Togo – tiny country, full of voodoo, supposed haven of
French colonial cuisine and the closest boarder for cooped in expats from Accra
to add another stamp to the passport. So
for the Eid bank holiday weekend we found ourselves piling into a trotro and heading
west, across the wetlands of coastal Ghana to the seedy looking border town of
Aflao. A quick check of our vaccination
books, a lengthy check of our passports on both sides and three or four new
stamps added we were into Togo.
Or so we thought. What
had been explained as a few burning tyres by the Togolese officials was
actually a group of angry rioting young men, indeed burning tyres, but also
lobbing stones at the police and running around with scarves tied round their
heads, as the crowd of hawkers and travellers pressed against the closed border
gates to get a better look. Soon the
gendarmerie were on hand, shooting tear gas canisters into the rioters (and the
crowds by the gates) as well as rubber pellets.
A few sniffs of tear gas were enough to send me running back to the
border crossing to buy some peanuts and wait it out. In typical Francophone fashion, as lunchtime
drew near the interest of the rioters waned and, shooting a few more canisters
for good measure, the police roared away in their riot vans. Welcome to Togo!
After the excitement of the riots a cold local beer and our
hotel were a welcome sight, and with the sound of the police shoots ringing in
our ears, Tour de France on the TV and a group of French guys chain smoking
with their espressos, we felt sufficiently away from Accra. The French influence was everywhere and the
difference with Anglophone Ghana stark – motorbikes outnumber cars on every
street, women selling baguettes on the street corners and wide tree-lined
boulevards. Oh and some delicious French
meals (typically with very few vegetarian options).
A friend of a friend, Kofi, showed us around some of Lome’s
main attractions, including the old national stadium which was probably a
highlight of the tour. Astroturf and some
cool weather made for a great opportunity to have a few sprint races against
Xavier. Let’s just say the competition
was tough!
Lome's independence square
After a stroll through Lome, accompanied by a pain au
chocolat, West Africa’s rainy season showed her true colours and our umbrella
was little protection from the downpour.
As all the museums were closed (another hangover from the French
colonial period) our only option was to spend all morning drinking café au lait
and eating croissants watching the motorbikes zoom by with brightly dressed
families dressed for church hanging onto the back.
A final French breakfast of coffee, fresh orange juice and
toast and a walk along the wind swept beach, we were back pilling through the border and back into a trotro for
the return leg, full of French food, squelching in our drenched shoes and eager
to tell our stories of being tear gassed.
