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Africa Benin West Africa Trip 2019

Porto Novo

For my final day in Cotonou, having seen what I wanted to see of the city, I decided to visit Porto Novo, the capital city of Benin. By comparison to Cotonou, Porto Novo is a small town. It doesn’t really have any attractions or sights, per se, but it is a lovely place for a wander. And that is pretty much all I did. I walked around and so here are the photos I took while I did so.

There are a couple small museums there but I passed on those. I did, however, take a guided tour of the one time royal palace.

After taking in the markets and the beautiful buildings, I walked down to a hotel on the lake and enjoyed a juice before heading back to Cotonou. No mishaps or odd encounters, just a relaxing day.

The next day I would start my journey home – but first, a long layover in Cote d’Ivoire.

Africa Benin West Africa Trip 2019

Ganvié, the floating village

Ganvié is probably the main sight in or around Cotonou, Benin. A dreamy village entirely over the water, not far from the city. A perfect day trip.

I caught a taxi from the Étoile Rouge (where car taxis congregate) and drove not too far to a nearby town on the edge of Lake Nokoué. From there, you check in at a small office (really more of a small wooden shack) and buy your ticket. You can choose between a wooden rowboat or a larger wooden engine powered boat. I went for the rowboat.

The area around the pier is abustle with activity – local people coming and going.

From there, we (my guide and my boat captain and I) set off for the village. We paddled for a while past fishing boats and collections of green foliage.

Finally we reached Ganvié. A village entirely on stilts or floating, it is only accessible by boat. It was built in about the 1600s after the king of the Tofinu tribe (I think), the legend goes, sought to protect his tribe from another tribe who sought to kidnap people to sell to European slave traders. Knowing that the slave capturers were afraid of water (or water spirits) the king turned into an eagle and looked for a lake. Finding this lake, he turned into a giant crocodile and carried his people to safety. The part about moving there to evade capture is true; the part about the King transforming, Manimal-style, probably not. But who knows? Regardless of the origin story, the village has been there for about 400 years and is…amazing.

It is so colorful and picturesque. Fishermen, women transporting pineapples, children playing, people boating around. Wonderful.

There is a small guesthouse there and, upon reflection, I think it would have been nice to have stayed the night. Regardless, it was one of the most beautiful and unique places I have been. Back at the shore, I caught sight of a voodoo shrine, there to provide protection to the non-water dwellers.

I took a few market pictures on the way back to Cotonou.

Ganvié, along with the voodoo culture, was the thing that sparked my desire to visit Benin. It was worth the journey, though the journey itself was a delight.

The next day I would visit the former capital, Porto Novo.

Africa Benin West Africa Trip 2019

Cotonou, Benin

Ouidah to Cotonou, Benin was another easy shared car. I just stood by the road, put my hand out and within a minute I had a ride. Again it was a car of five men and me, but this time I got to ride up front.

The thing about Cotonou is that it is big, so when we arrived by car, they dropped me off at a large intersection but I had no idea where I was. I tried to get my bearings, but my paper maps for Cotonou were not detailed enough and there were no landmarks in view. Fortunately – and I am not saying this to boast of my preparation but just because I recommend it in general for traveling in counties where you don’t speak the language and transit infrastructure is lacking – is that at least I knew of two landmarks near my hotel. The moto drivers who approached me all knew the Etoile Rouge, a big traffic circle with a communist tower in the centre. One of the few recognizable landmarks.

I took a moto there, then found my street and started walking toward the hotel. Or so I thought. The smaller streets are named according to some pseudo-dewey decimal system that matched up to neither of google maps nor lonely planet’s. Thankfully (another humble brag) I had taken a screen shot of my hotel, so I just walked until I saw a white 3 storey block-ish building. Success.

I was staying at the Hotel Saint Jean, which is a functional hotel of no particular charm near-ish to the Etoile Rouge and the crafts market. The neighbourhood itself is not full of sights, but it is a terrific transit route and is full of restaurants. I liked it. And, as usual, the people at the hotel were so nice and helpful. I think I was a bit of a curiosity to them as I was the only person staying there who was not in town for an educational conference. I loved that outside the hotel all day and in to the evening women would sit ant cook up various meals over fires at the roadside.

I spent four days in Cotonou. I did day trips (to Ganvié and Porto Novo) on two of those days and spent two just in the city. Cotonou is very spread out so it takes some time to see. The good thing is, you can get around for a pittance on the motos. The bad thing is, if you are averse to riding helmet-less on the back of small motorbikes with strangers, you are kind of screwed. There is no bus system or metro and car taxis are few and far between. Fortunately, I am happy to play fast and loose with my cranial security.

Mostly in Cotonou I picked things and areas that I was interested in and I wandered around. I really liked it there.

I went to the cathedral, which is one of the other main landmarks due to its candy cane exterior. I also had a screen shot of that on my phone that I could show to drivers, which came in handy.

From there there was lots to walk to. Supermarkets and gelato shops, a wonderful riverfront with a breezy patio at the Hotel Le Berlin where I smoked and read, watching fishing boats pass by.

*sitting on the patio at Hotel Le Berlin*

I walked to the Danktopa Market. Passing, along the way numerous inviting cafes and the grand mosque.

The market is a sprawling, crowded chaos of everything a market should have and some thing it shouldn’t, like a smaller but decidedly less touristy fetish market, complete with all the skulls and dried dead things you could desire.

I am glad I went to the market, though it was the one place I could not relax. Upon arrival I attracted a dozen or so rotating shop keeps who followed me trying to convince me to look at their wares. Mostly they kept trying to sell me knock-off designer handbags and clothes, in which I couldn’t be less interested. I might have stayed longer, but I just couldn’t get the anonymity I craved. Maybe I was naive for thinking I could.

I went to the artisanal crafts market, which is a great place to walk around even if you are not shopping. It is leafy and quiet and there are at least 3 good places to sit on a patio and eat and drink. There I smoked cigars and had some good conversations with assorted characters. What I really enjoyed, and never tired of, was watching the women with impossible items stacked on their heads as they walked with fierce confidence, like they were wearing some grand chapeaus from the Paris runway.

From there I walked to the Institute Français, which had a photo exhibit. En route though I walked past the army barracks, where I was invited to some in for a drink at the mess hall with the soldiers. I have to be honest – I declined, and I kind of regret it in hindsight, but at the moment I was confused by the combination of inviting ambiance, a cordial invitation, and the abundance of fatigues and firearms.

Much like in Ouidah, there was a Fondation Zinsou, which had wonderful modern art and a superb cafe / shop.

Aside from just walking around, the only other area I purposely visited was the Cadjehoun neighbourhood, which is where the embassies and bars and eateries for expats and travellers are. It is a nice neighbourhood with fancy white houses surrounded by high walls and armed guards, flowering shrubberies, luxury cars, and some pretty nice patios and restaurants. It was worth it for the nice pizza but it was my least favourite neighbourhood in Cotonou because it both lacked local character and felt kind kind of unsafe. The presence of armed guards means that something bad is expected to go down. In the rest of the city, that was not the case.

Two busy days in Cotonou was enough, but I used my two extra days to visit Ganvié and Porto Novo, each of which were wonderful in their own right.

Benin was the basis for this whole trip and it did not disappoint, even if I did not get to see anything in the way of voodoo magic.

Africa Benin West Africa Trip 2019

Ouidah

Leaving Grand Popo was something that initially concerned me. There is nothing there. No taxi to call, and when I mentioned it to the hotel they didn’t offer to get me a car to anywhere but they said it would be “no problem” for me to get to Ouidah – my next destination (also in Benin, just a little down the coast). I took a last look at the sea and walked to the small road. Within seconds a moto driver was speeding me to the main street, where he dropped me off in front of a shop? A cafe? I don’t know, but there were two guys out front and I told them I was headed to Ouidah. They flagged a car – their 2nd attempt was successful – they told the driver I was going to Ouidah and the driver offered me a price that was so low I felt no compulsion to haggle. And just like that I was in a random car (not a proper taxi) with 5 guys speeding down the road.

The ride wasn’t exactly comfortable; with a sweaty body pressed into me on one side and the car door on the other. The compression of passengers acting as a de facto seat belt, I suppose. But the drive was an hour at most and for the 50c or so that I was paying I was quite happy. They asked me where I was going and I gave them the name of my hotel, which was right on the main road, so they dropped me off out front. Easy.

The name of my hotel changed twice, I think, between booking and arrival, but ultimately it was called Hotel DK. And it was weird.

Upon arrival I kind of wanted to leave. It is huge and run down and abandoned-looking. I couldn’t find anyone as I walked around reception, the kitchen, the dining room, the creepy, empty murder pool. Just as I was wondering why I booked the place and how I would find another hotel with no wifi, data, guidebook, or human assistance, a young man popped his head out. Seemingly from a nap.

He showed me to my room. My tiny, airless room of questionable plumbing and security, but which weirdly had lovely, ironed and embroidered, monogrammed sheets.

It was a weird place. I can’t recommend it, but it was cheap and the staff were great. They made me meals and ensured I had what I needed. And it was technically walking distance to the town centre, if you like a long walk.

Enough about the weird hotel. I was in Ouidah for voodoo. It is the literal or de facto centre and origin of voodoo in West Africa, which basically means the world. They have a big voodoo festival each year, though I was not there at that time. I wanted to see pythons and…well, that was the draw as i headed down the coast.

I visited a small museum, which had a good, guided tour about slavery and Portuguese influence.

From there I was heading towards the Python temple, but was sidetracked by a parade and festival. It was the festival of the city. I couldn’t find out much information about it, but it amounted to a lot of music and dance performances and much of the people in the city outfitted in clothing made from one common fabric, which had the name of the festival on it.

I then went to the Python Temple. Let’s be clear: there are a lot of voodoo temples with pythons, but this one is open to tourists and curious wanderers. They don’t give a bunch of information about voodoo, but they do explain some things before letting you into the inner python temple.

I was the only person there at the time and so i had a lot of time to play with the snakes….and take photos, of course. It was cool. The pythons are let out into the community periodically to feed and they return, allegedly. And if one shows up in your house, it is good luck.

After I had my fill of snakes, I wandered around a while. Ouidah is a pretty little town. I could have spent an extra day I think, but I was happy with the time I had.

I visited the small but excellent Foundation Zinsou, which is a very stylish modern art museum showcasing African artists and with a great cafe. I hung out there and chatted with a Brazilian girl also traveling solo.

There is a historical slave route in Ouidah that leads to a door or no return on the sea, But I opted to not do that, having seen so much in the way of similar sights in the past days; instead, i wandered around some more.

I rested for a bit at a bar…no, not a bar. A collection of tables and plastic chairs under some trees where beer was sold by ladies walking around with baskets. I don’t drink beer, but it was such an inviting place that i bought a bottle of sugary “juice” and enjoyed my cigar with the buzz of people, the shade, and the hypnotic drum music that loudly played. I tried to blend in, which was impossible.

Checking my map and relying on my internal sense of direction , i decided i would walk back to my hotel along some leafy, rural roads. It was hot and after about a half an hour, red faced, lost, I emerged on the main road from the fields and asked the two women i saw if they knew my hotel. They looked at me like i was nuts and after some initial communication difficulties, they drew to my attention that I was in fact standing in front of my hotel. At least i know my sense of direction is in tact, even if my eyes fail me.

I spent the night ay my weird hotel, where there was one other person staying – a guy, traveling solo, maybe a bit younger than me. He had no interest in chatting, but i filled the evening with dinner outside and a cigar and an intensive map study to prepare to the morning’s journey to Cotonou.

Benin Togo West Africa Trip 2019

Benin border & Grand Popo

Crossing the Border from Togo to Benin

I left Lomé planning to head across the border from Togo to Benin. I wasn’t sure exactly how I would accomplish the transport, but as with everything else on this trip, it turned out to be far easier than I expected. I walked from my hotel (Hôtel Résidence Océane) down the Rue de la Gare until I reached the end (at big street with the beach on the other side). I crossed and turned left and before I had time to fully take in the cluster of people and parked cars, numerous people approached me asking if I needed a shared taxi. I did, and took my place in the front seat of a beat-up station wagon, waiting for it to fill up so we could go.

There are many reasons for traveling light. In this case, I was thankful I could fit my backpack between my feet in the front seat or I might have had to pay for a second place in the car, as the hatchback was filled with boxes and a motorcycle.

As I waited for other passengers to be secured, one of the guys outside helping to fill the car took his t-shirt off and put it on the windshield in front of me to block the sun which was hot and otherwise shining directly in my face. He didn’t make a big deal of it and didn’t ask me for anything, he just did it. Another example of the generosity and kindness of the people I encountered.

After about 20 minutes we had the people we needed and we were off. I forget the exact price, but it was trivial. Maybe about a dollar (cdn) for the hour – hour and half ride to the border. a few pics from the car window…

At the border we got out and went through the border on foot and I had to go through one check on the Togolese side and two on the Beninese side. It was not always clear where I was meant to go, but all throughout the process a woman (traveling with her baby), who had been in the car with me, waited for me to complete each step and then pointed to where I would go next.

I had gotten my visa for Benin on line. I showed the border guard my paper while I was seated at his outdoor desk. He didn’t seem too interested in it. He asked me some basic questions (address in Benin, length of stay, etc.) and stamped my passport. He gave the visa paper back to me. (***Very important: keep that paper. I nearly threw mine away, thinking I no longer needed it, but thankfully did not; I was required to show it again when leaving Benin.)

And I was in Benin.

On the other side of the border I hopped into another shared taxi and said I needed to go to Grand Popo. A short ride later I was dropped off at a fork in the road and the driver pointed to the cluster of motos nearby. I gave one of the moto drivers the name of my hotel (the Auberge de Grand Popo) and I hopped on the back and he drove me the short distance to my hotel.

And that is another reason for traveling light: the ability to hop on and off motorcycles, which are often the only means of transport.

Grand Popo, Benin

There isn’t much to Grand Popo. It is basically just a linear group of small hotels, eateries, and arty places along the beach. I decided it might be nice to spend one night along the sea in between cities. I was right.

The Auberge de Grand Popo was a wonderful oasis. Right along the ocean it had a small, main building with a welcoming outdoor restaurant and bar, a small pool, lots of places to sit and stare at the sea, and rooms both in a large, two-storey building and a few cabins. I stayed in the larger building. It was rustic, but comfortable. A fan, a bed, an ocean breeze. The water wasn’t running, but they gave me a big container of water for bathing.

I spent one night – a little less than 24 hours – there. It was very relaxing, though one night was enough. How much lying in hammocks, reading, and smoking cigars can one person take before becoming restless?

The next morning, after breakfast, I walked back to the main road, snapping a few pictures of the “town” of Grand Popo along the way.

At the main road, I held my hand out and within a couple of minutes a car pulled up, full of men listing to lively percussion music. I told them I wanted to go to Ouidah. I threw my bag in the trunk, squeezed in next to the three men in the backseat, and off we went to my next destination.

Africa Togo West Africa Trip 2019

Togoville

My third day in Togo I went to Togoville. At this point I had been on the road solo over a week and the idea of giving myself over to a driver and guide was appealing. Fortunately, I had run into a guy, a guide, in Lomé the day before. He seemed like a good guy and the price was right, so I made plans with him.

He picked me up in the morning and we drove to Agbodrafo and visited the slave house, which is a small house near the sea that was built in the 1830s, after slavery was made illegal, so that Europeans could continue to kidnap and ‘export’ slaves despite the ban.

*commemorative art outside the slave house*

Weirdly, it looked like a regular house, except that under the floor boards was a space about 2 m high where slaves were kept while waiting for the boat to come for transport. Very interesting and, as with the slave castles in Ghana, troubling.

We walked down to the sea and watched the place where the ocean collides with the lake and the fishing boats unloaded their cargo.

We then drove to the Hotel Le Lac Paradis, which sat on the shores of the lake (Lake Togo), of which Togoville was on the other side. The hotel sells you a ride across the lake and back in a pirogue, so theoretically, if you can get to the hotel on your own, you could hire a boat to Togoville. (I didn’t note the exact price, but I recall that the boat was very cheap; maybe a dollar or two.)

The ride across the lake was very pleasant, past fishermen, crab traps, and boys swimming. I wish I had thought ahead a worn a bathing suit, as it would have been heavenly to have a swim alongside the canoe.

At Togoville, we landed on shore and I paid a fee for a guide and to visit the village. That was a lot more expensive than I expected. I think it was 30,000 cfa and they would not budge on the price. There are no ATMs at the hotel or the village, so take cash. I had enough, but I started to feel worried that I would be out of pocket.

I loved visiting the village. There is a cathedral built in 1910 by the Germans (Togo was once a German colony, before it was a French one) and a shrine to where someone once saw a vision Mary on the lake, but other than that, this is a voodoo village.

We walked around and everywhere there were Legba. Legbas? Not sure of the plural. I am also not sure if Legba is the name of the voodoo shrine or the spirit it represents. Anyway, they were everywhere, providing protection and a place to sacrifice animals, as was evident by the blood and feathers on and around them. They were a bit creepy but very cool.

Also a bit creepy were bouquets of entrails nailed to some of the houses by the door for protection purposes, where they would stay for about three days.

There were also voodoo trees, some acting as courts, where the guilty would be made to walk around the tree 7 times at which point their lies or guilt would be revealed.

The village was pretty quiet, but we did see some people. My guide taught me to say a few greetings in the local language, Ewe, which either caused shock in the recipients of my greetings, or peals of laughter. But they understood me.

*me at the monument to German-Togolese friendship*

There were voodoo houses containing pythons and practitioners of voodoo, but I could not enter those. I had told my guide early in the day that I wanted to have a voodoo experience – whatever that means. I wanted to see something weird or amazing. At the end of my tour, the guide said something was arranged and ready for me. I asked how much it was as I was pretty much out of local money on hand. I did have a stash of Euros, but I was on a budget and relying solely on cash, so I wasn’t keen to break into that. My guide said the price depended on a number of factors but that the middle price was about 200,000 cfa (that’s over $400 cdn). I was unable to contain my shock. I politely declined. This clearly disappointed both my guides and the fixer who had arranged whatever it was that was planned, but I firmly said ‘no merci.’ I would have inquired about the price earlier but I had no idea that anything was actually being arranged.

voodoo house (yes, there are pythons inside)

So I never did have my voodoo experience. I am ok with that, but I can’t help but wonder what they would have done for $400. Maybe a series of cheap magic tricks, or maybe…something truly inexplicable. I’ll never know.

I spent the evening reflecting on the day as I smoked a cigar and drank fruity mocktails in a karaoke bar in Lomé while young Togolese women practiced their dance moves in front of a mirror to, amongst other things, “Jailhouse Rock.” A fittingly odd end to an unusual day. The next day I would travel to Benin.

Africa Togo West Africa Trip 2019

The Gruesome Menagerie: The Fetish Market of Lomé

My first full day in Lomé I planned to go to the Akodessawa Fetish Market (aka the Marché aux Fetiches aka the Marché des Féticheurs) and, mission accomplished, I did go. The fetish market in the Akodessawa area of Lomé is, reportedly, the largest fetish market in the world. (For clarity’s sake, we are talking about a voodoo market selling items for rituals, not a marketplace of latex dresses and ball gags.) This was, in fact, the thing I was most looking forward to in Togo.

One of the main things that drew me to West Africa on this particular trip is that Togo and Benin are the birthplace of Voodoo (as it is known in the Americas) or Voudou, Vodun, or various other iterations (as it is known in Togo and Benin) – I’ll stick with the common American spelling. Today about half the population identifies as a practitioner of this spiritual practice, and, I am told, even many of those who identify as Muslim or Christian will still turn to Voodoo when they need help or protection.

There will be a lot of Voodoo references in the future blog posts for this particular trip. But on this day, I went to the Fetish Market in Lomé.

To get to the market from central Lomé, hail a moto from any street. It should cost 500-700 cfa (that’s around $1 cdn). You can ask the driver to wait for you and drive you back if your French is up to it. There is really nothing else to see right around the market, so having your driver wait might not be a bad idea. I didn’t want to feel rushed, so I sent mine away.

The market is not that big, but there is a lot to see. As far as I could tell, this is a legitimate fetish market. Locals were there shopping and seeing the Voodoo practitioners, but it also welcomes tourists. Tourists pay a fee of the equivalent of a few dollars, which includes a guide. You could go without the guide, but you really wouldn’t learn anything.

My guide was great. He explained to me that the dried creatures on display, with a few exceptions, were all to be sold and used in rituals or potions; often grounds up with plants or other natural items.

Ringing the market were displays of carefully laid out dead things: birds, snakes, chameleons, insects, monkeys, rodents, dogs, lions, apes, etc. Some were whole; most were merely heads.

In one area there were some freshly severed animal heads drying in the sun. (I’ll not post the picture of that.)

There were also some things they had on display only because they were old specimens of creatures that could no longer be legally killed, like a hippopotamus skull, a lion cub head, and a fully dried baboon).

Now, I love this kind of dark, gruesome stuff, so I was fascinated. However, I am not unaware of the fact that all of this is a collection of animals who were killed for spirituality (which, as an atheist, I give no practical merit to). That is a lot of senseless killing. And as a vegetarian, it does give me pause…but then I remember that people kill animals for all sorts of stupid, selfish reasons: for entertainment, for food, for fashion, for byproducts of the pet industry…its all morally reprehensible, but I am not above it as I still wear leather. So I left my judgment aside and indulged in my curiosity about this cultural and spiritual practice.

I did visit one of the Voodoo practitioners. He (through my guide) explained what many of the items were that he had in his tiny, dark hovel. I selected a couple of items and had them blessed (that’s not really the right word) for certain uses. One for luck. One for protection in travel. I don’t believe in it, but it was neat. I had to say and do some things and then the Voodoo man rang a bell and said some chants over the items as they lay in a calabash.

And I left, with my magic charms in tow (but without any severed heads) and feeling slightly more knowledgeable about Voodoo. I had not had my moto driver wait for me, but a guy from the market walked with me to the main road and stayed with me until we hailed a moto that agreed to take me back downtown (500cfa).

*Me at the fetish market with a chameleon and with one of the Voodoo practitioners*

There certainly is a tourist element to the market, but it is a real place for people without cameras and questions. And honestly, I am glad it does welcome tourists or it would have been rather difficult, if not impossible, to ask questions, poke around, and take pictures. It is certainly worth a visit.

The next day brought more voodoo with a day trip from Lome to Togoville.

Togo West Africa Trip 2019

Lomé, Togo

To get to Lomé from Accra one can take a comfortable bus with the STC company, but they only run on certain days and I was to travel on an off day. I did not relish traveling by tro-tro, crammed in a hot minivan with countless others, so I decided to travel by shared taxi. I caught a regular taxi from my hostel to Tudu Station, which isn’t so much a station as it is a collection of cars, vans, and vendors all loudly vying for one’s attention.

The deal with a shared taxi, as with a tro-tro, is that the vehicle leaves when it is full. Fortunately I didn’t have to wait long. And I got the front seat. The 3.5 hour drive to the border was about $10 cdn and quite comfortable.

The border experience was fine. I went to 4 checks, 2 on each side. (I had applied for and received my visa whilst still in Canada.) The guards were friendly. One flirted, another insisted on taking my picture as I crossed out of Ghana. Whenever I started to go the wrong way someone kindly ushered me in the right direction.

And just like that, I was in Togo. Immediately different from Ghana in that it is a French speaking country and suddenly baguettes are for sale from baskets atop women’s heads (along with everything else.)

On the other side of the border I needed a taxi. Before I even had time to haggle, a man and his wife found me a driver they knew, made sure he knew where my hotel was, and got me a good price. But even had they not assisted, getting a taxi would not have been a problem. They were right there.

My hotel, Residence Hoteliere Oceane, was an odd pseudo-French countryside castle design with African art. I had a two level suite (quite unnecessary, really) and a little seating area overlooking the courtyard, which also had seating. Smoking was allowed, which meant that I finished each of my three nights there enjoying a cigar in the bar.

I really liked Lomé. I hadn’t expected to, as nothing I read about it ahead of time suggested it was anything other than a place to pass through. Staying in the centre was a good choice. I could walk to almost everything I wanted to see, as well as to the market for anything I could want to buy.

Compared to Accra, Lomé felt chill and pleasant. I wandered around the market and generally walked the streets. No one hassled me. I never for a moment felt unsafe. Everyone was simply friendly; greeting me with Bonjours and Bienvenues.

The market (Le Grande Marché) was fantastic. Crowded and busy, but not stressful. Everything you can conceive of is sold there. I would have liked to have gotten better photos, but people in Lomé really don’t like having photos taken – even if not of them, but just of their merchandise – and will sometimes say no. I still managed to get a few.

In the midst of the market is a striking red and white church outside of which I met a guy who offered and I accepted to hire him to take me on a day trip the following day. Serendipity.

The streets of Lomé are shabby and bustling, but they are also often tree-lined and the traffic is not crazy, which made it nice for walking. I took pictures of the few bigger buildings with interesting architecture.

I visited the artisans market where I resisted the urge to buy more than a few trinkets, but it was great for a browse.

I headed towards the independence monument, marking Togo’s liberation from France. At this point I was sweating and red-faced from the heat, so I walked purposefully towards a shiny, tall hotel where I basked in the AC for a little while.

I walked towards the Royal Palace. I had read online that it had been refurbished as a gallery / art centre in the midst of beautiful gardens stretching to the sea. The pictures look stunning, but when I arrived I was told that the opening had been delayed for one week. So I saw only pictures, but if you are planning to visit Lomé, it is a must visit.

I should say, there is a beach all along the city, but I did not visit, though glimpses were in abundance.

There are few restaurants in the centre, at least that is my observation; and I had trouble finding vegetarian street food, so my dinners tended to be baguette and fruit from the market and Camembert and yogurt from the supermarket.

That was sort of my first day and a half in Lomé. I did also visit the Fetish Market on day two but I will make a separate post about that.

Africa Ghana West Africa Trip 2019

Ambling about Accra

My first full day Accra began with a great breakfast at the hostel. There was a decent mix of people staying there, but with the exception of two older couples, everyone staying there was there to work or volunteer. They had their little cliques, so it wasn’t social, but I didn’t want to linger. I had sights to see.

Taxis are labelled and plentiful. I hailed one on the street and took it to the lighthouse in Jamestown, the oldest part of Accra, at the sea. (The taxis don’t have meters, so agree on a price before you get in. You can haggle, but in my case the offered price was what my hostel had recommended. I never felt like I was getting cheated.)

Jamestown is colorful, scrappy, and crumbly. I liked it. I didn’t take a bunch of pictures of the street though. I’m always a bit camera shy on day one. I walked to the beach, past a very poor cluster of makeshift housing. Everyone I passed was very friendly – but not too friendly.

I walked over to and around the fishing port. It was early and it was busy. Boats coming and going. Fishes for sale and being chopped up. Crabs. Men fussing with nets. I attracted constant stares. Lots of women were there, but I was the only white person and the tattoos also caught glances.

But everyone was nice. A lot of hellos, welcomes, and offers to sell me fish. I asked if I could take photos and no one objected.

I met a nice woman named Dora who told me she is a vegetarian and yoga and meditation devotee who works giving massages to the fishermen, though she said they seldom pay. She walked around with me, introducing me to different people.

I then walked along a main street, passed a couple of former slave prisons until I happened across a great courtyard cafe / gallery, the Jamestown Café, where I sat and had a coffee with a guy from the Massisi area of the Congo. He was shocked when I said I had been there last year.

I carried on. I arrived at the Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park, which marks Ghana’s independence and houses the mausoleum of Kwame Nkrumah, Ghana’s first president. It was pretty and serene.

Almost right next door to that was an artisans market. A collection of shops and very poor housing, along with stalls were you could see people carving masks, making drums and jewelry, sewing clothes, weaving baskets. I was immediately accosted by a guy who offered to show me around. I figured I would have to top him, but the company was nice and had I been left on my own I wouldn’t haven seen as much as I did.

I did buy a mask from the guy’s shop. As I was leaving, he insisted I try the drums. Before I knew it, I was in a drum circle, learning how to play traditional rhythms on a handmade drum. I sucked, but I eventually got it. Here’s the thing: I have always rolled my eyes at drum circles at hippie nonsense…but I liked it. It was fun. A good reminder to be open to new experiences.

From there I walked to the Makola market and poked around. At this point though I was super hot and tired, so I soon caught a taxi to the Osu area, which is a little more upscale (in the broadest sense of the word). I went to a fancy ish restaurant on a leafy patio and ate my fill of bean stew, plantains, and ginger/pineapple juice.

I saw some wonderful street art on the way.

I was still pretty worn out, so I decided to catch a tro tro back to my hostel. Tro tros are the main local transport; packed mini vans that pick up people when flagged. They drive around shouting their route out the windows. I got out at a familiar land mark and walked the last few blocks.

I spent the evening at my hostel, though I did venture out for some dinner, from a wooden table with a small fire for cooking. I got a generous portion of fried rice, vegetables, and salad for about $1.75.

It was a great day. Certainly there is much more to see in Accra, but I saw what I liked. Pleasantly, it was all hassle-free. I decided that evening to spend my second day seeing the Cape Coast.

Africa Ghana West Africa Trip 2019

Arrival in Accra

Landing in a new country often a bit stressful. Will I get hassled? Will my visa be issued? Etc. Ghana was no problem. I had gotten my visa ahead of time. I filled out the form at the border, gave a photo and my fingerprints. No questions were asked. The best part was that right in between immigration and baggage, and visible to both sections, a live jazz band was playing! You aren’t allowed to take photos in the airport, so I can’t prove it, but it was so pleasant. A wonderful welcome to the country.

(A little visa tip: on the application you will need your flight & hotel bookings, a LOI from the hotel and the ID of the hotel manager, which they should provide to you. What is tricky is that you need two personal references or contacts in Ghana. Obviously I didn’t have that, so I just put 1) the name of the hostel manager, and 2) the name of the Canadian ambassador to Ghana. I don’t know that person but their address in Ghana is public info and, I mean, they probably could vouch for me as a Canadian if asked. Anyway, it worked.)

Outside was a mass of people waiting with signs. No one was expecting me. I figured I would be harassed by taxi drivers, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t even figure out who they were. I ended up asking a security guard who flagged someone down for me.

It was almost 10:00 pm at this point so I went straight to my hostel and stayed put.

As we approached the hostel, which is in the Kokomlele neighbourhood I saw they people were still out cooking and selling food on the roadsides. A few little kiosks were open selling drinks, chips, toilet paper, etc. People were hanging out. It was quite dark but it felt good. Active; not desolate or unsafe.

I chatted with the friendly taxi driver. A bonus of visiting Ghana is that it is an English speaking country, so it is easy to get by. Locals will often speak one or more of the 200+ local languages when talking together, but for me it was all English.

I was staying at the “Somewhere Nice” hostel (who also provided me the needed letter of invitation for my visa). I can’t recommend them enough. Great location and hang out areas both outside and in. A pool. Great breakfast. Etc. I stayed in a private room. There are dorms, but I was too old (!) to stay in them. Whatever. I’d rather have my own room anyway.

I spent the next hour sitting by the pool under tree canopy with a cigar and a cup of tea relaxing and chatting with a couple of people from Sweden who were here for work and study.

And there you have it: arrival in Ghana. I’ll end this here. The next day deserves its own post.

Wandering North

Tag: travel blog

Porto Novo

Ganvié, the floating village

Cotonou, Benin

Ouidah

Benin border & Grand Popo

Crossing the Border from Togo to Benin

Grand Popo, Benin

Togoville

The Gruesome Menagerie: The Fetish Market of Lomé

Lomé, Togo

Ambling about Accra

Arrival in Accra