From Research to Impact: A Conversation with Charles Piot

By Sophia Brokenshire

Sophia Brokenshire: Tell me a little bit about yourself, your background, and what initially sparked your interest in working in Togo. Was there a particular moment or experience that motivated you to focus on this region? 

Charles Piot: As a PhD student in cultural anthropology in the 1980s, I decided to focus my research on West Africa. I had spent the summer in Togo as an undergraduate and loved it, and discovered that it was relatively understudied, compared with other Francophone West African countries like Cameroon, Côte d'Ivoire, and Senegal. I saw this as an opportunity—Togo wasn’t a crowded research field—and I developed a project, applied for grant money, and to my surprise, received funding. 

I decided to focus my research on the Kabre people in the village of Kuwdé—where you and the DukeEngage team spent time last summer. The mountainous region they inhabit fascinated me because of its intensive hill agriculture, for which Kabre were well-known. My project aimed to explore the relationship between this farming system and aspects of their social system—their labor, marriage and inheritance practices—to understand whether the mode of farming influenced social outcomes.  

My decision to work in Africa was driven by anthropological curiosity and a broader interest in living in a different area of the world. At that time, there was a robust critique in my academic discipline about the study of other societies, and a desire to no longer represent them as backward and timeless.  This turned out to be the perfect place to counter such images, for Kabre, with their mud houses and ceremonies to the spirits and ancestors, seemed to conform to the stereotype. It seemed a faraway place disconnected from the modern world. But the more time I spent there, the more I realized this was far from the case. People in the villages were cosmopolitan in their own way and modern-savvy. Today youth have smart phones and spend hours each day on social media, while still farming as their ancestors have for centuries.  My dissertation and my first book project sought to challenge misconceptions about societies like this, arguing that this seemingly remote place was modern and global. 

In the 1990s, the world and Africa underwent significant change. The Cold War had ended, and Africa, once a checkerboard battleground between the US and the Soviet Union, saw external financial support disappear. This shift had a profound impact on people's lives in Togo, as government safety nets vanished and international pressure brought democratic reform. My second book, Nostalgia for the Future: West Africa After the Cold War, explored this new political and cultural terrain, with a focus on the way in which emergent non-governmental organizations and Pentecostal churches stepped up and began to take the place of a largely-eviscerated state. 

Migration to Europe and the US also became wildly popular during the 1990s. With state funds disappearing and few jobs, youth in Togo and throughout West Africa wanted out. I became intrigued with the nature of this desire to leave and eventually wrote a book about Togolese applying for the US Diversity Visa Lottery which became a pop culture phenomeon in the early 2000s. Across each of these phases of research, I’ve been struck by the gritty and creative ways in which Togolese have responded to waves of outside predators—during the period of the slave trade, during colonial and post-colonial eras, amidst today’s shifting global landscape. For me, it’s been a privilege to study and write about this human drama. 

Sophia Brokenshire: How did living in Togo shape your perspective on local culture, education, and community life? 

Charles Piot: Initially, I spent two years in Kuwdé. Once a month, I made trips to the nearby town of Kara on a putt-putt motorcycle along washboard roads—a two-hour trip that today takes 45 minutes—and occasionally visited Lomé, Togo’s capital, for R&R, a trip that seemed to take forever. My partner and I struggled with dysentery and malaria, and a range of other infectious maladies. However, despite the challenges, living and working in Kuwdé was mostly pure pleasure. The beauty of the landscape, the hills, the terraces, the stone walls that connect houses, have always taken my breath away.  

But it’s especially the people. They’re not only incredibly hospitable—you and the DukeEngage team experienced that last summer—but also amazingly interesting. One feature that’s always held intrigue is the way in which they’re lawyer-like, forever debating, arguing, and holding each other accountable. Once I learned the local language, I gained access to their debates, and to the subtlety and nuance of their approach to one another and the world. The more time I spent in the village, the more enamored I became.  

I also began to look for ways to give back to those who had shared their lives with me. It was thanks them—to the interviews they agreed to and the stories they told me—that I had a life at the university. I remain forever indebted and have always tried to acknowledge their gift. 

When my partner and I first arrived, we brought along a suitcase filled with medicine—aspirin, antibiotics, bandages—and became an informal clinic of sorts. People would come to us with medical issues, and though we weren’t doctors, we administered simple treatments, which were often effective. This was one small way we tried to give back. Then, too, I paid a small salary to two local assistants and rent to the family we stayed with.  And, when I began to publish research findings, I brought copies of my articles and books back to the village to share, translating what I had written into French and Kabre, both to make sure I’d gotten it right and to include them in the process. 

In 2008, my university launched DukeEngage, with generous funding from Melinda Gates and the Duke Endowment. This initiative enabled Duke students to spend two months working in communities around the world, and I signed on as program director for a project in Togo. I saw this as another opportunity to give back—at a time in Kuwdé when youth were departing the village for elsewhere, often leaving their families high and dry. I recruited a team of Duke students to address this youth outmigration, not so much to stop it as to attempt to make life more interesting and palatable for those who stayed behind. Their life in the village wasn’t bad—they had plenty of food to eat—but youth felt left out and disconnected from the larger world. While they worked incredibly hard, farming from sun-up to sun-down, they felt they had little to show for it. Migration offered them the chance to earn some money and, their prize, to buy a motorcycle or cell phone, mirroring the desires of youth everywhere. 

In an effort to provide more opportunity for teens, DukeEngage students and I designed projects that aimed to improve the quality of life for those who couldn’t or didn’t want to migrate. One of the more successful initiatives was a microfinance project, through which we provided small loans to youth in their mid- to late- teens. These loans allowed young men and women to start small commercial ventures or purchase essentials for farming. The microloan initiative began small, with fewer than a dozen fundees each year, but has grown to 60-80 today. This is a project that still has legs. 

We also established a writer’s group—teaching essay and poetry skills—but with mixed success.  While some local youth have shown strong interest, others stopped attending, for a range of interesting reasons. Nevertheless, those who stayed with the program were able to develop their writing skills, and those who have gone on to the university often credit the writers’ program for their success. Connected to this project was a small cyber-café two Engage students built in 2014 to teach computer skills to children who had never seen a laptop before. As with the writers’ project, the computer lab has made an impact on those who continue their education at the university. Another Engage success story was a health insurance system Duke students designed and implemented. It was wildly popular and became self-sustaining, but it went out of business a few years ago when a local NGO began distributing free malaria medicine, obviating one of the main benefits of our scheme. However, it lasted for more than 10 years and was a valuable add-on to local health care.  It is important to emphasize that all of these projects were student-designed and student-driven, and were often projects that I myself had never dreamt of.  

Those in the villages have loved hosting Duke students, and have gone out of their way to ensure we’re safe and well-fed.  Not only do the families that host our home-stays make a little money but also, they’ve told me repeatedly, you add pleasure to their lives. You’re a novelty—arrivals from the other side of the world—and your kindness and openness resonate with their sensibilities.  

Sophia Brokenshire: Are there any particular moments or achievements that stand out as highlights of your career? 

Charles Piot: It's hard to single out any particular project because, honestly, I've had a good run and have enjoyed most of the projects I’ve worked on. But a favorite has been studying and writing about the US Diversity Visa Lottery. This lottery system gives Togolese a chance to acquire a US green card if chosen by the computer and if they meet the criteria of having the right educational level or appropriate job skills for employment listed by the US Labor Department. When selected, and if they pass their embassy interview, they walk out with a potentially life-altering US green card. 

I had the pleasure of working closely on this project with a Togolese friend, Kodjo Batema, who you and the Engage students met last summer. He’s a visa broker—known in Togo as a “traiteur” (‘treater’ of documents), or in Ghana as a "connection man." Kodjo is super skilled at his trade, signing people up for the lottery, helping them fill out the documents, preparing them for the embassy interview, and arranging financing for their travel. If only a handful of his enrollees are selected in the lottery, he’s able to support himself for a year. I’ve found the stories, and the twists and turns, in the lives of those implicated stunningly interesting, if also sometimes sad and tragic.  

Sophia Brokenshire: How has your time with the Kabre community shifted or expanded your perspective? In what ways do you think Western societies, particularly the US, could benefit from some of the cultural values or practices you've seen? 

Charles Piot: That’s a great but challenging question to answer. I’ve always found people in Kuwdé to be larger than life and profoundly interesting. They are also deeply humane, especially in the way they treat outsiders, a practice or commitment which I think is pan-West African. There’s a kindness and generosity they extend to others, especially to those who are new or unfamiliar. Whether it's welcoming someone from far away, like us, or a fellow villager they haven’t seen in years, they open their doors and roll out the red carpet. Their aim is to have their guests leave without complaint and with a desire to return. 

But more, I've learned much from them about living a meaningful life. I remember discussing with you last summer the following experience. After two years there during my first trip, my partner and I felt that we had experienced life as it was meant to be. People worked incredibly hard but they also made time for family and friends. When each day they come together to drink local beer, after workgroup sessions or at the time of ceremonies, they have a blast, whether joking or arguing.   

When we returned to the States, we wanted to bring that lifestyle back with us, and we tried setting up social time with friends, proposing that we meet at a favorite drinking hole every night at 5 PM. For the first week, a few friends showed up, but by the second week, they were too busy. It made us realize how different our work-until-you-die culture is than theirs. Kabre work hard too, but they also carve out time for socializing. It’s something I’ve always admired about life there—the balancing of hard work with a commitment to relationships. 

Sophia Brokenshire: Are there some common misconceptions or stereotypes about your work in Togo that you've had to challenge? How do you address those when you're sharing your experiences with people back in the US? 

Charles Piot: As I mentioned earlier, there are so many misconceptions about the continent. Outsiders see it as poor, backward, coup- and war-ridden, a place in which everything has gone wrong. While it’s true that some of these things happen, and in certain places more than others, my experience has often been the opposite.  

As both a teacher and an anthropologist, a main goal of mine has been to help others gain a different, more accurate, picture of the continent. And to convey the vast potential it has.  I truly believe that in the not-too-distant future—given its youthfulness, the boundless energy of its population, and its vast resources—Africa will be at the center of the world. Look at China—it wasn't too long ago that China was in a similar position, poor and underdeveloped. Now, it's a global powerhouse. With all the youthful energy and ingenuity we witnessed in Kabre villages, it makes you wonder whether Africa can’t follow a similar path. I believe it can. 

Sophia Brokenshire: What are the lasting impacts you hope to leave as a teacher to the Duke Engage students? 

Charles Piot: First, let me repeat how special DE students have been for me.  I’ve learned an enormous amount from them and love the energy and creativity they’ve brought to their projects.  I feel that they’re the best Duke has to offer. 

As to lasting impacts, I hope that at least some who’ve traveled to Togo have come away with a more nuanced and complex view of the world, and come to appreciate a different way of life. I know several who changed their majors and career paths after spending the summer in Kuwdé and Farendé. While I haven’t kept track of exact numbers, I’d estimate that 20 of the 120 or so who’ve accompanied me to Togo have made significant changes in their life plans, sometimes dramatically so. 

Maria Romano went into policy work around migration after her time interviewing teen migrants in Togo. Allie Middleton, originally intending to go to medical school, switched to a career in medical anthropology after conducting research about the local medical system in Kuwdé; she recently finished her PhD and got a job as an assistant professor at the University of Copenhagen. Emma Smith, who designed the microfinance project in Farendé, is still working in microfinance, now in Latin America. Uzo Ayogu was offered a job at Google, but after a summer building a latrine system in Farendé, opted instead to return to his native Nigeria to engage in rural development. I could go on and name others who were similarly affected by their time in the villages.   

Knowing that some will go on to be voices for humanity because of their experience in Togo gives me immense pleasure. In a world filled with so much nastiness, hatred, and warfare, it’s heartening to see students develop a deep sense of empathy and understanding. 

Sophia Brokenshire: Do you have a fun story you could share with us? 

Charles Piot: There’s an oddball story I sometimes tell to friends. A few years ago, a brewery in Togo started making bottled sorghum beer. One December, as I was leaving to return to the US, a Togolese friend gave me a case of the bottled beer to take home. I thought, “no way is this making it through customs,” but decided to give it a try, and buried a dozen of the bottles in my suitcase, fully aware that they were pressurized and would likely be picked off by customs. 

Upon checking in at the airport, I sent my bag through the security system and boarded the plane. A half hour later, a flight attendant approached and asked me to follow her. She wouldn’t say why and simply lead me to a baggage room at the far end of the airport. When I entered, I saw a female soldier in army fatigues who pointed at my suitcase and asked in French, “What’s in there?” I was confused for a moment before realizing it must be the beer. I wasn’t sure if she was Kabre—though many soldiers are—but thought it worth the risk of trying to win her over by responding in (what I hoped was) her own language, “You don’t drink sulum (sorghum beer)?” 

She burst out laughing and told me to get back on the plane. I later discovered that she had sent my bag on, and it made it all the way to my final destination without a single bottle removed. So, there I was, against long odds, back home with a dozen bottles of sorghum beer! I mailed a few to my ex- and shared the rest with friends. It was a quirky storied moment—of my romance with a local beer, an encounter with an amused soldier, her generosity in not confiscating my treasure. Remembering it still brings a smile.