July 8th

So once again so many things are happening, it is hard to know where to start. Sometimes it is easier to start with the most recent and work backwards until I reach the time frame where I left off in my last letter. That may be optimistic that I will even be able to order things in such a linear fashion, but I will do my best. Then again, if jumbled up, mixed around time sense worked for Sartre and Faulkner, it can work for me.

As I may have mentioned earlier, I walk or ride my bike next to a busy road to go to lessons every day at least 4 times a day. To get to my house, I turn right on a dirt road, past the miller on the left, sound the community water pump, make a right and go into my courtyard.

The miller is the point of this story today. He truly is an extraordinary man. Most of you know how I feel about overly enthusiastic born- again. Christian types, but the miller really was alive with joy. He appreciated every single day fully. When going through our salutations in a mixture of French & Ewe, he never gave the traditional responses, but would say "Today is the most beautiful day, I am alive, you are alive, we are smiling, the children and goats are here. Look around us , today is a joyous day. I am full of the spirit of God, he is with me and I am happy" None of this was by rote and his face would shine with the meaning of his words. He was one of those people you could see from a mile off who was simply good deep inside and it radiated out to everyone around him.. He would sing as he ground the corn people brought him, over the deafening clatter of his mill breathing in the flour in the air.

Since I don't have a host father, as I adopted Dr. Bug as my grandfather, I asked him to be my father here. Thenceforth I addressed him as "mon pere". I would practically bow everyday to him because it just seemed right. He was an integral part of my day and he knew my schedule and would wait at the window for me and would know if I was late.This weekend our town was completely turned upside down with funeral of some important man in town. Tons of people from Lome were here and the streets were lined with new Mercedes and BMWs (can you freakin believe that? In one of the poorest countries in the world. These people may as well have been from Mars). There were also raggedy specially hired buses everywhere and our town was turning into a bush taxi stop as well. The streets were crowded with people wearing their best pagne (crazy colorful local cloth) suits- families would have their outfits cut from the same matching pagne. Now coming from Baltimore, I have seen some crazy African hairstyles with extensions and what not, but the hairstyles of every woman this weekend were extraordinary! Everyone from town was looking spiffy too, but you could tell the Lome-ers from the local from a mile away. The Lome women could wear make-up like we're used to and in a mainly subtle fashion. The local women I see everyday had lipstick on their eyelids and eyeshadow on their lips. The local men are mainly respectful, friendly, and non-threatening, the Lome men hissed and shouted "yovo" (foreigner in Ewe- we get called that at least 20 times a day). That's OK because when you respond back in Ewe and make joke they fall out of their seats on the side of the road in shock and the women literally roar with laughter ( and I like to think respect too), whatever- yovo-1 Lomer-zero.

So when I didn't see the miller working on Friday I assumed that he had to do something with the funeral and a cousin or some such was filling in. We also got our posts assigned that day, so I had a lot going on. Saturday comes and I have class then go to Kpalime to try internet again and buy pagne. I come home late and sleep at school to watch movies.

I woke up this morning immediately realizing I haven't seen mon pere for 2 days and vow to ask someone where he is. Well, he died this morning, to make a very long story short. My family only found out about 1/2 hour before I asked. Of course I burst into tears and ask if I can visit his family, where will the funeral be, etc. etc.

So my family takes me up the road, through some cornfields and winding paths to the miller's house. There are about 20-30 people sitting on stools and benches under the trees and wife sitting on the steps surrounded by women and family. Some people are sobbing and wailing. I'm trying to hold back tears because I'm not sure if it's ok that a yovo who they've only know for a month is crying. My family leads me to her, I give her my condolences, crying, and we hug and cry for a bit. Then they lead me inside to see his corpse laid out and shrouded. He just looks asleep, but I can see a huge lump which must be a hernia of some sort. They said he had it for a long time, but couldn't afford the surgery to fix it. I gave the wife some money to get his body taken back to his native village and we sit back under the trees and cry.

There are so many thins I could say about mon pere, thank god we got our picture taken together just 3 days ago. I really did love him.. This type of thing is what keeps me here when the petty things are tough. If I can help create sustainable businesses that employ people then those people can afford surgery.

There's so much more to share about life here, but this time I will give the miller his due respect and end here.

Thank you and I miss you all.

Love Always,

Heather