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.
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.
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.
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.