09.12.2018
This morning we started early. Breakfast was at 07:15 and I went to reception a bit early to pay my bill of the last few days. I never had to pay lunch or dinner directly, they just put it on the room. While I kind of remembered what I had, they however, never gave me a copy of the receipts. But of course, there was nobody in reception who could actually give me my bill that early … No computer here, everything is calculated by hand and the boss needed to come to hand out the original bills. Welcome to Africa!
“To my mind, the greatest reward and luxury of travel is to be able to experience everyday things as if for the first time, to be in a position in which almost nothing is so familiar it is taken for granted.” – Bill Bryson-
I sat by the beach and enjoyed the peace and quiet before breakfast and paid afterwards. Surprisingly enough, their calculation matched mine. The food in the Hotel Coco Beach Restaurant had been excellent, but it did not come as cheap as you would expect. Nevermind, it was still reasonable considering I had 4 meals including quite a few drinks. So CFA 39700 was not bad.
We left just after 08:00. From now on we would travel in the bright blue Mercedes Van. All our bags were loaded in the back and even though we were only 4 I wondered, if all had read the suggestions from the tour operator stating very clearly not to bring any hard shell suitcases. I think we were only lucky that the new used van was on its maiden voyage with us and had much more space than the usual Nissan minivans around here!
We drove along the coastal road for maybe 45 min and reached the small settlement of Agbodrafo at the shore of Lake Togo. Agbodrafo is lying between the Atlantic Ocean and the lake. It grew around a Portuguese fort and was known to Europeans as Porto Seguro. It is now a popular seaside resort.
Lake Togo is the largest part of a shallow lagoon in Togo, separated from the sea only by a narrow coastal strip – in fact a sandbar a kilometer or so wide. The lake is approx 15 km long, 6 km wide and 64km² in area. It receives water from the Sio River in the southwest and various other smaller streams to the west and east, the Haho River enters from the north. The main road traverses the coast to the south of the lake and only smaller local roads circle the lake, connecting the small villages around it.
On the northern end of Agbodrafo seemed to be the narrowest part of the lake and there was a ferry crossing. We got on a small pirogue and a man punted us across the lake. The short trip in the pirogue took maybe 10 min and the man used a long stick to move us along. Reminded me a bit of our Spreewald in Germany, but there the boats are much larger than here. We had a boat to ourselves so each of us had a bench alone. Normally those benches would seat at least 2 maybe 3 people.
It was calm and quiet on the lake until we heard a train approaching. There was a train bridge towards the east of us in the distance and a slow cargo train just passed it. I did not know there were still trains in Togo and wondered if there would be passenger trains – I am a train buff, sorry. Unfortunately I was told the tracks are nowadays only used for cargo – transporting mainly phosphor to the coastal ports. Mining generates approx 33 % of the GDP of Togo and employs approx 12% of the population. Togo has the 4th largest phosphate deposits in the world. The mining industry however is facing difficulties due to falling phosphate prices on world markets and increasing foreign competition. There are also reserves of limestone, marble and salt. Large reserves of limestone allow Togo to produce cement as well.
The view to the opposite shore was nice from the pirogue. Togoville was once the capital of the former German Protectorate. The town is lying on the northern shore of Lake Togo. It was originally known as Togo. The country took its name from the town of Togoville when Gustav Nachtigal signed a treaty with the town’s chief, Mlapa III, in 1884, from which Germany claimed overlordship over what became Togo. The Germans called it then Togo Stadt, when the British came they renamed it Togo Town and eventually the French gave it its current name Togoville. The town has a population of approx 8500 people and the main religion is divided up into Catholic and Voodoo. The Togoville Cathedral was easily seen from the lake.
When we reached the opposite shore, there was not enough water and there was a stretch of maybe 2 m water in between the boat and shore. And believe it or not, the boatmen actually wanted to carry us across. – You want to carry me? – Yes, I carry you! – No you do not have to! I do not want you too! I am fat and ugly, trust me, you do not want to carry me! And I would feel bad about it, too … While the others just took their shoes off and waded that bit, I simply walked up to the bow of the boat, stood on the bowsprit and jumped across – yes, I can do it! All the guys though it was funny, but what the heck – it was better than being carried – or taking my shoes off.
Once everybody else had their shoes on we walked around the village. There were no paved roads here. The main road leading up was just a path with a sewage canal in the middle.
We walked though very narrow passage ways meeting very a few people. Only some children were running around. It was Sunday today and most of the people would be in church, probably. The Togoville Cathedral was our destination for today.
The Cathedral is one of the main features of the town and was built in 1910. Pope John Paul II visited Togo in 1985 and also came to Togoville. For that reason and to accompany the many expected devotees a stage was build and concrete benches outside the church.
Sunday mass was going on inside the church as we reached it. All windows and doors were open and we could hear them singing. Quietly we took a seat on the back row for a few minutes to watch. The church was light flooded and airy, the mass lively with the choir singing beautifully.
Leaving the church we walked along what seemed to be one of the main roads of the village. Some of the people were leaving church – especially the children – I supposed they had enough of it.
We passed also one of the villages wells – there seemed to be no running water here. A lone woman was constantly hauling up water from the deep well constructed in 1910 with a flimsy plastic bucket.
The market square was rather deserted today, only a few stalls were open – probably from those women who did not attend Sunday mass. Our Maha told us, that here they often did not use money to buy stuff, but rather swapped goods as they needed them.
Another important sight of Togoville is a monument erected 1984 commemorating the 100th anniversary of the treaty signed by Gustav Nachtigal. Of course, we were shown this monument as well. It kind of reminded me of our socialist monuments in GDR East Germany way back when. And it is aptly called the Friendship Monument. It does show 2 figures – one is supposed to be a Western woman, the other one an indigenous woman – and a dove.
Togoville is also a centre for the practice of voodoo and there are numerous voodoo shrines in the town. We walked through the quarter of those animists and saw quite a few of them.
Animism – from the Latin word anima meaning “breath, spirit, life” – is the religious belief that objects, places and creatures all possess a distinct spiritual essence. Potentially, animism perceives all things—animals, plants, rocks, rivers, weather systems, human handiwork and perhaps even words – as animated and alive. Animism is the world’s oldest religion, “Animism predates any form of organized religion and is said to contain the oldest spiritual and supernatural perspective in the world. It dates back to the Paleolithic Age, to a time when … humans roamed the plains hunting and gathering, and communing with the Spirit of Nature.” It is nowadays used in the anthropology of religion as a term for the belief system of many indigenous people, especially in contrast to the relatively more recent development of organized religions. Although each culture has its own different mythologies and rituals, “animism” is said to describe the most common, foundational thread of indigenous people’ “spiritual” or “supernatural” perspectives. The animistic perspective is so widely held and inherent to most indigenous people that they often do not even have a word in their languages that corresponds to “animism” – or even “religion”. Largely due to such ethnolinguistic and cultural discrepancies, opinion has differed on whether animism refers to an ancestral mode of experience common to indigenous people around the world, or to a full-fledged religion in its own right. The currently accepted definition of animism was only developed in the late 19th century.
On a small square there was a huge, old tree – it was sacred as well. Much was happening on the square around it on this Sunday morning. A guy put up a boom box with huge speakers. I guess, they got ready for Sunday dance here. The kids, however, were more interested in watching the white-noses – they seemed sceptic, but they were watching.
We visited the biggest of the fetishes in the quarter – the male Attakpa Atabua god which was standing in the open.
A short walk further on was the female counterpart – the Fioko goddess – which was however placed inside a small pavilion. The female is not supposed to be in the open.
We also visited a Voodoo priestess – we were granted an audience – for a fee, of course. We had been told yesterday, that it is tradition to strip the upper body of all clothes and basically hide all Western clothes under a sarong they provided. But since we are white-noses, we would be allowed to keep a sarong tied around the chest. Only today they obviously had not received that message … While the men where in the courtyard stripping off their T-shirts, we women were led into a sort of changing room. There they wanted to actually make us take off not only T-shirt, but bra and trousers as well and then just tie the sarong around the waist. – Excuse me? I do not even believe in this Voodoo stuff, I do respect the traditions to an extent, but we were told we would not have to strip completely, being white-noses and all. … We discussed in French, English and German and those 3 women were all the time pulling on our clothes and shouting to take it off. I was all ready to give up and fuck it – I mean what can be so important by visiting a voodoo priestess? … In the end I did take T-Shirt and trousers off, but tied the sarong around my chest. By then those women were a bit scared of me, since I had very clearly stated they should stop touching me – Ne me touche pas! – and pulling on me. Natasha and Flo however had to actually tie the sarong around the waist and coyly held their arms across their bare chests – after all we had to walk a few meters across the courtyard to the sacred room where the voodoo priestess would meet us. Coming out of the changing room, however, we made some ballaballa with our guides and clarified that this was ridiculous. Maha looked as surprised as we were and after a bit of discussions the others could also pull their sarong up over their chests again.
I was not sure what that voodoo priestess actually was supposed to do, though. We were led in the so-called sacred room and had to sit on straw mats along one wall, stretching out our legs and pointing our feet to the opposite wall, where the priestess came to sit – she did not even sit on one of the thrones lining the wall, though. Neither bending knees nor crossing ankles was allowed. This being so opposite to the habits I was used to – like in Thailand you never ever point the soles of your feet at other people.
The room was just a regular room and had many photos of the actually – former – voodoo priestess on the walls. She however had passed away a couple of years ago and now there was seemingly only an interim priestess and I had the impression, today she had a bad day. She was a sour looking woman who had the look, that we were wasting her time. Apparently, the voodoo priestess sees her holy role in finding husbands for some and getting rid of husbands for others, mixed with liberal doses of psychiatric counseling. She was topless and her boobs hung below her waist.
There was not even a sort of ceremony, just some clapping hands. Then we had permission to take photos and ask questions. Mind you, the priestess did not speak French or English. So our Maha spoke French to the local guide who then spoke in whatever language to her and sometimes there was even another young man involved in the translating and answering as well. He seemed to be an assistant – a male assistant of a priestess? Hmmmm … – sitting in the far corner next to the door.
Before every questions one had to clap hands several times. On my questions why we had to strip for this, she did not have a proper answer. In French the young guy said – It was like that forever. It is tradition. – Our Maha made up a story for us in German about a god who requires that people stand before him without anything in between – Basically, we were required to cover our western clothing with a sarong, because either the priestess or the religion was intolerant of western objects. Western cameras, however were allowed …
In the end the priestess passed a calabash bowl to collect a “donation” – Really? For what? I was not impressed at all. I would have expected some more of this audition by the priestess. Maha put some “donation” in for us all and then we could go again …
We walked a short cut through the village back to the pirogue port and were lucky – they had turned around the boat and we could easily step in without getting our feet wet.
From the lake it was not too far to the Togo – Benin border. But on the way we took a quick photo stop at the river crossing in Aneho. It was the mouth of the lagoon that formed Lake Togo where it flowed into the sea and there were many colourful fishing boats.
But we did not stop there only for photos, but rather because there was a geocache hidden in the guard rail by the road. I had told the others about that little hobby of mine and they agreed to help me look for this one. It was fun and I actually found the little nano and put mine name in the logbook! Happy! The others thought it was funny, though.
We reached the border post a few minutes later. But if you think we could just drive across in our van, you are mistaken. We had to walk across with Vero, who is the boss of the tour agency and accompanies us for a few days, while Maha and our driver sorted out the papers for the car. And the border crossing was busy – actually there seemed to me much more foot traffic than vehicles. Again it looked like the local trade traffic was just going back and forth without any formalities. Plenty hawkers around. No photos allowed, of course. Do not even think about taking even your mobile phone out!
It was an endless immigration procedure again. There were several small buildings, one of them in the back was the first we had to report to. We did the whole thing in a group, though. First a stamp from Togo – Vero got that out of the way fairly quickly. Then around the second building to another window where they were supposed to scan the passports, but apparently the scan machine was out of order and they had to write it all down by hand. We had a blast making up professions for all of us … Natasha and Oliver had it easy – they were retired. I think we made up manager – well, not too far off – and professeur for Flo. Also the crossing was not really straight forward, but in 8s around the houses – just make sure you do not miss a window! Not sure how to tell which window was for arrivals and which for departures … But Vero obviously knew. For once we got away with not showing our vaccination certificates! We saw others who had to do it, though.
Once finished with the Togolese side we walked a couple hundred meters past a maze of vendors to the Benin border check. There we had to show our passports and e-visa print outs once to be let through a gate and then line up at the stamping counter which was basically a concrete verandah and there was a line of desks that had a couple of immigration guys looking all official sitting behind them. There we had to fill in all the details by hand ourselves – Vero and me did it quickly together – I was reading the details off and she wrote – great minds think alike – it was probably an occupational habit to take charge. We had been worried about the bar code on the e-visa, because I for example had folded the paper right across the code accidentally. But also here the scanner was obviously broken – or maybe they just did not have one – and we did not even need to worry. Quickly enough we were all done and met the guys with the van on the Benin side. They had in the meantime parked in the market. Welcome to Benin!
Officially the Republic of Benin – République du Bénin – is bordered by Togo to the west, Nigeria to the east, and Burkina Faso and Niger to the north. The majority of its population lives on the small southern coastline of the Bight of Benin, part of the Gulf of Guinea in the northernmost tropical portion of the Atlantic Ocean. The capital of Benin is Porto-Novo, but the seat of government is in Cotonou, the country’s largest city and economic capital. Benin has approx 11 mio inhabitants. There exist various statistics of the popularity of Voodoo in Benin – some claim that as much as 60% of the population practice Voodoo, but according to a census 43 % of the population declare themselves as Christians, 24% as Muslims and only 17 % as practicing Voodoo. Most common is the habit of practicing Voodoo even if being a declared Christian or Muslim …
From the 17th to the 19th century, the main political entities in the area were the Kingdom of Dahomey, along with the city-state of Porto-Novo, and a large area with many different nations to the north. This region was referred to as the Slave Coast from as early as the 17th century due to the large number of enslaved people who were shipped to the New World during the Trans-Atlantic “slave trade”. After enslavement was abolished, France took over the country and renamed it French Dahomey. In 1960, Dahomey gained full independence from France. The sovereign state has had a tumultuous history since then. A Marxist–Leninist state called the People’s Republic of Benin existed between 1975 and 1990. In 1991, it was replaced by the current multi-party Republic of Benin.
The drive to Grand-Popo was quick. Grand-Popo – yes, that is the name of the town! A very funny word in German – Greatbutt! – is a town in south-western Benin and has a population of approx 57500 people. The town once grew around the slave trade, but coastal erosion has now destroyed most of the old settlement. Grand-Popo is now a centre for voodoo. What triggered the name is not known, though.
We reached our Hotel Awale Plage at around 14:30 – mind you – there was a 1 hr time change and we were back on German time now – we lost 1 hr. While we waited for our rooms to be ready we ordered lunch in the breezy restaurant with beach view. I was absolutely delighted to find Cigale de Mer – slipper lobster – on the menu. And when I asked they even had it! I was not very hungry, but I had to have it! Dinner is always included on this tour and sure they would not have lobster or cigale on the menu for us. So lunch was the chance for such extravaganzas!
My food took the longest – but I also had to wait the longest for my room, so not problem. We had a couple of Beninoise beers and enjoyed the ambience. There was a beautiful garden setting and once I got my room I was happy to see it had a porch, was huge and had an even bigger bathroom. All furniture was beautifully carved.
Then the food came and my Cigale de Mer was delicious! I ate everything I could peel out of the shell. It was so good! The French dictionary translates cigale as a cicada or grasshopper – do not worry, however – Cigale de Mer is nothing like that. A Cicale de Mer is actually a Slipper Lobster of the family Scyllaridae of about 90 species of achelate crustaceans found in all warm oceans and seas. They are not true lobsters, but are more closely related to spiny lobsters and furry lobsters. Slipper lobsters are instantly recognisable by their enlarged antennae, which project forward from the head as wide plates. In the area of Marseille the Slipper Lobsters are called chambri and their tails are part of the true Marseille Bouillabaisse. They are considerably smaller in the Mediterranean, I suppose.
After lunch Flo and Oliver checked out the hotel’s souvenir shop in the garden. I just had a quick look-see, though. I did not need anything – yet. I wanted to drop some stuff off in my room before we would leave again.
Just after 16:00 we went on our afternoon excursion. It was a short drive to a village nearby. There a Zangbeto ceremony was set up for us. Again it was staged for us, but we could see the people had great fun with it and half the village was looking on, especially the children.
Nowhere in West Africa is voodoo practised more fervently than in Benin. January 10 is a special day on the Voodoo calendar here for rites and festivities – it is known as Fête du Vodoun, is a public holiday and celebrates the nation’s heritage. Voodoo – Vodoun – was officially declared a religion in Benin in 1996.
First we were shown the main village fetish. Situated in a small hut next to the ceremony grounds, it was a legba with horns. Then we were seated along the far wall with a good view.
Zangbeto are actually the traditional voodoo guardians of the night in the Yoruba religion of Benin and Togo which are known as the “Nightwatchmen”. They are highly revered and act as an unofficial police force patrolling the streets, watching over people and tracking down criminals and presenting them to the community to punish. Originally created to scare the enemy away, Zangbeto will wander around the streets to detect thieves and witches, and to provide law and order.
The straw figures looked a bit like dancing dervishes in straw dresses without a head. In total they had 4 of them in the end and of course the legend says, that there is nobody underneath, it is just the spirits dancing.
Zangbeto are costumes that resemble haystacks. They are able to fall into a trance which, according to tradition, enables their bodies to be inhabited by spirits who possess special knowledge of the actions of people. However Yoruba legend tells that there are no humans under the costume, only spirits of the night.
Traditionally, the Zangbetos were the policemen of Benin and were the main guardians of law in the country before the official law establishment.
They are said to form a secret society which can only be strictly attended by Zangbetos, and when in a trance are said to have magical abilities, such as swallowing splinters of glass without coming to any harm and scaring away even witches. In a trance, the Zangbeto are said to evoke a power that inhabited the earth long before the appearance of man and provide a source of wisdom and continuity for the people of Benin.
The Zangbeto were turning around the field being led on by men with rods and guided by voice. There were only small slits for whoever was underneath to see.
In the meantime there were drummers drumming a more or less steady rhythm and many women, children and some men were dancing. The dancing looked the same abstracted as yesterday. They went a little in the knees, stuck their bums out, arms up at shoulder-high and bend at the elbow and then they took tiny dance steps forward and lifted their shoulders in rhythm.
A bunch of small children was watching amazed and I went to them to take a photo. First they did not want to and were hiding their faces and laughing crazily.
But when I showed the first one of them the photo on my camera they all of a sudden became all excited and started competing with each other who can pose best for the photos.
They also joined in the dancing. They clearly had a lot of fun, having the dance steps down pat.
Every now and again the dancing straw hats – as I called them – were taking breaks by either just stopping by the side of the field or disappearing behind a wall completely. In general the Zangbetos’ dance got more and more frenzied and fast. I swear, people got more and more into it as well and not everything was just for tourists now …
The ceremony also included lifting up the heavy straw costumes showing us that there was nobody underneath – and there was not … A smaller fetish appeared from underneath and was moving all on its own as well … When we asked how they did those tricks, especially the vanishing act of the person under the large straw costumes, people truly believed that there is no-one under there and it was the spirits making them move, and they were serious. Well, there is no point in arguing religion with someone who is a believer of their own faith – and nothing wrong with that either – but somebody knows the truth as there has to be people who wear those costumes and the people who help them get into them … Hmmm.
Later we were shown even more magic of the fetish. It was a wild moment when a live chicken was brought in – Again! I still had enough of the dead chicken from yesterday’s knife dance! But then, no voodoo ceremony is a proper ceremony without the sacrifice of a chicken! The chicken was hung by the legs on one of the dervishes horns and danced around the field first. Eventually they took the chicken and one man basically bit its head off. Jeeezzzz, I could not look at it! They let the chicken blood run over the fetishes and collected some in a glass where they added their locally distilled schnapps and drank it.
There was a lot of this schnapps – they call it palm wine – involved, today same as yesterday. Not only did the men drink it, but often they poured it over the fetishes or took it in their mouth and then spit it over the fetishes or the people in trance.
Next the dead chicken was disappearing underneath one of the massive cone like structure and the thing danced for a few minutes around the field again. When it stopped dancing and the men lifted the straw skirts and out came a bowl with boiling hot yam mash and a fully cooked chicken. The Fetish had done its magic and cooked the chicken immediately!
The chicken was offered to us and some of the villagers that had congregated around us, and they were quick in getting a piece of that voodoo chicken – Natasha tried it as well, but I chickened out – I still had the image of that man ripping the chicken’s head off in my head. Mind you, I will never get put off eating chicken or meat by watching ceremonies like this, but at this moment I was squeamish!
The next magic they did was the beer bottle. They showed us a bottle with beer. Then they opened it, poured the beer into a plastic container and proceeded to break the bottle into a pestle and mortar. One guy pounded the glass for a while until it was more or less only fine glass sand and showed it to us. The men then made a big show of eating this glass sand and washed it down with the beer.
The last stunt was with some pieces of the opuntia cactus. There was one man who got washed almost completely with this home distilled schnapps for anesthetic purposes, I suppose. Then they tucked a piece of opuntia under each of his arms and tied the arms very tight to his body. Of course the opuntia had still long thorns. But magically he had no marks on his body afterwards and showed us proudly.
It was an interesting ceremony again and even as we left the dervishes were still dancing and scaring the crowed, that had gathered in the meantime, by running to them. The ceremony would however end shortly after we had left, they told us. The men would finish up the schnaps to wind down and then everybody would go home. Nevertheless, they were so into it, that when we left and Natasha stopped to take a photo of the drummers, she got run over by one of the dancing dervishes – well, actually one of the men jumping around the Zangbetos bumped into her and she went all fours up in the dusty field …
No, I did not take photo of it happening – I saw it coming through the lens though, but it was too late and too quick to give a shout. Fortunately, she is hard in the taking and only ended up with a big bruise on her bum. We would hear about if for the next few days, though.
We were back at the hotel by approx 18:15 and I took a beer to the beach. Since there was the time change to Togo, sunset is an hour later here. But it was not so spectacular – there is a lot of dusty haze in the air in West Africa. Nevertheless, the beach was nice. A wide yellow-reddish sand beach with huge pounding Atlantic waves not suitable for swimming however, because of strong under currents. Some fishing boats getting ready for the night’s work. Only a few lounge chairs were at the top of the beach for hotel guests, but I bypassed them and just sat in the sand on top of the steep decline to the shore.
Dinner was at 19:00 and I had ordered crayfish. They came with rice and sautéed vegetables and were very yummy! I love crayfish – it reminded me of a time when I worked the river cruise on the River Volga in Russia in the summer of 2012. In Saratov the crew bought buckets full of crayfish and they were cooked in a huge pot. We were invited to the officers mess to feast on those crayfish with the captain. They were soooo delicious! And here I also got a whole plate of them. They were already peeled, so easy to eat and very delicious.
Later I took a cold tonic from the bar to my room – my duty free vodka was waiting for me and before sleep I had a couple and did some posting and sorting through photos.
