From my perspective - always another point of view

From my perspective – the zedman

Up to now, Rebekah has been the author of these blogs.  But I feel, it is my turn to share my perspective of her.

When I first met Rebekah, I knew she was different.  Not just because she looked different, but because she behaved differently.

But let’s start with the physical differences which are immediately apparent.  She is not Togolese.  To me, she is Chinese.  She has black, straight hair.  She has eyes that seem to disappear when she smiles.  She has a round face that reminds me of Bruce Lee (I have seen all of his movies here in Togo).  Yes, she must be Chinese.  But then she explained to me that she is from the United States.  An American?!  How is that possible?  But then, I hear her speak French with that thick American accent.  Yes, she is American.  She explained to me that her parents are from Taiwan (and I do know the difference from China or at least I pretend to know) and that she was born in the United States.  I didn’t know that could be a possibility.  When she showed me some pictures, I assumed the older, white woman was her mother.  Apparently, I didn’t understand completely that she didn’t need to have white parents in order to be an American.

That laugh.  Can we talk about her laugh?  For such a little person, this girl has a voice that enters the room minutes before she walks in.  If you ever need to know where to find Rebekah, just listen.  You’ll find her.

I watch her interact with my fellow Togolese.  She has the ability to create warmth with her positive energy, her smile, and a hug.  I envy the women in Togo as Rebekah hugs them all.  For me, however, it would be improper as I would gather hope that she would want to take me home to the United States with her.  She tells me that a lot of the zed drivers ask her to take them home with her and she tells all of them she will.  Either she is joking or she will take us all home.  She says she wants more than one husband but in Togo, only the men are allowed to have more than one wife, which I remind her all the time of that fact.  She also tells the zed drivers she will marry them when they have lots of money.  She really wants a lot.  I tell her I am saving my money and she says, “Good!”

As we drive around, we hear the children yell “Yovo!” and “Anasera!”  Rebekah tells me that she doesn’t like being called those names.  I explain to her that they just want her attention.  She tells me that she prefers to be called by her name, Richella.  I now yell at all the children to stop.

Rebekah has a lot of Peace Corps friends.  I don’t really know what Peace Corps is but Rebekah says she is a volunteer.  I’m not sure I know what a volunteer is either.  Rebekah says she doesn’t earn money for her work, but I wonder where she gets all her money to buy the nice things she has.  She lives in a two bedroom, one bath home.  She has furniture.  She gets to ride around on a moto.  Where does she get her money from?  And her friends seem to have a lot of money too.  It doesn’t make any sense.

Rebekah knows to negotiate the price with me before we go anywhere and I always ask for 50 CFA or 100 CFA more than the normal price.  She just laughs and walks away and then I change my mind.  Then she berates me for trying to cheat her.  There are a lot of other Yovos that give me what I ask for so I don't understand why she won't.  She tells me she is Togolaise and that she knows the price.  I am confused.

From my perspective – the toilet

My impression of Rebekah is that she finds no pleasure in me other than flushing me.

From my perspective – the almost dead cockroach

Yeah, as I lie here on my back, twitching my legs as I desperately try to flip over to no avail, Rebekah peers over me with her evil eyes, watching me suffer, and with pleasure.  She holds over me a spray can so I dare not twitch too much or else she will release more noxious fumes upon my already numbing body.

I was minding my own business, crawling on the wall when she first struck me with that gas.  Had I known she would find me so repulsive, I would have stayed hidden until night time.

From my perspective – the children

We all want your attention.  You are not one of us.  We want you to see us so we yell at you.  We want you to hear us say, “Bonjou!”  Yes, we know we were taught “Bonjour”, but we are young and we don’t really know what we're saying so we say it without the “r” at the end.  We don’t understand why sometimes you are friendly and sometimes you are not.  Yes, we laugh at you when you respond back to us.  And yes, we scream louder when you don’t respond at all.

We also want to touch you.  To see if you are real.  To see if you feel the same as we do.  And we want to touch your hair too.  It's not like our hair.  Why do you raise your hands in the air and say, "Don't touch!  Don't touch!"  We aren't going to hurt you.  Geez.

From my perspective – the bush taxi driver

If I drive a car, yes I will pile in seven people plus myself into it.  I will put someone in my lap while I drive, two people in the passenger seat and four people in the back.  I will pile into the trunk all of your belongings.  My car’s tires are worn and tired.  My accelerator and brakes barely function.  But I need to earn a living and I live in Togo, so this is the way it goes.

If I drive a van of some sort, I will pile in as many people, goats, chickens, and whatever else I can.  Don’t even look at my tires.  And if it feels like we’re going to tip over, it’s probably because we most likely are leaning.  Air conditioning?  Yes; just open the window.  If we break down, ca va aller.

From my perspective – the chickens, the rabbits, the goats, the ducks, the turkeys, the dogs, the cows, the horses, the cats, and the oxen

What is that thing you are pointing and clicking at us?  And you are the only person who pets us.  That is so strange, but we like it so keep doing it.