Yesterday, I got the most exciting news I’ve heard since I got to Togo. And since a long time before that. My sister Jenny gave birth to a perfect baby girl named Eleanor Abby. I just got to see the pictures, and she is completely wonderful. She came just a few hours too early to be a present to Christi, but I’m willing to bet the birthday was still among the best ever.
Congratulations, Jenny and Zach, and welcome, Nory. I can’t wait to meet you.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Language Barriers and Loose Women
I should begin this post by saying that the vast majority of Peace Corps Volunteers do not become involved in romantic relationships with host country nationals. For the most part, people find that the cultural differences and the potential for such relationships to undermine the work we do combine to make the idea impractical. There are a few volunteers, however, who end up dating and even marrying people from their country of service, and it seems like everyone in every village has heard a story like that. For this reason, many volunteers, especially women, have to work hard to avoid the appearance of entertaining romantic advances from men at their posts, and many end up telling people that they are, in fact, already married, which only sometimes helps to reduce said advances. Unfortunately, the way the Togolaise dating scene works can make it feel like the cards are stacked against us in this regard, but we do the best we can. It is important to have this background information in order to understand why my chief might think I’m a prostitute.
As I mentioned in an earlier blog entry, I was given a Konkomba name that didn’t precisely thrill me, so when I returned to village after swear in, one of the things high on my list of priorities was to ask my chief to “baptize” me with a new name. I decided to broach the topic over dinner at his house. At several points during the conversation he told me that if there was anything I needed from him, I should just ask, so I did. The conversation went something like this:
Me: “Actually, Chief, there is something for which I want to ask you.”
Chief: “Of course, what do you want?”
Me: “I am hoping to have a Konkomba name.”
Chief: ::Pause:: “I don’t understand.”
Me: “Well, I have an American name, but that is hard for the people to understand. I believe I can be better integrated if I have a Konkomba name.”
Chief: “Oh! You want me to find a man to teach you Konkomba! Yes, I spoke with someone who will be good.”
Me: “No, well, yes, I want that, too, and for this I am grateful, but what I was asking for was a name.”
Chief: “I was thinking you already have a name in America.”
Me: “I do, but I would like a Konkomba name, too.”
Chief: “You wish to marry someone from Namon?”
Me: “No, I just want a name.”
Chief: “You want a name here in addition to your name in America.”
Me: “Yes.”
Chief: “But you don’t want to take the name back with you when you leave.”
Me: “Well, I don’t believe that matters, really. I just want a name to have and to use while I am here.”
Chief: “I see. I don’t know, but I will think about it.”
Me: “Okay, maybe it is a serious matter. I am not in a hurry.”
Chief: “What sort of name are you looking for?”
Me: “It doesn’t matter as long as it is Konkomba. It is simply that the name which my homologue gave me means that I am a stranger, and because I will be here for two years, I do not want to be a stranger. I to be a part of the community with a Konkomba name like the rest of the people.”
Chief: “I see…”
::Awkward silence, during which I feel I should make things easier for him::
Me: “You see, my friend who lives nearby is called Matt in America but in his village the people call him Tchapo. My other friend is called Kassie at home, but here she calls herself Ninko. Or David is called both David and Kondi. Do you understand? In America, I am known as Emily, but I would like the people here to call me a name in the local language like my friends, the other volunteers.”
At this point, the chief’s wife came over and clarified the point which had been the issue between the chief and me. The thing is that in French, for name, you say un nom. Unfortunately for me, to say man, you say un homme. The h is silent in homme, so the only difference between the pronunciation of the two is that in nom you don’t sort of swallow and don’t really pronounce the m, but in homme, you do. So when the chief’s wife came over and said, “She wants you to give her a NAME,” I was mortified to realize I had asked the chief several times and in no uncertain terms for a Konkomba man. That’s right, every time I thought I said name, I said man, so not only did I want a Konkomba man, I wanted him in addition to my man at home, and I didn’t really care much about the specifics of him because I only wanted to use him while I was here and not marry him. This was, I think, a pretty auspicious beginning of my relationship with the most important official in my village. Thankfully, the chief’s wife was able to clear up the misunderstanding with little trouble, and it was dark, so I think the chief probably couldn’t see how completely embarrassed I was. In the weeks since then, I have been trying to dedicate a little more time to practicing good French pronunciation. I’m not sure how many more misunderstandings my reputation can take.
As I mentioned in an earlier blog entry, I was given a Konkomba name that didn’t precisely thrill me, so when I returned to village after swear in, one of the things high on my list of priorities was to ask my chief to “baptize” me with a new name. I decided to broach the topic over dinner at his house. At several points during the conversation he told me that if there was anything I needed from him, I should just ask, so I did. The conversation went something like this:
Me: “Actually, Chief, there is something for which I want to ask you.”
Chief: “Of course, what do you want?”
Me: “I am hoping to have a Konkomba name.”
Chief: ::Pause:: “I don’t understand.”
Me: “Well, I have an American name, but that is hard for the people to understand. I believe I can be better integrated if I have a Konkomba name.”
Chief: “Oh! You want me to find a man to teach you Konkomba! Yes, I spoke with someone who will be good.”
Me: “No, well, yes, I want that, too, and for this I am grateful, but what I was asking for was a name.”
Chief: “I was thinking you already have a name in America.”
Me: “I do, but I would like a Konkomba name, too.”
Chief: “You wish to marry someone from Namon?”
Me: “No, I just want a name.”
Chief: “You want a name here in addition to your name in America.”
Me: “Yes.”
Chief: “But you don’t want to take the name back with you when you leave.”
Me: “Well, I don’t believe that matters, really. I just want a name to have and to use while I am here.”
Chief: “I see. I don’t know, but I will think about it.”
Me: “Okay, maybe it is a serious matter. I am not in a hurry.”
Chief: “What sort of name are you looking for?”
Me: “It doesn’t matter as long as it is Konkomba. It is simply that the name which my homologue gave me means that I am a stranger, and because I will be here for two years, I do not want to be a stranger. I to be a part of the community with a Konkomba name like the rest of the people.”
Chief: “I see…”
::Awkward silence, during which I feel I should make things easier for him::
Me: “You see, my friend who lives nearby is called Matt in America but in his village the people call him Tchapo. My other friend is called Kassie at home, but here she calls herself Ninko. Or David is called both David and Kondi. Do you understand? In America, I am known as Emily, but I would like the people here to call me a name in the local language like my friends, the other volunteers.”
At this point, the chief’s wife came over and clarified the point which had been the issue between the chief and me. The thing is that in French, for name, you say un nom. Unfortunately for me, to say man, you say un homme. The h is silent in homme, so the only difference between the pronunciation of the two is that in nom you don’t sort of swallow and don’t really pronounce the m, but in homme, you do. So when the chief’s wife came over and said, “She wants you to give her a NAME,” I was mortified to realize I had asked the chief several times and in no uncertain terms for a Konkomba man. That’s right, every time I thought I said name, I said man, so not only did I want a Konkomba man, I wanted him in addition to my man at home, and I didn’t really care much about the specifics of him because I only wanted to use him while I was here and not marry him. This was, I think, a pretty auspicious beginning of my relationship with the most important official in my village. Thankfully, the chief’s wife was able to clear up the misunderstanding with little trouble, and it was dark, so I think the chief probably couldn’t see how completely embarrassed I was. In the weeks since then, I have been trying to dedicate a little more time to practicing good French pronunciation. I’m not sure how many more misunderstandings my reputation can take.
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