Sunday, October 09, 2005
Kpalime Region, Togo October 9, 2005
The border officials of Togo were not in uniform nor were they in their offices; they were hanging out in their towns (the office that processes the vehicle documents was 12 kilometers away from the border); they were accepting of the disturbance we created and glad of the opportunity to process something strange. They were situated halfway up the grassy mountain range that gives logic to the border between Togo and Ghana. The man who entered us into the goofy, standard issue, oversized, tag board register of arriving foreign nationals was easily the most delightful and friendly border official that I've ever met. He begged us to pray for the success of the Togolese football team. He begged us several times and smiled for twenty-five minutes straight. It was a completely disarming experience.
I have been expecting Togo to be a bit rough. While we were making the final preparations for this trip it made international headlines for the circumstances surrounding the death and succession of its former ruler. I thought we would have to drive straight and fast across the fifty-four kilometer stretch of coastal Togo. I thought it would be our first taste of menacing, militarized Africa. It seems, however, that anything that might have prompted the military to grow menacing or aggressive has been thoroughly dealt with, which leads to a somewhat reliable safety for visiting white people.
(And now that I have left the country, let me add that its military, which recently killed several hundred civilian protestors who were risking their lives to complain about the unconstitutional installment of their former dictator's rather inexperienced son, had obviously been given instructions not to stop or harass white people, which was convenient. Following reputation damaging displays of force or outcries about corruption, it is not uncommon for the dogs to be called off. In Togo, there were numerous children who looked well under the age of 16 who were dressed in the spiffy national butchering outfit, visibly proud as hell of their wonderful guns. I hate the people who make teenage soldiers exist. Yes, also 18 and 19 year old ones.)
The Kpalime region is world famous for butterflies, which are especially non-threatening creatures. It hosts nearly a thousand different species along with a large population of traditional artists and craftsmen, who are also not scary. Delicious baguettes replace the sweet wonderbread of Ghana. Germans left an outstanding legacy of varied and delicious beers (Awooyo must be the only amber ale in Africa, though I hope to be proven wrong). And the Togolese improve on Ghanaian staple foods with a creativity and attention to detail that some would attribute to the French; though it may have been here all along.
The clockwork evening downpour, caught up with us as we strolled into a miniscule mountain village on Saturday evening. We entered the one public space just before or documents, currency and camera would have been soaked. The whole town was intent on their handheld radio sets. Men of all ages clustered round whoever held the small machine and toyed with the meter long antennae, hoping for clearer reception. The radios are not powerful, the village is in the middle of nowhere and the thunderstorm was making everything more difficult. This was the Togo vs. Congo qualifying match for next year's World Cup.
I couldn't make out a single word of the broadcast; I could only register obvious changes in its frenzy and pitch. When tinny and static smothered shouting and jubilation made it clear that somebody had scored a goal, everyone drew taught, almost kissing, ignoring personal space to discover whether to cheer or curse. It could take up to three minutes for anyone in the entire village to hear with certainty who had prevailed and when that one person released a pent up whoop of glee, it traveled down the street as fast as humans can respond to sound with new shouting. Drunks and small boys danced around and practiced dubious aerial kicks. The match tottered one way and the other up to the score of 3-3 and then with minutes remaining, Togo scored the winning goal. The village flooded its one and only street, surging in a mini-mob of eighty people towards a general store with a small broad flight of stairs that enabled many people to dance and be seen. We had to return to our hotel's village with considerable speed, since walking these roads in the dark would be foolish. We heard the noise of village celebration for nearly a kilometer, not bad for a hundred or so delighted humans.
The border officials of Togo were not in uniform nor were they in their offices; they were hanging out in their towns (the office that processes the vehicle documents was 12 kilometers away from the border); they were accepting of the disturbance we created and glad of the opportunity to process something strange. They were situated halfway up the grassy mountain range that gives logic to the border between Togo and Ghana. The man who entered us into the goofy, standard issue, oversized, tag board register of arriving foreign nationals was easily the most delightful and friendly border official that I've ever met. He begged us to pray for the success of the Togolese football team. He begged us several times and smiled for twenty-five minutes straight. It was a completely disarming experience.
I have been expecting Togo to be a bit rough. While we were making the final preparations for this trip it made international headlines for the circumstances surrounding the death and succession of its former ruler. I thought we would have to drive straight and fast across the fifty-four kilometer stretch of coastal Togo. I thought it would be our first taste of menacing, militarized Africa. It seems, however, that anything that might have prompted the military to grow menacing or aggressive has been thoroughly dealt with, which leads to a somewhat reliable safety for visiting white people.
(And now that I have left the country, let me add that its military, which recently killed several hundred civilian protestors who were risking their lives to complain about the unconstitutional installment of their former dictator's rather inexperienced son, had obviously been given instructions not to stop or harass white people, which was convenient. Following reputation damaging displays of force or outcries about corruption, it is not uncommon for the dogs to be called off. In Togo, there were numerous children who looked well under the age of 16 who were dressed in the spiffy national butchering outfit, visibly proud as hell of their wonderful guns. I hate the people who make teenage soldiers exist. Yes, also 18 and 19 year old ones.)
The Kpalime region is world famous for butterflies, which are especially non-threatening creatures. It hosts nearly a thousand different species along with a large population of traditional artists and craftsmen, who are also not scary. Delicious baguettes replace the sweet wonderbread of Ghana. Germans left an outstanding legacy of varied and delicious beers (Awooyo must be the only amber ale in Africa, though I hope to be proven wrong). And the Togolese improve on Ghanaian staple foods with a creativity and attention to detail that some would attribute to the French; though it may have been here all along.
The clockwork evening downpour, caught up with us as we strolled into a miniscule mountain village on Saturday evening. We entered the one public space just before or documents, currency and camera would have been soaked. The whole town was intent on their handheld radio sets. Men of all ages clustered round whoever held the small machine and toyed with the meter long antennae, hoping for clearer reception. The radios are not powerful, the village is in the middle of nowhere and the thunderstorm was making everything more difficult. This was the Togo vs. Congo qualifying match for next year's World Cup.
I couldn't make out a single word of the broadcast; I could only register obvious changes in its frenzy and pitch. When tinny and static smothered shouting and jubilation made it clear that somebody had scored a goal, everyone drew taught, almost kissing, ignoring personal space to discover whether to cheer or curse. It could take up to three minutes for anyone in the entire village to hear with certainty who had prevailed and when that one person released a pent up whoop of glee, it traveled down the street as fast as humans can respond to sound with new shouting. Drunks and small boys danced around and practiced dubious aerial kicks. The match tottered one way and the other up to the score of 3-3 and then with minutes remaining, Togo scored the winning goal. The village flooded its one and only street, surging in a mini-mob of eighty people towards a general store with a small broad flight of stairs that enabled many people to dance and be seen. We had to return to our hotel's village with considerable speed, since walking these roads in the dark would be foolish. We heard the noise of village celebration for nearly a kilometer, not bad for a hundred or so delighted humans.
2 Comments:
Our daughter was in the Peace corps in Togo. We went in 2004 and the military stopped us about every 10 miles on the (N/S) highway for money. It was a buck or two and built-in the fare by our driver. They actually had a cashbox with them, and automatic weapons. In towns the PC won't pay and get away with it. Thanks for your story.
Post a Comment
<< Home