Feet on the Ground in Togo

The end was fast and unexpected. It was so sudden, it numbed me. I didn’t feel anything for the first hours following the early Monday morning message that globally all Peace Corps volunteers were being evacuated. Maybe I was numb because I was exhausted from dealing with the tragedy that had, just a week earlier, struck my community. Maybe I was numb but my mind was running a mile-a-minute as I packed and said goodbye to the Togolese people who mean the most to me. Maybe I was numb because it all seemed so surreal, and I wasn’t ready to accept the reality and gravity of the situation. Let me back up. On Tuesday, March 10 my village experienced heavy winds and rains, a signal of the rainy season’s commencement. The start of the rains is welcome. It begins the farming season and ends the cool and dusty dry season. Something that is normally celebrated was reviled that day. On Tuesday, March 10 the heavy winds and rains knocked down a cement wall at the elementary school, injuring ...

It was my sixth week in Togo when my youngest host brother, Edoh, at two years old, fell sick. I noticed something was off about him immediately because he wasn’t the same chicken-chasing, banana-stealing little boy. Instead on this morning, he was lethargic, apathetic and burning hot to the touch. My host mother took Edoh to the community health worker who confirmed that he had malaria. I was frightened to hear about Edoh’s diagnosis, but the worst part was it seemed everyone around me from his parents to his siblings and his neighbors seemed to have no worries at all, reassured that as long as he took the medication, he would be fine. I wasn’t so reassured as my limited knowledge of malaria from just a few training sessions about the disease left me disheartened and worried for Edoh’s life. Malaria kills, and it is especially deadly for kids. Why wasn’t my host mother freaking out like I was? I tried asking my host mom about his illness and her thoughts, but my broken French...