A Rose by Any Other Name


Yes, I am quoting Shakespeare’s "Romeo and Juliet" for this blog post because it is an accurate representation of my life right now. Most of you know me as Sofia Howson—that would be my legal American name. But here in Togo I am HOWSON Kossiwa. Yep, Sofia no more—only Kossiwa. Kossiwa is the name given to me by the community in the local language Ewe. When translated, it means “born on Sunday.” Names given in Ewe are based on the day on which you were born, so there are seven root names, but the names are also distinguished by gender, so there are actually 14 names. My name, Kossiwa, distinguishes that I was both born on Sunday, and I am also a girl (If I were a boy, I’d be named Kossi).

I am known as Kossiwa in a village of 1,500 inhabitants—a village that is neither too large nor too small. There is a primary school (an elementary school) and a secondary school (middle school) both of which holds 80 students in each classroom. There is a small health clinic which is staffed by five people—the head nurse (major), a nurse, pharmacist, a birth attendant and a night guard, and one Peace Corps Volunteer, Kossiwa, at the clinic, too. My health clinic services 13 other villages which surround the village where I live. These villages are a part of my “work zone” where I am expected to work on health projects as well. The village has a small market in the area that I would equate to a “downtown” area of town, where I can find the locally brewed beer, street food spaghetti, street meat, or a Togolese favorite—Fufu, a type of pounded yam dish. In this same place, I, Kossiwa, am readily recognized and greeted in the more than seven little shops where I buy eggs, toilet paper, biscuits, nails, rice etc. Each Friday is market day when I can buy jewelry, pagne fabric, a variety of soaps, fish, buckets, eggplant, ginger etc.

The village I am living in only knows me as Kossiwa and only about four people know me also as Sofia. For this reason, every morning, afternoon and night, I am greeted as “Madame Kossiwa,” and I have become so accustomed to this new moniker that I almost do a double-take when I hear someone say “Sofia.” I have not only gained a new name, but I am also now “Madame” which is not something that every 23-year-old desires to be called. I am not “Mademoiselle” because it is inappropriate and insulting to call an adult woman “Mademoiselle.” I have learned to accept, respond to, and embrace the ever-daunting “Madame.”

Even though I have a new name, I still “smell just as sweet” but that could be attributed to my twice-daily bucket showers—who knows. Being called a different name has shaped my identity and widened my perspective. My local name reinforces my belonging to the community by helping with my integration, and it silences parts of my American identity that are no longer relevant to me in the moment.

I, Kossiwa, feel much less competent than myself as Sofia—less competent at things that I, Sofia, mastered in the States, like getting water. I, Kossiwa, pay a young girl twice a week to get water for me from the pump, because I am quite unskilled at carrying water on my head like these young kids are (see the pictures below). I, Kossiwa, still have so much to learn about daily life activities and preparing Togolese food, where I, Sofia, am confident in daily chores and preparing American food. I, Kossiwa, sweep my house and porch every morning at 6 a.m. whereas I, Sofia, “Sweep? 6 a.m.?!” I, Kossiwa, don’t understand more than half of the conversations around me, while, I, Sofia, can communicate with ease when surrounded constantly by English. I, Kossiwa, receive (and reject) many marriage proposals a week, while I, Sofia, have yet to receive a single one. I, Sofia, experience new and different things as Kossiwa, and this only helps with my cultural exchange and personal development.


Freely roaming cattle right in my backyard




The market/downtown of the village


The primary/elementary school


This is one of the little shops and bars in the village where I buy eggs, bleach and cold Coca Cola.


Welcome to the neighborhood Shell Station (or BP or Exxon). This is the village gas station where one can buy a bottle of gas for just under a dollar.


This is the stall where I buy street meat. They are grilling and preparing goat in this photo.



Meet some of my neighbors, who also sell bread daily.


This is the entrance to Friday's market. The following images are stalls from the market.

















Get a shirt made while you are shopping!



These are some of the strongest kids I know. They carry water from the pump to their homes.




Market day vans and motos for transporting everything into and out of the village.


My good friend in the village, Hubertine, teaches me to make the Togolese favorite fufu.




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Day in the Life

Image
I have shared stories from my first 11 months in Togo. I have welcomed you into my home. You have learned about Togolese cuisine, and you have read about culture in Togo. But, really, what AM I doing here? That is a question that I ask myself a little bit too often. As a Peace Corps volunteer, we are not led to expect structured days and work schedules. The Peace Corps administration does not hand its volunteers guides for structured days and work. Part of my work is to find and make my own structure—to find the niches where I can fit and fill the needs of the community and where I can find productive and sustainable work. With that being said, I did have a lot of down time during my first few months in village, and I still have down time to learn about Togolese culture and food, to continue learning French and Ewe, to build relationships with my community, and to question my sanity for living in such a foreign country for two years. With this downtime, however, I have created my...
Read more

Exciting News! Completion of the Grant Project

Image
In October I asked family and friends to contribute to a grant project I initiated for the small community in Togo where I live and serve. I was amazed beyond belief that in four days we reached our goal--Thank you, Thank you, Thank you everyone--and I am so excited to say that as of last week that project has officially been completed! The project's goal was to repair the well and running water at the local clinic in hopes of motivating more women to give birth there as well as increase the clinic's hygiene and sanitation levels. The project took seven weeks from start to finish and included deconstructing the old tower, building a new water tower, emptying and cleaning the current well and replacing all of the plumbing and faucets in the clinic. All of the materials were bought in country and the labor came from technicians in the community. I have created a  pdf document  which shows the project's seven-week progression. This new water tower brings running water to t...
Read more

A Long Walk to Work

Image
I live less than three minutes away from the clinic in village, and yet, I have never found myself there in three minutes. Walking the 50 or so feet to the clinic usually takes about 10 minutes. It’s not because the path I take there isn’t straightforward or is terribly arduous, but rather, my time on each walk is filled with greeting each and every person I pass on my way. Something I learned quickly, and quite forcefully, is the power of salutations in Togo. What should be my three-minute walk is tripled in time because I have learned that salutations are a necessity and not just a nicety. When I say salutation, I do not mean a simple, “Bonjour, comment ça va?” [Good morning, how are you?] If only it was that easy, and if only it was in French too. The greeting I’m expected to rehearse on my walk to the clinic, when I see my neighbors, on my walk to market, before I buy my toilet paper, and when I pass by anyone, is much more complex and is done completely in the local language...
Read more