Deciding to travel alone to neighboring Togo was, admittedly, an ambitious undertaking. Not only don't I speak a word of French, but I accidentally left my West Africa guidebook in a taxi cab while still in Ghana, before I’d so much as booked a hotel room or planned an itinerary of any sort. But why let my complete inability to communicate, coupled with the fact that I have no idea where I’m going, stand in my way? Don’t be ridiculous!
I set off to Togo with just my passport, some cash, two sets of clothes, a toothbrush, my camera, and a mini hairdryer. I also felt it important to bring some nail polish and mascara, so that I could look and feel my best when I reached the border.
After traveling for hours in a sweltering hot minibus to the Ghanaian border town of Aflao, I changed money in the black market and bought myself a visa. Then, quite theatrically, I waved my French manicure at the customs agent, handed over my passport, and sailed on through, or, rather- walked on through, to the nation of Togo.
It’s always interesting to see the subtle changes of two neighboring countries, and there were many. First, the infrastructure in Lomé, the capital city, seemed just a bit more solid than Ghana’s. The roads were better paved, the streets had names, and absent were the drainage ditches filled with human excrement which I’d grown so accustomed to in Accra. Most importantly, however, Togo had proper food!!! French bread, coffee, cheeses, salads, and croissants! ...Croissants!!! I nearly wept!
I found a little place to stay called “Hotel Bellevue,” based solely on the fact that the receptionist spoke a little English and they had a charming restaurant with an enticing menu. It was a nice enough place, really, despite the giant cockroach I met in the shower.
But the creepiest things I found in Togo were not in my bathroom. Instead, they were on display in one of the strangest, most disturbing places I’ve ever visited: the Marche' des Fetiches- more commonly known in English as “the voodoo market.”
Throughout Africa, and particularly in the western region, traditional medicine practices often summon witchdoctors to heal the sick, who grind up various elements and concoct magical potions to cure one’s ailments. And when the recipe calls for monkey organs or warthog teeth, the voodoo market is an excellent place to procure such items! As I walked around the dusty marketplace, I saw freshly sawed-off dog heads, a chimpanzee hand, and a severed elephant foot. The sites and smells here can be rather disconcerting for any visitor-- particularly the squeamish or members of PETA.
My guide, Joseph, suggested that I meet with the witchdoctor, so that he may give me a special potion to bring good luck-- for a small fee, of course. Much to his surprise, I declined. I wanted to save my appetite. After all, there were freshly made croissants back at my hotel.
