Bring on the Harmattan!

I get a lot of questions about the weather here in Togo. Last week, my stage celebrated 6 months in Togo (crazy, right?), so I’ve now experiences half a year of the country’s weather cycles. When I arrived in June, rainy season was just beginning. It actually came a little late this year, which delayed the planting season and thus delayed the start of the school year (harvest was later and the kids were needed to tend to the fields). My first two months during training were held in the southern-most region of Togo, Maritime, which has a much different climate than my current region, Savannes. I told my APCD that I couldn’t handle the humidity (and mosquitoes) in the south and wanted a post in northern, drier Togo. I was in Lomé last week and it’s still incredibly humid and I got eaten alive by mosquitoes. So, in Savannes, rainy season lasted until the beginning of October. It rained every 2-3 days, only for an hour or so during the day and night rains were incredibly loud and torrential. Togolese do not like the rain and any time a sprinkle begins to fall, you can expect any meetings to be cancelled. Personally, I love the rain, but I received serious concerns from random Togolese on the streets if I walked around while it rained, even with an umbrella.

Rainy Season 

Dry Season (Photo cred: R. Chang)

After rainy season came une petite chaleur, or a tiny hot season. Everything dried out and the gorgeous green landscape turned brown. This also meant it was time for the harvest. They burn the dried stalks left over from the crops and little brush pile fires have cluttered the landscape the past couple of weeks. As a Californian, I am particularly concerned about the safety of this method and think that every burn pile is going to get out of control and turn into a wild brush fire–especially when it’s burning right next to a house (including my house). There was one night last week where a fire off in the distance seemed to be larger than they had originally intended. It burned all night and I could hear the crackling from inside my house. I made up an emergency action plan that night. Despite my fears and the dryness, the fires seem to be well controlled. People apparently do die in fires annually, so we dutifully taught a group of 50 kids at Club Espoir (a monthly meeting for kids affected by HIV/AIDS) how to stop, drop and roll–arrêter, tomber, et rouler. The kids had a lot of fun rolling around on the ground.

Stop, drop, and roll

Harmattan has really picked up in the last week. What is harmattan, you ask? It’s when the winds from the Saharan Desert blow south, carrying with it lots of sand and dust. There is now a permanent haze everywhere and my nasal passage is greatly suffering. (Don’t worry mom, I’m using the netty pot!) It’s also the coldest time of the year–high mid 90s, low mid 60s–which means that the Togolese pull out their parkas, scarves and ski masks. No joke. The babies are bundled up so much that they become immobile. It’s really cute. I actually have to sleep with a blanket at night. I’ve heard contradicting remarks about when harmattan usually ends, but most say mid to late February.

(Photo cred: R. Chang)

After harmattan comes la saison seche, or dry season (i.e. hot season). I picked a random day in March 2011 and looked up the weather. Lows were mid 90s and highs reached 110°, with humidity peaking at 56%. Kill me now. I don’t know how anyone survives that type of weather. Most insects don’t (mosquitoes…), which is one benefit. Apparently people are active between sunrise and 10am, then disappear under a mango tree to repos for a few hours, and reemerge hours later when the heat has lessened a little.

Some people have asked me when would be a good time to visit. The answer really depends on what kind of experience you want. I don’t have a choice–I’m here for all of it!