Kouma Konda – Togo

The Ghanian border we arrived at was one of the most immaculate border crossings I have visited; groomed to the standard of an English country garden, and staffed by welcoming, clean-cut officers. We were through within the hour which was speedy enough but, the Togolese officers went a step further, processing us in half the time and without the need for any of us to get off the truck. The difference between the two countries was instantly pronounced. The Togo border crossing was no more than a couple of thatched huts casually manned by a couple of officers. The single tracked roads had deteriorated to ruin with dehydrated forest encroaching from either side. The villages looked desperately poor, nestled away in dry and dusty bushland. It is a country full of pyromaniacs where everything has been burnt from hillsides to roadside verges to football pitches. We saw similar scenes in Ghana although not quite to the same extent. Apparently, hunters there burn the hillside to flush out prey. It must also be used to clear land of dead grass and weeds in anticipation for planting in the rainy season despite the practice having a significant negative effect on the productivity of the soil; it will only hasten desertification and food insecurity. 

After a few hours driving we fell onto improved roads and pulled into a local town at 3.30pm that appeared to be thriving more than the surrounding countryside. Frustratingly, as we had become accustomed to, we had one hour to shop for three meals for 13 people, in a town we had only just arrived at with no idea where to begin looking, and on this occasion, when the call to prayer had just sounded. Oh, and we were back in a French speaking country. Four of us walked around like toddlers looking for their parents, utterly bewildered and on the edge of tears, we must have stopped in the most derelict part of town. Standing forlorn on the side of the road, a chap pulled up on a motorbike having sensed an opportunity. Armed only with the words ‘marché, marché’ the young gentleman looked as though he might have understood where we wanted to be, by which time three other motorbikes had appeared from nowhere. With only 30 minutes remaining, we each hopped onto a bike, no helmets obviously, and took off at pace up the road for several kilometres with a fresh breeze in our faces. When we came to a stop, we were greeted by the wonderful sight of a market full of everything we needed, eggs, peppers, potatoes, pineapples, tomatoes, avocados, onions, all the usual ingredients we had to get creative with every night to produce a mildly different dish to the night before. We attempted to ask our drivers to wait 20 minutes while we skipped around the various stalls as otherwise, we would have absolutely no idea where to return to. The subtle changes that come about with a change of passenger dynamic is interesting to observe. There has been a definite move away from eggs for lunch, replaced instead with corned beef. For some odd reason, instead of alternating between the two options we always stick to one. There were several people in the previous group who didn’t like mayonnaise – which speaks volumes – yet we put mayo into everything and would only leave a little non-mayo item on the side. This group, however, gets through a pot of mayo every couple of days but we never add it to any of the food and leave it for the individual to mix into their eggs, tuna, salad, or whatever, despite everyone liking it. The love for porridge at breakfast is new. We never had porridge with the previous group, now everyone is happy with it despite eggs being in plentiful supply. Incidentally, everyone likes eggs. As for meat, what’s the point? Any meat that people would want to eat is never available in the markets, if something half decent is found in a small shop then it usually requires a lot of prep and cooking, when you are preparing it, you worry about poisoning the whole group and, on the rare occasion there is a western style supermarket the meat is too expensive. Oh, and then there’s the vegetarians and vegans to think about, as well as storing the meat in the truck fridge which is temperamental at best. At 4.28pm were back on the road weaving through traffic while attempting to hold on to the bike and more importantly, a large bag of shopping each. Not understanding the lingo, jumping on a stranger’s bike loaded with cash, and not wearing a helmet are all things I suspect not recommended in government travel advice or travel insurance policies however, it sure is fun. If I remember rightly, we paid our shining knights around $5 total for their services which included a generous tip on top of what they requested. I think so anyway, I certainly spent enough time ensuring we had understood correctly.

Our first two nights in Togo were spent up in the spectacular mountains at the village of Kouma Konda, a known haunt for tourists, not that you would know from first impressions. After a civil night of beer, Uno, and rum, the following morning was spent out in the surrounding area on a guided walk. I was yet again desperate for a good hike in what looked like a stunning part of the world but instead, I was being told about various plants and their properties and strolling through the local village to an art studio. The artist was excellent, and I probably should have purchased something, but as he was established in Europe, I decided my money could be better spent on someone else. Therefore, I went for a nap outside in the sun while everyone else was hard-pressed into spending large amounts of cash. We finally got back to the walk and headed out of the village through fields down shaded tracks, our guide full of knowledge and enthusiasm. A waterfall halted our progress in what can only be described as a small, cooling grotto, only made from vegetation, not rock. We enjoyed the moment, refuelled on those delicious little bananas that can be found anywhere in the world except where Westerners reside and, turned back for camp via one final stop. It felt unannounced although that probably isn’t a problem in this region, but either way, we found ourselves standing in someone’s backyard sharing a cup of very potent palm wine as chickens, pigs, and goats went about their day around us while our guide had a good chat with the residents. It may not have been the hike I hoped for, but it turned out to be an extremely pleasant morning.

Later in the day we grabbed a couple of bottles of beer and walked up the hill to watch a great sunset over a scene that reminded me of the hills in Rwanda. As ever with this trip, it has been wonderful spending time up in the hills and mountains for many reasons, not always sweating out of control being one of the best. After dinner we were due a dance and fire-eating performance by some of the locals, an experience that fills me with despair and anxiety as I simply don’t want to get up and join in with the performance. Nevertheless, the drumming began, and I took my seat to watch the show. It was incredible. One of the best I’ve seen. One drummer led the entire show with the biggest of smiles, the sound of his drum rising above all else, dictating the pace and rhythm of the other drummers and, the dancers, who themselves moved with natural grace. Free, sexy, effortless, I was captivated. These guys did this for a living, but I don’t care if it’s their bread and butter, you see it all over West Africa, the freedom of their dancing from children through teenagers to adults. It’s an outburst of sound, colour, and movement, a release from the stressors of everyday life. It’s depressing, because I’m sure if we could find such outlets of expression in our own mundane western culture, well, we would be less depressed as a society. Ironically, after a bit of fire-eating to climax the show, we got our chance to let go and dance but sensing what was about to come, I took my leave and went to the bathroom, not returning until I could see from a safe distance that the show was over. This is my safe space; I can indeed make a hypocritical statement. 

As this has been quite food orientated, it’s worth signing off on a food, nay, a tour highlight. From Kouma Konda we stopped off in Tonga’s capital, Lomé, one of the prettier and tidier capital cities on the continent with a huge inviting beach. We stopped only for two hours which was enough time to stumble upon a fancy supermarket where Dean and I went wild and bought some proper cheese, cured meats, a couple of genuine Magnum ice-creams, and a bottle of rum. With the Magnums polished off instantly, we picked up some baguettes from a lovely lady by the side of the road and went back to prepare the best sandwich I’ve had for almost two months. The sandwich was a great end to a great couple of days in Togo. The rum will be a great start to Benin I’m sure. 

20^th January 2024