Junie's Online Thoughts
Saturday, June 14, 2003
Ready for Part Two? We left off with the speeding, burning trotro ride back to Heather's village. When we returned to the Dagbe Center, we ate an exciting supper of boiled dry yam chunks with, you guessed it, more tomato sauce with dirt in it and two oranges. While we dined, Arrin, a drummer from Tennessee who was taking classes at the center, arrived. She informed us that a funeral was happening in the village that weekend, with the wake-keeping occuring that evening. Just then, loud gun blasts broke the silence. She laughed, saying the gun blasts were a normal part of the ceremonies, usually indication that the wake-keeping was to begin. Tonight included the viewing of the body (usually in the bed of their home or laying on the ground in a covered area), donations of money for the celebrations, and a long session of dancing and drumming. The following day would be the funeral, then a party-of-sorts with food and drinks. I had considered bringing some traditional black cloth in case I had the chance to go to a funeral, but decided against it at the last moment when packing. For the best really, as I was EXHAUSTED. Arrin left for the wake; we crashed into bed.
The next morning, I packed up and followed Heather to the school for goodbyes. She then accompanied me to Aflao, where I was to meet Erin when her bus arrived from Accra. Around 11:30, the STC rolled in and I hugged Heather goodbye. Erin & I ate lunch, then geared up to cross the border. Togo's elections had just occured on the 1st, and most people were fearing some sort of chaos. I wasnt worried about that. I was more fearful that I would have to bribe a guard at the border and do something I wasnt supposed to do, thus being beaten. Aflao sits right next to the border crossing, with Lome' directly on the other side. We joined the queue to cross over, which soon deteriorated into a mass of shoving, confused people. It really started with the guard at the front of the line, partially blocking the small entrance into the border area, who randomly pushed people in line and shouted things in French. Luckily, a dancing chicken seller told us to follow her, and we squeezed our way past the aggressive guard. From there, we entered a hallway to fill out a card listing our names, addresses and locations in Togo. They stamped our VISAs and we completed the Ghana side. Onto the Togo side. There were had to join another chaotic line, leading to another stop where our passports were stamped. The guard tried to make conversation and we attempted some piss-poor French responses. He laughed and waved us away. At the border, Togo feels a bit different. The architecture, the crowds, the music....it all had a very strong Tijuana-feel to me, like a French mariachi band should march by any moment. Erin and I had a rough idea of hotels to see (the cheaper ones, but not the cheapest. Those were listed in the guide books as the places where the prostitutes and drug dealers lived. No need for THAT much drama.) We hailed a cab to the first on the list, Hotel du Boulevard.
Outwardly, there are a lot of simliarities between Lome' and most of Ghana I've seen. Its a bustling city filled with Africans, some of which carry things on their heads or babies on their backs, lots of taxis, and other typical scenes of West Africa. It was more interesting to see what was different. Obviously, the French was new, as well as the lack of open sewars, the absence of hawkers on every corner as well as no pure water girls, and no trotros. Instead, Togo has regular taxis and mototaxis--little scooter-ish bikes with room for one passenger--that zip and zag through traffic. The oceanside lies directly along one of the main roads, lined with palms and parking areas. Sadly, what I noticed most was that Lome' was kind of dirty and grim. Im sure the rain and mud didnt help, but I think I was expecting something else when I got there. Some quaint town filled with French cafes and men playing the accordian. (Well, not really, but you know what I mean.)
We paid our 500 CFA each for the taxi ride (about $1) and hopped out just as the taxi driver asked if he could visit us later at the hotel. Buh-bye. Unfortunately, the Hotel du Boulevard should have been listed as one of those prostitute-places because right at the counter was a big cartoon poster about how to put on a condom. Yippee! The rooms were equally dismal, with dirty-ish rooms that screamed I've-got-cooties! Off we walked to the next hotel, whose name I dont remember right now. That one was no better....I worried already that I had gotten some bed bugs from the beds at Heather's village, and I didnt need to add some more. Erin had heard about this place from a friend that was supposed to be nice, so we caught another taxi to Robinson's Plage. It turns out that Robinson's Plage is in B.F. Egypt....WAY past town, past a huge pink supermarket, past the polluting industrial section of town and into the next suburb. It was however, a cross between the Kokrobite and Next Door of Lome' (both beach front restaurants/hotels in Accra...one closer than the other, but very beach-hut-watch-the-ocean-while-you-eat-some-fish type of places.) By now it was raining to beat hell, so we gave up on finding the perfect hotel and booked a room for 3,000 CFA each ($5). The driver agreed to wait for us while we dumped our bags, then took us back to the Grand Marche', the large market in downtown Lome'.
Again, I was surprised at the lack of impression the Grand Marche' gave me....it was smaller than the markets in Accra, with less variety, less aggression, but much more French. I tell you, that was kind of nice. In Accra, I can hear the catcalls from the vendors and since they are in English, they bother me. Here, I couldnt understand most of what was said to me, so if someone was saying something offensive, it was lost on me. We walked a bit, then decided to go for broke---lets ride the motor taxis!!!
WHAT FUN! Holy cow! I hopped on board and off we went. Erin had negotiated that when she saw some AIDS art, both taxis would stop so she could take a picture. (Her boyfriend studies AIDS art and there are many examples of art throughout the city.) It was surprisingly easy to balance on the taxis and the ride allowed for such a different view of the city. We were RIGHT THERE...zooming around, dodging cars, chatting with other passing motor taxis (Bonjour!). When we got off, Erin said I had a huge gleeful look on my face. I dont doubt it.
True to our desires, we stopped for some chocolate croissants and hot chocolate, before deciding to return to the hotel to eat before it got dark. We soon learned that Robinson's Plage may be picturesque, but nobody knows where the hell it is. We asked three taxis and no one had a clue where it was. As we walked the streets looking for a normal taxi, we noticed people running down the streets. "Why are they running? Whats going on?" I feared a military coup.....angry Togolese bulls.....something. Turns out that they knew the rain was approaching and were trying to get to a roofed area. We kept hailing cabs, standing in the rain, enlisting the help of strangers to describe where the hotel was. More and more frustrated, Erin took a step back from the cab...and fell directly into one of the only open sewars in town. She didnt exactly FALL in...just one entire foot up to her mid-calf. I kept telling her that it was probably only full of rainwater and food, rather than raw sewage, but she still worried because one of her toes was all cut open and THAT was the foot that fell into the sewar. Finally we found a taxi willing to drive if we directed him, and eventually made it back to Robinson's Plage.
It still rained, and we discovered that we were the only people staying at the Plage that night. (Shocker.) We ordered food (fish platter with fries) and wrote in our journals. The food was fine....folks talk about how great the food is in Franco-phone africa. I dont doubt it, but I think most spectacular dishes are the ones with meat in it, which leaves me out. No matter, we paid and went to bed. The next morning, when I showered in the mosquito filled bathroom, I made the mistake of actually touching the light switch. ZAP! HUGE shock that really hurt. DAMMIT! Erin had experienced the same thing last night and had warned the hotel staff that it happened. They didnt seem to care, or didnt understand her broken French pantomime.
Now fully woken up, we packed up and walked (in the rain) back to the main road to catch a taxi. Turns out we were paying way too much for taxis the day before. Our shared taxi dropped us off by the Grand Marche again so we could search for more chocolate croissants and hot chocolate. Finally found one, just past market stalls with the most beautiful batiks I have ever seen. Too expensive, though, so we just walked to the patissiere instead. Cute place, and the owner had pity on us and our lack of French. Even gave us some free meat pies. (Erin ate them.) I confessed that I wanted to quit Togo. We had planned to take a bus up to some waterfalls and a butterfly sanctuary in southern Togo, but I didnt want to go. It was too easy to spend CFA (I had spent $50 already on virtually nothing) and the language barrier was really hard. In all the time I travelled through Europe, I dont remember the language being so frustrating. Maybe its because Im older and less patient, but when Im trying my best and still cant communicate....Its so hard. Thankfully Erin agreed, and offered that we could see some waterfalls and butterflies in Ghana and travel with English. Brilliant!
Back across the border we go (less pushing this time), happily into Ghana. Hooray for Ghana!! Back to the Aflao trotro park to drive to Ho, where we would head to the waterfalls I didnt see with Heather.
Thats it for today....Im feeling sluggish and uninspired today, so Part Three will have to wait. Dont worry, I promise I will get to the mating termites and attacking ants.
Friday, June 13, 2003
This morning I arrived at French early. After practicing my verbs for a bit, I decided to write a list of all the states Ive been to, all the states I want to go to and the ones I dont really care about. Here's a little experiment for you. Stop what you are doing right now and try to list all 50 states. If you're feeling like a glutton for punishment, try taking out a blank sheet of paper and drawing where the states are on the map without looking at a real map. For the longest time, I got stuck at 46. While I tell you my story, ponder the states. We'll come back to them later....
The long long story of: The mountain that kicked my ass
Here's an excerpt from the Bradt Ghana guide: "The main attraction here in the Adaklu area are guided hikes to the peak of the mountain, a reasonably demanding 2 - 4 hour round trip from Helekpe, along which you stand a good chance of seeing some monkeys and a variety of butterflies and birds (as well as giant snails, which are held sacred and may not be touched!)"
Lesson Number One: THE GUIDEBOOK IS NOT HELPFUL.
We arrive at the Ho trotro park around 10:15 am. As we pass the buses, we ask, "Where can we find a trotro to Helekpe?" "Helekpe? Oh no, you need to take a taxi to Mauli junction and you will get a trotro there." Ok, fine. We walk to the street, Heather with her backpack and me with my red plastic bag and purse. We'd eaten little that morning. I searched the trotro park for the ubiquitous egg and bread lady like I see in Accra, but apparently the dont eat egg and bread in the Volta region. They eat porridge. I didnt want porridge, so we ate peanuts, an orange, a chocolate chip cookie and half a bag of water. Breakfast of champions. We hailed a cab to take us to Mauli junction. He stopped at a road in the middle of nowhere...also known as Mauli junction. When we explained that we were looking for a trotro to Helekpe, the driver scolded us. We really needed to be down the road, under the mango tree. Of course. The mango tree. He took us back and then offerd to take us to Helekpe at only 10 times the normal rate. What a champ. Instead we joined three other Ghanaians under the mango tree where we could watch the numerous Fan Ice men on their bicycles, aimless goats and chickens and some guy constructing a phone booth across the street.
Minutes pass. A few taxis drive by. We dont see any trotros. More time passes and we play a round of I Spy. (Goats are too easy.) The man next to us makes sure we are going to Helekpe and offers to split a taxi with us. Minutes later, he negotiated the rate and we three are joined by three more passengers plus the driver (three in front, four in back....COZY!) and we drive off in the Taxi of Doom. Besides being squished, as we turned onto the rough, red dirt road, the bottom of the car would drag along the ground. I could actually feel it vibrate under my feet. Plus, every time we hit a bump, Heather's end of the seat would drop an inch. The girl in front of us held a plastic jug full of gasoline (with no lid, of course). Should we smash into something, this would certainly contribute to our fiery deaths. Hooray. Then, part way there, the driver ran over a chicken. All in all, a fabulous ride.
We landed at the sign for the Adaklu visitor's center and a small girl led us to a bench under a tree. "Sit here." We sat. A crowd congregated around us to stare. A man emerged with a receipt book and a laminated sheet of prices. We paid, stashed my plastic bag full of clothes and he assigned us a guide named Jerry, who was 14 years old.
Thankfully we were smart enough to refuse to leave until we'd purchased some pure water. The one vendor was at church, so we had to wait for a small girl to run there to get the key. We ordered four waters and a Coke (Breakfast of champions, remember?), while our young guide downed a double tot of aperteshie, the local liquor. We were off. Dehydrated. Ill-fed. Weak. Hot. I'd thought I was in pretty good shape, but it turns out Im not. Climbing up the steep rock steps and the increasing incline had me panting, sweating and struggling to keep up with our guide and a growing posse of small children who literally ran up the path, seemingly without effort, in flip-flops, for crissake. Worse still was Heather, realizing too late that she was too out of shape, and a smoker, not over her cold, unprotected by the lack of sunscreen and bogged down with her backpack. Twenty-ish minutes later, we arrived at a plateau with a village tucked into the side of the mountain. "Sit here," said Jerry, pointing to yet another tree, this time a calabash tree. We sat. Minutes later a woman appeared from one of the mud huts. She explained the mountain project designed to raise money for the village, assigned us a "mountain guide" and urged us to dash our guides if we could. Heather admitted defeat, lest her lightheadedness cause her to pass out, and stayed behind under the tree. I joined my new guide, Bright and off we went.
Lesson Number Two: THE GUIDEBOOK LEAVES OUT VITAL INFORMATION
"We must stop small," Bright stated, leading me through the village. I followed him to a shaded patio-ish area, where I was again instructed to sit. "This is his house," Bright said. "We must greet him." Um..ok. A few ladies joined us and they all chatted in Ewe. One of the women grabbed a plastic chair and placed it next to me. A man strolled over wearing long shorts, no shirt, with cloth in his hands. "Hello," he said. I shook his hand. "Welcome." THank you. Bright and the man spoke in Ewe. I smiled mutely, wondering when we would get going and who this guy was. It must have been five minutes later when Bright informed me that Tobey something the 4th was a CHIEF, for god's sake. Shit! "Im sorry," I said, covering my bare shoulders with my hands. (When in the presence of a chief, one should have the shoulders covered and wear appropriate clothing. I was wearing a tight tank top and shorts.) "I didnt know that I was going to meet you so I didnt dress appropriately. I would have covered my shoulders." Bright and the chief laughed and seemed impressed that I knew to cover up, even if I wasnt. Why didnt the guidebook mention the chief?? Where were my offerings of cola nuts and schnapps?? The chief granted me permission to continue the climb, we shook hands for the 20th time and off we went.
Lesson Number Three: THE GUIDEBOOK SUCKS ASS
At first the path resembled the one we'd just taken--steep rock steps separated by well-worn dirt, lined by okra, palms, climbing vines and other trees. Then the clearly defined steps bled into mud and thick dirt. If not for the strategically placed tree root, I couldnt have climbed. Every few minutes I had to stop to catch my breath, drenched in sweat, attempting to halt my camera from smacking into my ribcage or the rocks around me. Bright seemed unphased, but patient. He watched me grunt, moan, groan, wheeze, slip and wail nonsensically at my effort. "Reasonably demanding?!" Bullshit! This mountain was kicking my butt!! By now, I'd been transformed from the naive beginner who actually thought--gee, this is a great cardio workout--to someone who was shaking, dehydrated, scared and barely keeping it together. Furthermore, I lost all sense of time, distance and height. I lived only in the small exhausting successes of one step in front of the other. I truly lived in the moment. I looked directly in front of me, whimpering, searcing for footholds, putting my fingers in god knows what, straddling 3 to 4 foot spaces between rocks and wondering how in heaven's name I was going to get down.
By now we reached a steep, smooth rock incline. So steep that you could only climb it by using a knotted rope hanging from an elevated tree. That first one felt easy. Bright and I passed another rope climb, more mud and nearly impossible steps before reaching a sheer sideways rockface. A little tunnel/cave existed in the side of the mountainside where people could camp. The overlook was beautiful, but petrifying in its magnitude and slanty-ness. Bright peed over the side while I chugged my only bag of water and tried to psyche myself out. I dont know how I crossed that side.....the walkway lay on a sharp angle. On one side I teetered over the abyss and I faced a 90 degree angled rockface on the other. Nothing to grab onto, but we made it. Up we climbed, up and up, slipping and falling, sticking my hands into what felt like splinters. Bright saw me futzing with my hands. "Your hands are burning and itching, arent they? You put them in the leaves." FAbulous. "Ha ha, I will warn you next time." A lot of good that does me, Bright, when my hands are on fire right now.
We passed lots of bugs---huge nine inch millipeedes, iridescent beetles, caterpillars--but saw no monkeys. At some points, I was on all fours, using all my strength to ascend. How, I wondered, would I handle Mount Kilimanjaro should I climb it next year? I started to lose my spirit. "Has anyone ever died here, Bright?" No, no, he laughed. "But sometimes they fall and get a big wound." When we arrived at the steepest incline with yet another knotted rope...this one nearly 80 degrees and wedged between another rock, I bowed my head. "How much further? How much until we reach the top?" Bright squinted. "About twenty minutes." I explained that I hadnt eaten much that day, I didnt drink enough, I wasnt prepared. Let me climb this one rock and I will decide if we have to turn arond. I grabbed the rope, took two steps, and knew I didnt have the power to do it. My body failed me. My head failed me. I desperately wanted to weep. So I told Bright, "Im sorry. I cant make it. We have to turn around." I felt in danger, though. Had we gone on, I think I would have fallen. With each step down, no matter how steep, I grew happier. I didnt break my camera, I didnt break my neck, IM ALIVE!!!!!
Some parts of the descent were just as trecherous, and then I fell hard on my ass onto a rock. We continued, faster and faster, toward the first grassy plateau. Bright stopped to shake down three pawpaws (papayas.) I normally dont like them, but I tell you, those pawpaws were the best damn food I've ever eaten in my life. We devoured the first two in seconds, scooping out the seeds with dirty hands, flipping the meat out to bite it, wiping our hands on leaves (non-burning kinds of leaves, of course.) I asked him to save a pawpaw for Heather. We reached the village to once again greet the chief. Bright suggested I offer him money. All I had was 5000 cedis, and I gave it to him. I heard Bright explain in Ewe that I didnt make it to the top. Maybe it was just me, but it seemed like they were disappointed in me. "Next time," he said. "You will make it." Yes. Next time. NOT.
I found Heather under the calabash tree, surrounded by children touching her and our stuff. Ah, the spectacle. We ate the pawpaw, tipped Bright and I told her that she made the wisest decision of her life by staying behind. I had never had such a grueling physical experience in my life. It was humbling, painful, defeating and wonderful. Im grateful that Im intact, that I can even attempt a climb like that, even if I fail. I found out later that I was probably twenty minutes from the top, but as soon as I would have passed that 80 degree rope-needing incline, that the path totally evened out. Oh well. Next time.
We gathered our stuff, took some photos and caught a ride back into Ho. As luck would have it, we were the last two seats on the Death Trotro back to Aflao. We had to stop halfway home because smoke billowed out from both sides of the cab. The mate ran to the river to fill up buckets, which he splashed on the hissing front tires. No one else in the van seemed alarmed. If anything, they were annoyed at the smoke blowing toward them. Thirty minutes later, when none of the tires had melted, we resumed our journey. I think the driver wanted to eat as much distance as possible, lest the trotro's engine seize, thus sending us toppling ass over elbow to our fiery deaths. He was FLYING down that road, but I dont know how fast he was going since I've yet to see a functioning speedometer in Ghana. We made it though....the overriding lesson of the day. When faced with the threat of death, just breathe, say a prayer, grovel with your body and use what strength you have to get by. Its worked so far.
Thats it for stories today. I fear my blogger will be ten feet tall. Before I go, how did you fare in the states test? I remembered three of the four stumpers---Arkansas, New Hampshire and Wyoming. But I had to look up KAnsas. Stupid Kansas. And we're not even going to talk about what a horrible accident my hand drawn map looks like. I get a D+ in geography today.
Stay tuned for the rest of the adventure.....Togo borders, near electrocution, mating termites, attacking ants, falling into sewars. To be continued.......
Thursday, June 12, 2003
I have a long story to tell you all, but its written in my diary at home. Another day....maybe tomorrow I will write it. Its called the Mountain that kicked my ass. True story. You'll like it.
The travels were great! I wanted an adventure and boy, did I get one! Free malaria tests, me vs. the mountain, falling on a rock and bruising my ass, being surrounded by hundreds of mating wing-eating termites, being attacked by thousands of biting ants, slipping on steep rock inclines, dealing with bedbugs, being nearly electrocuted by the light switch at our hotel in Togo, watching how different people respond to inconveniences, scooting around Lome' on motorcycle taxis, feeling frustrated and lost at the french language barrier, enjoying Ghana on a new level. Whooo wheee!
Coming home was strange...I think I'd forgotten what the house really looked like. It was certainly clean and quiet without Jeremy, but it looked almost foreign. Dont know why...it hasnt even been a week. Its gooooood to be home, though, despite the endless rain and flooding bathroom. Im glad Jeremy and I have the house we do. Its comfortable. I have an IM date with Jeremy tomorrow...back to the days of communication through technology. Im glad though....I have so many stories to tell him. And you too...but that will have to be another day. Too many emails to write today to share long travel tales.
My thoughts go out to friends Marta and Dan....I love you guys. Im out for now....
