FYI: I’m sure hygiene has improved in Togo since I lived there in 1968, more than 50 years ago, so please do not take this as a portrait of its current state of affairs. Across the continent, things have improved markedly. This is simply an account of my experiences in 1968:
In May of 1968, when I first arrived in Togo’s capital city, Lome, I was by no means “seasoned” and like a lot of foreigners, was grossed out by the lack of hygiene. As new arrivals, we stayed at the Peace Corps office and hostel and slept in beds with mattresses and sheets, which was fine. The bathrooms were fine, toilets being American in design, not European. I was anticipating a shock but encountered nothing. Though I had been raised in the American South, I thought I was used to heat, but in Togo, it was like walking into a hot and humid room with no windows. I was not used to that. Also the people spoke French, but having lived in France, that was okay. The “shock” hadn’t happened.
The next day, I decided to take a stroll to Lome’s market, close by the beach. I toured the market, maybe bought a few things, and walked to the beach. It was low tide, and there the “shock” happened. Scattered about the sand and exposed since the tide was low were piles of human excrement. Since the market had no public restrooms, people went to the beach to relieve themselves and let the incoming tide take it away. Though the reasoning was logical, I was grossed out. How could people do that to such a lovely beach? How could people swim under these conditions?
After a few days, I was sent up-country in May for training, and in June to my village, where there were no indoor facilities. I got used to “going” outside. We were supposed to build an outhouse, but I preferred a grove of bushes behind my house, the grove providing some measure of privacy. which being American, I valued. Among boys and men, it made for no difference, for I remember clearly men and boys at camp being lined up in a row and being in the stages of defecating from beginning to end, though they may try to hide it.
I didn’t know girls’ or women’s toilet behaviour, nor do I now even though married for many years. Even in marriage, couples respect privacy. Whether in America or
member toilets at camp being lined up in a row), but I always looked out for snakes in search of rodents and birds. Thanks to rats, insects, and other creatures, the feces only lasted a few days, and then, all gone. For example, I was at a compound and saw a dung beetle pushing along a large, round turd that it had shaped. It was pushing it to its hole, where it would be consumed. Such sights were normal in village life.
For men, urination was no problem. We’d just step outside the front and back door, whichever was more private. For girls and women, I’ve seen them raise their cloth wrap-around gowns, and let fly. Usually no toilet paper. For defecation, on market days during the first of the rainy season when the maize or millet was just sprouting, I’d see both sexes go into the nearby fields, swat, and relieve themselves. You might see them, but you didn’t watch, for that was considered impolite. To wipe their bottoms, they often had no toilet paper, so what did they use? They carried a jug or calabash of water with them and used the water to wash. The left hand was always used. It was considered impolite to hand someone something with only the left hand.
One time, I decided to hitchhike from Lome to Niamtougou since the railroad tracks were flooded and got a ride with a truck. Outside of a town, the driver pulled over on the dirt highway, grabbed a gallon jug of water, and into the trees he went. By this time, I knew the score, and when he returned, off we went. I’d become “seasoned” in more ways than one.
In December, I was in Lome before I came home since I had been drafted and went to the market. I remembered how grossed out I had been upon arrival. Now after living in the back country of Africa for six months, I was struck by how clean the market was. The piles of excrement on the beach were there, but they presented no problem. I had become “seasoned.”
I simply walked about a mile up the beach and went swimming. Not knowing what the future held in store for me in Vietnam, I enjoyed riding the big waves.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
George W. McDaniel, PhD, is the President of McDaniel Consulting, LLC, a strategy firm that helps organizations use history to build bridges within itself and to its broader constituents. For 25 years, he served as the Executive Director of Drayton Hall, a historic site in Charleston, SC. A native of Atlanta, he earned a BA from Sewanee, a MAT (history) from Brown University, and PhD (history) from Duke. Interspersed through those years were travels to many places — Europe, Africa, Vietnam — where he saw peace and war and learned by experience about cultural differences and commonalities. For 40 years, he built a career working in education and history museums, beginning with the Smithsonian Institution, and earning awards at the local, state, and national levels.
“Building Bridges through History”
The company’s tagline is grounded in McDaniel’s personal beliefs and his professional experience. Services address site management, preservation, education, board development, fundraising, community outreach, and more.
Rather than using history to divide us, McDaniel helps organizations use history, especially local history, to enhance cross-cultural understanding and to support local museums, preservation, and education.
Turning Beliefs into Actions
Dr. McDaniel led volunteer efforts with Emanuel AME Church and historical organizations in Charleston to use historic preservation to enhance racial reconciliation and healing.
A frequent writer, speaker, and facilitator, reach him at gmcdaniel4444@gmail.com or through his website www.mcdanielconsulting.net.
Images courtesy of the author unless otherwise noted.
McDaniel Consulting LLC is a strategy firm that helps organizations use history to build bridges within itself and its broader constituents. 