September 16: Tour of Kpalime
NOTE: Photos of this part of the trip are online at photos.yahoo.com/reisefrau in the “Togo_Kpalime” album.
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 more peaceful. If I went back to Lome, I would end up wasting away Saturday in the Hotel Ibis compound.
Jul and Karoline said there was much to see around Kpalime, and they could arrange a tour guide and a private taxi for me to go on the tour and then back to Lome. Jean was a little nervous at first about leaving me on my own, but Karoline and Jul assured him
that Jul would only choose a guide and driver they had used before and knew was reliable and safe. Jul would also be there to help me negotiate the prices. So it was agreed that I would stay in Kpalime Friday night, take a tour of Kpalime Saturday, and return to the hotel in Lome Saturday night.
On Saturday morning I went to the hotel reception at 8:30, the time Jul had agreed on with the taxi driver and guide. That meant I really had until 9:00, since one can generally count on Togolese to be half an hour late. I sat down and ordered breakfast. But it turned out the driver and guide had arrived at 8:30; I was the one who was running late. Jul said not to worry, I had time. After I finished breakfast, Jul asked the taxi driver to come inside to negotiate the price. I knew from Karoline and Elon (the program driver to Tove) that it should cost 15,000 CFAs to go from Kpalime to Lome. Only the price for the tour around Kpalime was in doubt. The driver offered a first price of 50,000 for the tour and the drive to Kpalime. I said I thought it would be 30,000 total. We agreed on a price of 40,000. Then the tour guide, also named Jean, came in, and we agreed on a price of 10,000 for the tour.
Before I left, I ordered a small bottle of water. Jul told me I would need a big water bottle. Then he noticed I didn’t have a jacket, and went to get one for me so I wouldn’t be cold in the mountains. It turned out I needed the big bottle of water. I never needed the jacket—I was sweating most of the time. But both gestures were equally appreciated.
I got in the car and we headed off for the mountains. The driver was very careful; at every turn he honked to let cars coming down know there was a car coming up. We stopped briefly to pay a “cadeau”, in Togo a euphemism for bribe, to the police who were guarding the mountain.
We drove off the main road onto a dirt one for maybe 1 km. Then Jean and I got out of the car. Jean led me on a dirt path to the top of Mont Klouto (Turtle Mountain). He explained that in the past there had been many turtles at the top of the mountain. Over
time they had been hunted and eventually they disappeared. In the distance I could see a chateau now owned by the President, and the town of Kouma.
Soon we left the mountaintop and started walking on a wooded trail. Along the way, Jean explained the trees, foliage, and insects.
The plants
Jean showed me a plant with large leaves with hot pink and white specks on them. He said the plant was called “painter’s palette”, and it wasn’t hard to see why. He offered to let me take a leaf, but I told him my country would never let me take something like that into the country because of pest control regulations. On another level, I didn’t like the idea of taking
something out of nature as a souvenir.
Jean showed me a plant with thin fronds. He touched the fronds and they immediately closed up. It looked like a thinner version of the Venus flytrap. Unfortunately, I don’t remember the name now and the pictures didn’t turn out well.
Jean took one small, prickly green plant from a tree and broke it open. Inside were small red pods that looked similar to pomegranate seeds. He squeezed one of the pods, and bright red-orange dye oozed out. Jean said this was a natural dye for the batik and other fabrics that could be bought in Togo. Then he rubbed some of the dye on my arms and forehead. I couldn’t believe how strong it was. It seemed amazing that this would be available to people. Again, Jean offered to give me a pod to take home but I declined.
Later in the hike, I saw taro plants growing in front of a house. Taro is a kind of root, similar to a potato or yam. I also saw taro plants in their early stages of development, wrapped in small plastic bags of dirt.
I saw a pineapple growing on a plant for the first time, as well as coffee beans on trees. Seeing these things made me think that maybe I’m ready to go to Hawaii and enjoy it.
The trees
The first tree Jean pointed out to me was the baobob tree, which has a large, broad grey trunk and bushy leaves. The darker tree I saw next was teak, a popular wood for fires, furniture, and carving. Mary had told me earlier that fortunately, teak trees grow
quickly. The palm trees were easy to identify by their fronds. In the village I saw bananas growing in bunches on banana trees outside someone’s farm.
The most shocking sight was the avocado tree. I didn’t even know avocados grew on trees. And it surprised me that avocados could grow in Africa in general. But since Togo has a rainy season and a dry season, avocados can grow in Togo in the dry season.
The insects
On the ground, I saw a group of large black ants that seemed to be burrowing lines in the dirt. Jean said they were not ants; they were termites. Jean said to be careful not to let a termite get on me; they can bite. Jean next pointed out a grasshopper. Its wings were green, but its body was yellow with blue, black, red, and white circles and stripes. Its legs were red, black and white. It was as colorful as the clothes I’d been buying in Kpalime all week. It seemed amazing that such a colorful creature could survive in Africa. Could it be that it was put there by the Creator so Africans would have a model for their beautiful and successful cloth business? I also saw a beautiful butterfly here. People catch butterflies here, then mount them and sell the displays.
The village
We walked along a small brook which for some reason reminded me of a similar stream I’d seen on a hike outside of Philadelphia years ago. From there we went into and through the village of Kouma-Tokpli. Jean said all of the villages in the region started with
the name Kouma; only the second name was different.
The entrance into the village was one dirt road with goats on it. At the end of this road was the town. There was a communal tap for washing clothes, and perhaps for drinking and cooking water; I’m not totally sure. I saw a dirty pink and blue house. Next
to it was a brick house with no roof. The brick house looked wet and lined with moss. I asked Jean about it. He said the owner probably started constructing a new house, but ran out of money before he could finish. Then the rain brought it to ruins. It was too sad to take a picture of.
On the other side of this road was a concrete farmhouse for the goats. I asked if it had been built with help from foreigners, since it didn’t look like the villagers had enough money to build that. Jean said that indeed it was. Next to the farmhouse was a church. The church was a mix of mudbrick and concrete with a hand-painted white cross on the side. Inside there were plain wood benches.
The other main village road was a rutted dirt one with a row of yellow mud brick houses. Although I saw many women washing clothes and hanging them out to dry, I also saw children wearing mismatched, oversized, dirty clothes. When they saw me, some simply stared as though I were the first white person they had ever seen. Some smiled and waved, and I waved back. Still others walked behind me and asked for a cadeau.
Around the corner, we saw a mudbrick house and mudbrick hut where an old woman and her many children (or grandchildren?) lived. The hut was a kitchen where maize was being cooked. Outside the hut, the old woman had an iron pot of hot water cooking on an open fire. Jean asked for permission for me to take a picture. The woman agreed. I took a picture of one of the children next to the hut. I still couldn’t bring myself to take a picture of the woman. I was feeling very self-conscious about exploiting the
villagers. I was feeling guilty for having so many amenities. I was seeing close up how really limited their lives were by Western standards. Although I’d had many discussions with Jul and others about how difficult it was to change things in Africa, I still
wondered how it was the developed world had allowed Africa to continue living the way Americans had 100 or 200 years before. Before leaving, I gave the woman 100 CFAs and said “merci, Maman” (thank you, Mama). I’m not sure if that was the right word, but it was the only thing I could think of to show my respect.
Return to
civilization
On the road back to the car, Jean point out a dirt tower. He said it had been created by termites. Back at the car, we met a butterfly catcher, and even though I was worried about exceeding baggage limits, I bought a butterfly display.
We got in the car and started driving towards the chateau/schloss that had been built by a German and was now a home for the President of Togo. However, the road to the chateau was closed to cars. We started walking for a while, but I was pretty tired from the previous hike. I asked Jean how far it was, and he said it was another 15 minutes on foot. I decided it wasn’t worth the effort, especially since we had a villager waiting in the car for a ride down to the market.
The waterfalls
We walked back to the car and drove to Kpalime falls. The water that runs to these falls is used in Voltic water, the local mineral water which is very good. I took a picture. Jean started leading me on a short hike down to the falls, but the terrain was very steep with slippery rocks. When I slipped I only got dirty, but I decided it wasn’t worth going straight down a mountain for 10 feet to see something I could see quite clearly from the road.
We got back in the car and drove on. We drove past the Hotel Royal and through the center of Kpalime. As we drove on, I wondered where we were going. We turned off the paved road onto a dirt road in the town of Wome. Along the way, a man hissed at us. (Hissing is a common way of getting attention here). Jean told him we were going to the falls. The man warned us that the president of the village was at the falls, and he would be expecting a cadeau to enjoy the falls.
As we were going along, the driver stopped the car. He said there was a part of the road that would be too dangerous to drive along. I asked how many kilometers it would be to walk to the falls, and Jean said it wasn’t that far. We walked along a sunny path for a while, and saw another car that had made it farther in. Then we started a descent down another steep slope. This wasn’t as steep or slippery as the Kpalime falls, but it was longer and I had to take every step on crude mud cutouts or high rocky steps very carefully. As I got near the bottom I got more scared and more frustrated. I felt I hadn’t been prepared for such a strenuous hike. It seemed to me Jean didn’t understand that I was a city girl; I wasn’t a Peace Corps volunteer. All Jean kept saying was “doucement” (go slowly). I wanted to scream that going slowly wasn’t always enough; I needed balance and precision
in choosing the next step. I should add here that we skipped lunch, and I’ve been told that I get cranky when I’m hungry, so this could have been a factor as well. Anyway, I used my large water bottle as a cane where I could, but eventually I asked Jean to hold my hand to lead me through one of the more difficult parts of the hike.
We finally made it to the falls. The water was rushing faster here than in Kpalime, and there was a pool of water that whites and blacks were swimming in together. It looked very refreshing, but I hadn’t brought my swimsuit. Even if I had felt brave enough
to go in my undies, I wouldn’t have had a towel to dry everything off before walking back to the car. And anyway, we had to be back at the hotel by 3:30 so I could be on the road and in Lome before dark, so I still wouldn’t have had time to swim. Still, I thought it would have been nice for Jean to mention that swimming was an option.
After a few minutes of splashing water on my face, watching others frolic in the water, and paying the cadeau, we started the journey back to the car. As we started going up the steps, Jean asked if I was making it okay. I replied in French, “I have to be okay. I can’t stay here.” The reality is I strained my right thigh and was limping up and down steps for the next few days. But I guess the pictures I got were worth it.
We finally made it back to the car, and returned to the hotel almost exactly at 3:30 pm. I had said 3:30 because I wanted to leave at 4 to get back to Lome before dark. Since I had time and hadn’t eaten lunch, I decided to have the “gemischter salat” (mixed salad). Although Mary had warned me about the lettuce, Karoline said she wasn’t worried about it, and I trusted her. I started pushing away the onions in the salad, but then she pointed out that onions are good for “blutdruck” (blood pressure) and other potential ailments.
When I paid the final bill, my change was given to me in a wooden box with two pieces of candy—with Korean writing on them (Hin Young Coffee Candy). What are the odds of an American being in West Africa and getting coffee candy with Korean lettering that she can read? It was one more sign that my being at Hotel Royal was, as the Jews say, bescheert (meant to be).
After I finished my salad (onions included), It was time to say goodbye. I took one more picture of Jul in his Austrian hat and African top. I took pictures of the two staff workers who had served me all week, who were sweet but whom Karoline had complained at length could not do anything unless Jul and Karoline told them to do it. I hugged Karoline and Jul and promised to email, send copies of the pictures I’d taken, and come back to visit them someday.
It was 4:30 when I started on the road with the taxi driver. We didn’t get far when we hit a police checkpoint (read: cadeau collection point). I’m not sure how long it took for the taxi driver to negotiate a fair price, but it felt like 15-30 minutes. I kept
looking back at the driver and the police occasionally as if to say with my face, “you are keeping a yovo (white person) waiting and that is not polite.” Someone later told me I should have said I was a Peace Corps volunteer, but another person said I was right not to get out of the car and get involved.
We finally hit the road again. Along the way, the driver pointed out that the road we were on goes along the Ghana border, so I could see Ghana from the road. While we were stopped and trying to get a picture, a child walked up to me holding a dead squirrel by the tail, presumably for sale. I was horrified.
Although I had the goal of returning to Lome before dark, with the late start and long cadeau stop it got dark about 15 or 30 kilometers outside the city. There are no streetlights except in Lome, and we shared the narrow road with the cars on the other side and motorbikes and bicycles on both sides so we really had to slow down a lot. Sometimes it was hard to see the bicycles, and even when we could we sometimes passed bikes so closely I thought they would fall over from the draft alone. The driver did a great job with it all though.
Back at Hotel Ibis
When I got back to the hotel and checked in, I took a long shower to wash off all the dirt of the day. Then I went to the usual restaurant for dinner. I saw Enrico and Herbert, a new Brasserie person from Koeln (Cologne, Germany). We talked about the English language and Germany. I told my Koeln reibekuchen (potato pancake) story. He said that the reibekuchen stand was torn down when the square was redone for the pope’s Youth Day. Many people were sad to hear it was gone, including me.
After a lovely dinner of game fowl in peanut sauce with rice, I decided to order pineapple for dessert. Enrico ordered chocolate mousse, but was told he couldn’t have any. I asked the waiter to make the mousse for “my friend”. He obliged, and got a second order in for Miguel from Portugal. My inner Washingtonian was pleased at the power I had. On the other hand, I thought it was wrong of the hotel to withhold and give a dessert on the basis of personal relationships.
Tags: Africa, hiking, hotel, Togo, Travel, village, waterfalls
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