Chapter 2, Heading North
January 22, 1:15 PM. The first stop we made heading north on La Route Nationale (N1 on the map) was in Attikoume, right outside Lome, at a roadside stand that sells products from a bakery. Afua, Hakim and Dodji buy tasty pastries at the stand, snack food for the road:
I spoke Mina to the ladies, as always got smiles of surprise. It breaks down barriers even if only a little. I know it, and my first Mina teacher could see it when he saw me speak Mina to market women back in the 80's. Here is the bakery (Boulangerie Roi des Rois, King of Kings Bakery):
We rode through villages and towns with familiar names. Tsevie, Notse, Glei... here is our ride through Tsevie in 2012, still a classic!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=471hrwvHOZM&t=92s
The dry, brown, dusty, flat, straight ride up La Route Nationale... here are some goats taking the ride, too:
Afua bought a bag of these sweet, tart snacks. Break open the brown fuzzy shell (top) to find a white fuzzy seed (middle). Suck on the seed, then spit out the pit (bottom):
Here is a short video of la Route Nationale through little towns, villages, fields of palms, manioc, kapok and baobab trees:
Such a familiar site, that big water tower, in Notse?
Finally Atakpame, arrived at about 4 PM, the hills of Atakpame faded in the Harmattan dust.
On our way to Dodji's house, Dress-Making Jesus is Alive:
Coiffure Beauty:
We got to Dodji's house...
... met his wife and kids, emptied the car, then went into the market to buy more stuff. The obligatory photo of the entrance to Notre Dame, where I spent 6 weeks as a Peace Corps trainee learning French. Oui, oui.
Here is a view of Atakpame looking down the street from the wholesale shops in the market:
And looking up the street:
I took this video while we shopped in the wholesale store, a couple of minutes at the Atakpame market. Hakim, Dodji and others loaded the car with canned drinks and bottled water. The open structure across the street is what is left after a fire several years ago in the three story grand marche building. I don't know why it has not been restored.
Other streets in Atakpame, as we wandered through town, a baobab tree in the center of town:
One of the countless coiffures, Christ King:
Sellers on the street:
We had fufu at Dodji's house then went to the nearby Hotel Le Loisir (The Leisure Hotel) to sleep. I took this picture the next day:
At midnight I had to get up and get to the toilet. Rats. My iron stomach is a little rusty. Only a little I hope. There was a little ache in my gut the next morning, January 23. I didn't have coffee, I wasn't sure what that would do to my stomach and we had another long ride ahead.
As Dodji, Hakim and Afua did more shopping, I walked to the top of the hill in the market. When I approached the zed drivers, who asked where I wanted to go, I said, "Me toh vide" (I'm going for a little walk), and they asked, "O toh vide a?" (You're going for a little walk?) and I said, "Eh." (Yes) So instead of the drivers all swarming around trying to get me to choose their zed, they laughed and left me to go on my way. I walked down the hill a little and caught a view of the valley:
Having had the intestinal event the previous night at the hotel I was not sure if I should eat, and I didn't know what to eat. I had a few bananas, then later we had fufu for lunch with agouti (let's call it a delicacy, Thryonomys swinderianus). I didn't eat the agouti because, for one thing, I didn't know how. It was tied up like a Christmas present. Was I supposed to open it? The bumpy skin combined with my intestinal insecurity prevented me from the gastronomical adventure. Ah, but there was also wangash (local cheese)! There will be other opportunities. After lunch, a little sieste before getting on the road to Kaboli, Afua's family village.
The mango trees across from Dodji's house mocked me, showing me dozens of unripe mangoes, promising me that they would not ripen before we left the county:
On our way out of town, we stopped for gas. We were swarmed by sellers of bananas, bean cakes, wangash, plantains, fried bread... here are banana sellers on the run to catch the people going out of town:
We were going north by 4 PM, on la Route Nationale again, bound for Kaboli.
Here is a Google Map of the trip from Atakpame to Kaboli.
Here is a termite mound I saw soon after we got on the road:
And the long road ahead of us:
As it got dark, I took a couple more pictures. Near Sotouboua:
A bar in Sotouboua, the camera struggling with the low light:
We came up through towns with familiar names that I have not thought about for 30 years. Pagala, Blitta, Fazao, others. Traveling in Togo has not really improved in 30 years. Hot, dusty, cramped, sharing the road with pedestrians, bicycles, motorcycles, cars, bush taxis (9 to 15-seat vans) and tractor-trailers. Togo is Togo. Not paradise. In fact, this is a vacation. We packed, got on a plane, flew here cramped in our airplane seats.Then there were several days of memories flowing through my head. Rush after rush, streams of memories overflowing their banks. As reality sets in, there are actually no surprises. Just reality. When the kids start chanting Yovo, Yovo, and they do, just like 30 years ago, I feel the same annoyance at the repetition. Not paradise. Am I disappointed that we came? No. I'm loving it.
We were stopped several times by gendarmes at checkpoints along the way. At one point, before Sokode, the gendarme asked about the guitar case. (I read somewhere that guitar cases are good for transporting guns 'n' stuff...) We paid money there, like a toll. Normal procedure. At the checkpoint before Tchamba, the gendarme asked Afua, "Êtes-vous une reine quelque part ici?" ("Are you queen somewhere around here?") Fantastic! Even more so because it's true.
We got to Kaboli at about 9 PM but I was too tired, too cramped to rejoice.