On Thursday, the employee of a friend died ‘suddenly’.
He asked me to accompany him to the mourning family.
It was a small village next to his farm. There live around five thousands people, all small farmers.
They used to rent lands from landlord who got them from European terrorists of the 18th century who gave all community lands to local chief who collaborated with them.
Since last years, the landlords started selling huge chunk of the land to new rich, who chased the small farmers away.
The deceased was one of the new landless farmer. He was working for my friends as employee during the last 9 months. He had a condition.
After his death we learned he was suffering from hernia. He was too proud – farmer character – to ask for help to go to hospital. He didn’t have any money.
The village has four churches which collect four times money from the villagers every month, taking away their little savings. There is a mosque too.
In contrast, there is no nursery, no school, no tap water.
The colonial religions brought only loud prayers as solutions to their problems. The Togolese state barely knows the village exist.
The guy died in pain on a motorbike on a sandy road in a last minute attempt to reach the city hospital, 10 kilometers away.
I cried loud. I did not sleep during the night.