Cross another two of Burkina’s neighbors off the list; our trip to Benin and Togo was wet, wild, and messy! Everything that a good time should be. (That’s dirty.)
We got our five-country VISA at the Burkinabe National Passport Office. I kid you not: it is a garage with two guys working at two desks, each with a fan and a large book of names.
We left Ouaga on a beautiful Sunday morning right around sun-up. Oh wait. After a bus reservation mix up, a flat tire (in downtown Ouaga), and a four hour delay at the Ouaga tollbooth, we actually got out of the city proper around noon. Good start.
If the border crossing into Ghana was like taking an elevator 10 floors up in the socioeconomic skyscraper, crossing into Benin was more like ascending in a slow moving escalator a few stories. The Beninese countryside is full of forests and hills (very different from the majority of Burkina), and I noticed a lot more permanent-looking buildings than I’m used to seeing- more concrete walls and metal roofs. Cotonou (Benin’s capital, located on the coast) is a busy, bustling city of almost a million people. It felt bigger, more active, and dirtier than Ouaga. The streets were clogged with motos with hardly a bike to be seen. We found a hotel and went out on the town for dinner. We found a place that grilled chicken, and, still in our Burkina mindsets, we each ordered a whole bird. Apparently Beninese chickens come with more meat on them than Burkinabe birds, so we ended up feeding a family of five hungry Beninese folks as well.
From Cotonou we made our way to Ganvie, a village built in 1717 when Beninese natives rode on a crocodile’s back to the middle of Lake Nokoue to escape the slave traders. Think Venice in Africa. All the buildings are built on stilts a couple of meters above the water level, and the locals use pirogues (like canoes) powered by oar, sail (made out of rice sacks) or motor to get around. They even have a floating market! The village is gorgeous, but I got mixed feelings being there- there were several kids whose sole job seemed to be paddling after tourists and demanding presents. I didn’t like paying a tour company to exploit their lifestyle. We almost created an international incident when we refused to pay for the overpriced food (3500cfa for a plate of rice that normally costs 200cfa), but luckily we were able to escape with only a few bruised egos.
The next day we took a cab 150km or so north to the city of Abomey, ancient capital of the Dahomey kingdom. I’ll get to the Dahomeys in a second, but first, the trip up. An hour into the trip, we came across a police check point. When the driver turned around, pulled over, and told us to get out, we were a little nervous. No problem, though, he explained. The police were just checking for working headlights, so he was going to replace one of his. Well it turns out he replaced both headlights…and both tail lights. The delay gave us time, however, to check out the local hardware shack and sample some palm wine in the midst of its distillation process. Tasted like the strongest tequila I’ve ever had. Back on the road, we immediately pulled off the road and onto a detour around the police checkpoint. (You might ask why we replaced the lights in the middle of the morning if we were just going to go around anyways. That’s a stupid question. Don’t ask questions.) The detour was through the cornfields, and we almost got stuck going through a neighboring village (which just appeared from the fields) as they had decided to put a local tax on their village detour- apparently a lot of people were using their road that morning. No problems, though, and a few hours later we were in Abomey.
As I mentioned, Abomey was the capital of the Dahomey kingdom. The Dahomeys were a tribe of natives who waged war on their neighbors then sold their POWs to the Europeans and into the slave trade. One of their king’s throne is mounted on the skulls of four of his enemies. Enticing jobs in the Dahomey palaces include spinning the king’s umbrella (for which you could be decapitated if you spun counterclockwise), guarding his 3000 wives (castration required), and burying the king after his death (requiring decapitation after completing the job). Nice folks. But the city is cute now- they’re building a gorgeous new marketplace, and there’s even a couple of town parks- and we had a good time relaxing in our hotel with some French friends.
From Abomey, we headed to the beach. Again, our cab was…let’s say well-used. The car had no shocks, and the glove compartment fell into Julia’s lap every time we went over a bump. It had no internal paneling, you could see the road through the floorboards, they kept the extra gas in a plastic bottle on the floor, and the door opened if sneezed on. To top it off, I don’t think we hit 20mph at any point in the 100 mile journey. At least we each had our own seats- a point we insisted upon for the long journey, and which we almost didn’t get. (The car had exactly enough seats for us plus the driver. We made the driver’s friend sit on his lap. He could have stayed home if he wanted.) But the beach was worth it! We stayed at a place in Grand Popo called Lion Bar, a hotel/restaurant/bar owned by a rasta man and located right on the beach. The whole place was rasta themed- the rooms were named after Bob Marley and other icons, the play list was strictly reggae, and there were quotes on every wall. I loved it! I only wish I had had my rasta wig. We spent the next few days in the hammocks, playing in the sand, reading books (I finished Harry Potter 5!), and playing poker. We met the PCV stationed there and probably wore her ears off with site jealousy. We also met a guy who lived literally two blocks from me in San Francisco. “It’s a small world after all…” Good times!
We dragged ourselves from the beach for an afternoon trip to Ouidah, the historical home of the voodoo religion. We didn’t see a whole lot of voodoo stuff, but we did get a neat tour of the old fort the Portuguese then French had used during the 18th-20th centuries.
Sadly, all beach time must come to an end. We made our way into Togo and spent a night in its capital, Lome. It’s going to sound crazy, but Lome kind of reminds me of Los Angeles. There’s a gorgeous beach running the length of the city- wide, white sand, palm trees. If you add white people, volleyballs, and Rollerblades, you could be in Santa Monica or Malibou. Until you look on the other side of the street- the slums of Lome. That part of the city is more South Central LA: wide boulevards, tons of cars, dilapidated old buildings. But despite this homey, LA feeling, I really liked the city. The market sprawls out over most of downtown, and the place is very walkable.
The next day we packed up and went north a bit to Kpalime, a large town in the mountains. The place is amazing. Mac decided the ride was probably the most beautiful transport he’s had in West Africa, and I agree. We were traveling through dense greenery that often came right up to the edge of the road. When we hit the hills, the greenery turned into jungle, and the villages we drove past seemed like they could be in the Caribbean. Dirt paths cut into the trees, disappearing from sight after just a few meters. Kpalime itself is a thriving town with a plentiful market and tropical fruits everywhere. We had pineapple, guava, papaya, star fruit, oranges, bananas, some green thing we had never seen before, and more.
Friday morning we took a hike to the waterfalls. Our driver took us out of town a ways, and just after the turn off from the main road, a group of early 20’s young men were hanging around. We slowed down, and two guys jumped into the van, welcoming us to the waterfalls and announcing that they would be our guides. We explained that we didn’t want guides, and that we wouldn’t pay them, and they promptly told us we could not enter the park. We pointed out that they weren’t officials, had no papers, and that there was no sign. They showed us some graffitti on the entrance which said, in German supposedly, that we had to pay to enter. Ha! They insisted that they were legit, but when we mentioned going back to the authorities, their prices started falling like bricks. Go figure. In the end, we ended up paying the price we had heard was legitimately required to get into park (directly to our new guides though) in exchange for them to take us to the second, hidden, natural waterfalls. Turned out to be well worth the money. The first falls, visible from the road, were neat, but not all that exciting, especially since they are man-made. The second falls, however, were beautiful, and we even got to take a dip in the cold, clear mountain water. And I need to say it again: gorgeous countryside!
With heavy hearts, we made our way up through Togo the next day. Of all the countries I’ve been to in West Africa (OK, only four), this was definitely my favorite. Forests, rivers, trees, villages with electricity, stocked markets. Even the corner convenience stores were full of merchandise. Additionally, the Togolese government seems to be spending a ton of money on public awareness campaigns. Our hotel room had a informational flier about the transmission of and protection against HIV. Billboards with pictures depicting proper condom techniques were everywhere. As were billboards with messages against having sex with minors: “You wouldn’t let this old man sleep with your daughter, so why are you sleeping with his?” was my favorite. Trash cans lined the streets of Lome and every other town we stopped in. There were signs every 20 meters along the river in Kpalime warning against littering and public defecation. There were even public bathrooms along the roadside. What a country!
What a trip!
