Yovo, yovo, bonsoir!

May 20, 2011


That is the adorable song all the Togolese and Beninese kids sang as we passed by. It goes “Yovo, yovo, bon soi. Sa va bien? Merci!” It’s nice because that’s about the level of my French, so I was actually able to understand what they were saying to me, and it was also super cute.

Kayla and I started in Kpalime (Togo), where we met Anna, Hannah and Julie, who were finishing their weeklong trip. We popped off the tro-tro, got on our first motorcycle taxis, and landed at our hotel. I was convinced I’d never ride a motorcycle in the U.S., let alone in Africa where helmets are virtually unheard of and roads are pretty much dirt paths with mud puddles and divots every which way. Turns out I was wrong. I probably rode 12 over the course of the week… and I think I liked them. Strange.

My Beninese Husband.. you'll meet him later

After trying, and failing, to visit a Benedictine monastery the next morning, we settled for what we thought would be some nice hiking. In actuality, it was more like a village tour, but they showed us some cool plants that leave tattoos on your skin (well, actually, they
don’t really work on oboruni skin because it’s a white powder, but theoretically they leave cool tattoos) and dye things and things like that. We saw some coffee plants and cool views and such so after a chaotic morning, it was nice and relaxing.

From there Kayla and I went on to Benin. That was the intent, anyway. First change of plans. No cars to Benin that day. Of course.

After a brief episode that involved me nearly passing out at a practically abandoned tro-tro station, we re-routed to Lome, the capital of Togo. We got in a shared taxi for a comfortable ride, Kayla and me in the back, plus one passenger in the front and one driver. By
the time we got to Lome, our number had grown to eight: four in the back, two riding shotgun, two in the driver’s seat. Really safe, I promise.

In Lome we met Francis, a Cesar-esque guy who spoke English, so we adopted him as our guide. Anna and Hannah had told us about him, because they met him too, and after about five minutes of talking to him, I knew it must be him. He took us to the fetish market, where I’m pretty sure we insulted the gods because we refused to pay 8,000 CFA (26 cedis, about $20) for a piece of wood. Oops.

(Note: fetishes are objects that represent voodoo spirits, not fetishes as we non-voodoo believers might think.)

We headed back to our hotel, but before we arrived, Francis asked us a favor. Ten minutes later, we were in an internet café, sending business e-mails for him because he can’t read, but he’s trying to operate a business connection with the UK. If you’re interested in secondhand clothing in Togo, I gotcha covered: Francis is your guy.

That night we ran into Nick, Graham and Dan (other CIEEers) at our hotel, so we had dinner and exchanged stories, mostly about how we had both encountered Francis. Then Nick asked for a toothpick and the waiter came back with a plate full of peanuts. Gotta love that
language trick.

Onward to Benin, we stopped at an art museum in Cotonou on our way to Abomey, the seat of the Dahomey Empire in its heyday. It was another seven-person cab ride on our three hour journey. The Beninese we were with couldn’t understand a word I said, nor could I understand them, but they certainly laughed every time I jumped because the two chickens in the back started clucking away.

In Abomey we tried to tour on our own, but after an hour of wandering, we realized there was no way we would find what we were looking for and despite our attempts at French, there was no way anyone would understand our questions. So we called Marc, who was an English-speaking guide we had met the night before at our hotel.

We saw lots of bloody sites, as head-chopping and sacrifices of 41 slaves were regular practices of the Dahomey kings, and then we headed to the twin fetish. Twins are sacred in Benin/voodoo culture (okay, the actual word used was “lucky,” but I like to think that with
translation issues and such, he totally meant sacred), so I obnoxiously pointed out I’m a twin wherever it was mentioned.

The twin shrine

The visit with Marc ended when we were back at the hotel, where he stations himself, and he was dismissing Kayla to go take a shower so he and I could make love. This came just after he told us the long saga of the son he abandoned. Needless to say, at that point, we said
au revoir.

The next day we headed to Ouidah, which is the voodoo equivalent of the Vatican, and the site of a Portuguese slave fort. We did all that history stuff, got in a fight with some zem (motorcycle taxi) drivers and called our trip a success!

So here I am, back at ISH, my last African adventure complete. I guess it’s time to study… weird.