The Road Less Traveled

In the morning, I had breakfast at the Hotel Ibis with the Triki, Kemal, and Enrico, and gave them my business cards so they
could stay in touch. Then I checked out and said goodbye to the staff. They struggled to say goodbye to me in English, a gesture I appreciated.

School Visit

Elon came to pick me up and take me to Lycee Lome Cite, a school that one of the Togo seminar participants had invited me to visit. It was literally around the corner. I could see the hotel from the school. I thought it was awful that a car had been arranged to take me on such a short trip. I could have walked there and walked back to the hotel and slept some more before checking out. On the other hand, it was helpful to have Elon ask around and find Mr. Kogon, the man whose class I’d be visiting. It turned =out there was a primary school and a lycee on the same site. Elon asked around and finally we walked across the sandy playground to a room where we found Mr. Kogon. We sat in the school secretary’s office until we could meet with the principal of the whole school, who was an English teacher and had studied in the States. His English was great. I saw the 15 year old computer in his office that no longer worked so everything there is done by hand.

After the introduction, I walked down the corridor with Mr. Kogon. We said a brief hello to the Terminale (last year) students, then to the Premiere students, then came to the Seconde class I’d be observing. Even though in French “Premiere” means 1st and “Seconde” means second, the Seconde students were in their first year at the lycee; the numbering system goes
backwards. That took some getting used to, especially when I was reviewing the textbooks for the three levels.

Anyway, despite the fact that there were 76 white and khaki-uniformed students in the room and the primary school kids were noisily playing soccer outside (and they were easy to hear because there were no windows or even screens), Mr. Kogon did a good job of making the class fun and communicative. I spoke to them about 5 minutes, then went to say goodbye to the principal. On the way back to the car I saw the teacher’s room—a wooden table in a concrete room with some old bookcases. I still want to hug the walls of my teachers’ room at UCR Extension when I think of it.

Last Fou-Fou

Elon then took me to the program office. When Jean was ready, we got in a car with Elon and rode through the city to a restaurant to have my last fou-fou and meat and fish with the 6 people from DIFOP. It was clearly one of the nicer restaurants in the city—there was a lot of concrete and painted tables. The soap was liquid in a bottle, not cue stick chalk. We had forks
and knives to eat with. And we had coasters to cover our water glasses with to keep the bugs out. The bottlecaps were left on our beer bottles for the same reason. At one point I forgot and poured the bottlecap right into the glass. That meant I had to pour the beer out. :(Anyway, we had a very nice lunch together and it was a little sad to say goodbye to them.

Adventures in Shopping: Exploring the Grand Marche

We drove back to the program office, where I had about 4 hours to kill before driving back to Mary’s to shower up and rest before going to the airport. I checked my email at the American Cultural Center, then decided it was time to do some touring on my own.

The American Cultural Center is in the middle of the Grand Marche (the Grand Market). Each morning that week driving into the center we took a narrow dirt road that was crowded with stands and people selling goods. I decided to walk on the road at the other entrance; it looked wider and smoother. I got some nice jewelry on that side, then kept walking through narrower paths, trying not to get in the way of taxis, motorbikes, cloth and food sellers, and people carrying ungodly amounts of goods on their heads. I found my way to Rue du Commerce, and got hounded by men selling stuff. I needed souvenirs so that was okay, but when the drum sellers followed me with one of their friends for several blocks while he took me to his friend to sell me an overpriced music tape, I was irritated and heartbroken for them at the same time.

After buying the tape, I told the guy who’d led me there I had to go. But I told him to leave me too soon—I wasn’t where I thought I was. I wandered along a road I thought was the road back, but when I saw a streetlight I knew I was in the wrong place. I used my map to get me back, then ended up at a bus station at the beach. It was close to 4:00. I was afraid I was gonna have to take a taxi or mototaxi back if I didn’t find my way soon. But I gave the map one last try and soon I found myself at the doorstep of the American Cultural Center.

When I went upstairs I told Jean about my little adventure. My worried Togolese papa said, “I thought you were downstairs checking your email!” I said, “I was, then I went into the market.” All is well that ends well, though.

I said goodbye to everyone. Jean said goodbye as the French do, with a kiss on both cheeks. Mary took me to her nice big house, where I took a shower and watched her daughter play until Alex (another driver) came and took me to the airport. If Jean was my Togolese papa on this trip, Mary was my American mama. God bless her.

One of the teachers from the Lome seminar was outside the airport saying goodbye to her sister, who was off to Germany. It was a nice surprise to see her again, and a nice way to say goodbye to Togo. The expediter took me all the way to the waiting area at the gate. I sat on a nice leather couch until it was time to get on the plane. I made it through the long security line and survived the spraying of insecticide after the airplane doors closed. I survived the long bus rides and security lines in Paris to get to my connecting flight, and the 11 ½ hour flight from Paris to L.A. I got my car started again, got it washed, and survived
the 45-mile drive to my mother’s that took 2 hours. We were both excited to see each other again. And for the first time in a long time, California and my hometown looked like paradise to me.

NOTE: Photos of this part of the trip are online at photos.yahoo.com/reisefrau in the “Togo_Togoville” album.

The day after I got back from Kpalime, my program arranged a car and driver to take me and Nicole, a program officer who was based in Montreal but was doing temporary duty in Lome, to the nearby town of Togoville.

We had to stop at Mary’s so I could drop off my laundry. While I talked with Mary about my day’s activities, scrubbed the dirt out of my pants from Saturday’s hike, and heard the recount of her unfortunate food poisoning from something she ate in Tove on
Friday, Nicole stayed in the car and heard Eric’s (the driver’s) explanation of why he wouldn’t go in a pirogue (long canoe) across the lake to Togoville. But driving to Togoville would take a long time. So we were faced with the choice of either taking the shorter canoe and touring without Eric’s expertise, or spending 2 and a half hours in the car.

When we arrived at the small hotel where the pirogue landing was, Eric asked how long the boat ride to Togoville was. The worker said 45 minutes. Nicole didn’t want to spend all that extra time in the car, and I agreed it was a beautiful day for a boat ride.
Eric spoke in Ewe for a while and negotiated a price for us: 3,500 CFAs per person round trip, plus 3,000 for the tour guide. Any fees for seeing the fetish area would be extra. That seemed reasonable.

When it was time to get in the boat, Nicole noticed water. She asked if the boat was leaking, and she was assured it wasn’t. We got in the boat and were given front seats. A Chinese couple got in behind us. But Nicole heard them say that they heard the locals were being charged 150 CFAs for the ride, and the Chinese were being charged 2500. Normally that would have incensed me too, but I’d already paid so I didn’t care.

The ride over didn’t feel 45 minutes at all. It was leisurely and reminded Nicole of southern Louisiana, me of a boat ride in Florida. We enjoyed the view of the children playing in the water, and I enjoyed seeing them waving and hearing them say “au revoir” as
we went by. We saw a bar on the beach that looked good, and even the catamarans looked nice. When we arrived at Togoville, the man who crossed on the boat with us identified a tour guide who spoke English. The guide told us that Togoville was the
first city in Togo. At first it was called Toago, which means “the other side of the river”. When the Germans came, they changed the name to “Togostadt” (Togo City). When the French took it over after WWI, they changed it to its current name.

We saw a church that had been built by the Germans in 1910. Surprisingly, it started as a Protestant church and then later became a Catholic church. The paintings inside the church were Italian, but the Catholic series of paintings of the stages of the
death of Christ had German captions. There was a separate inner chapel with the image of the Virgin Mary. Our guide told us that in 1973, the Virgin Mary was seen out on the water. The boat where it was seen (or the boat the people were in when they
saw it, I don’t remember exactly) is preserved in painted concrete as a monument outside the church. Also outside was an outdoor chapel, built to accommodate people who came to hear the pope speak (in 1885 or 1984, I can’t remember which).

After touring the church, we walked through the town. We saw two women drawing water from the first well of Togoville. Nicole started to take a picture, but one of the women got very angry and yelled “cadeau!” (tip!). Nicole gave her 500 CFAs so we could take her picture. I thought that was too much, but Nicole said she did it to appease her anger.

Next, we saw the stalls where the Togoville market takes place, but it’s only open on Wednesdays. Perhaps 10 feet from the rows of wood covered with straw or tin was a beautiful red concrete sculpture of two people. Our guide told us that it was a statue
built in the 1980s as a symbol of German-Togalese unity. He challenged us to figure out which one was German and which one was Togolese, but Nicole immediately identified the one with the long square nose as German. I hadn’t noticed it, but after she
said that even I had to admit the flatter nose on the right looked typically Togolese.

Soon we were in a neighborhood that practices voodoo. We saw a statue for the male god of fertility. On top of this statue was a dead chicken. Our guide said the actual sacrifice left depends on the nature of the request made to the god. The sacrifice is made at night by initiates into the voodoo culture. Later, the animal is eaten.

After passing through a gate with a dove of peace on top, we saw the female fertility god. Unlike the male fertility god, who is open and in the sun, the female fertility god is covered with a straw roof to protect her and the children of Togoville. It seemed logical but I could also see how that could be used as a basis for discrimination against women. Nicole and I were asked to leave something for the god. Nicole and I both left money, and both prayed to the god of fertility NOT to get pregnant.

Our last stop was the artisans’ house. Outside, we saw a sculpture representing the older generation talking to the younger generation. Inside, we saw many nice but overpriced goods. I managed to bargain the most things down to half their sticker price, and get a discount on other things as well. Nicole, who has spent time in Benin, Nigeria, and Kenya, also drove a good hard bargain.

The worst experience of the day came as it was time to leave. Nicole and I had understood that there was a voodoo fetish market to see in Togoville. It was also our general understanding that we would pay a little extra for to see it, perhaps 1000-2000 CFAs. Instead, the president of the organization came out and asked each of us to pay 12,000 for the tour of Togoville we had just had. That’s $24 PER PERSON. Nicole became furious, and didn’t want to pay anything. I finally agreed we were only there once and should pay something. We bargained it down to 2500 CFAs each. However, I was under the impression that we were paying 2500 to go the fetish market. After we paid, though, we were led back toward the boat. There was no fetish market in Togoville. The whole thing left a bad taste in our mouths. It certainly made me less inclined to recommend such a tour to others.

To add insult to injury, when we got back to the beach someone from the boat asked me for a cadeau. He had followed me around Togoville, but I couldn’t figure out what he had done or why I should pay him a cadeau. He may have been the actual driver of the boat, but if that was the case, who was the other man we’d paid 3500?

Then the man we understood to be the boat man (whom we had paid 3500 for the boat ride) asked for his 3000 for the tour. Nicole was again stunned. We had paid the 3000 to the man at Togoville who actually spoke English and took us around. The only thing the boat man had done was identify the tour guide and follow us around the city. Moreover, I was out of money except
what was in my money belt (which I didn’t want to dip into in public) and Nicole only had a 5000 note. Plus, the boat man had seen Nicole and I give the 3000 to the tour guide; if that was wrong, why didn’t he stop that transaction or take the money before the tour guide got it? Eric was caught in the middle of the argument. He said the boat man admitted it was his mistake, but still seemed to expect something. I went through my small change and Eric gave 1000 of his own money, so the boat man still got 2000. By the time Nicole and I got in the car, we felt completely shaken down.

Nicole and I discussed this issue further. We concluded that the conflict was purely a cultural one. In America and Europe, we are accustomed to seeing a price first, and then deciding from there if it’s worth spending the money. Or at least being prepared
to pay a certain amount in a situation and if it’s a little over, that’s okay. But in this situation, we felt blindsided.

Around Wednesday of my week in Kpalime, I started thinking that I didn’t want to go back to Lome. Kpalime was more beautiful and ... [Continue reading this entry]

The closing ceremony