the next few months, Mango, and me.
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