Dadavi roams West Africa again

Here I am, sitting alone on a Togolese ‘restaurant’ balcony sipping on a rather large G&T (kinder on the waistline than a local beer, and/or no cold Awoyo in sight), waiting for another spaghetti bolognese (random craving, and/or one of the only interesting things on a menu dominated by omelettes). This is the first moment I have had to myself so far on a 2 plus-week trip to West Africa and I feel in the mood for a little chat to myself in the form of a much delayed blogging session. The soft reggae beats from the hotel radio is a great way to remind me how I am coming to feel at home in this little francophone state tucked away between Ghana and Benin. It’s my fourth trip here and on two occasions this week I’ve been asked by local staff if they could perhaps try to convince my boss to set up an office for me in Lome. It does sometimes seem that I am here more than I am at home and I am officially known as ‘dadavi’ (little sister) which helps me to feel part of the team at the Y. The group of prisoners that make up the ‘club juridique’ are awaiting another visit but this time I am hoping there won’t be another portrait waiting to be presented – it just can’t beat last year’s unexpected gift now proudly sitting in the kitsch corner of our office in London. Whilst it clearly displayed the talent of one of the young artists in Lome prison, I am also happy that it is not such a perfect representation of me that it is immediately recognisable to visitors!

Two busy weeks have passed quickly and I am wondering how much of the amusing or interesting moments I will be able to capture here. First week was spent in Ghana, at a conference bringing together all of the national Y movements in Africa – including all of the great people I have worked with over the past few years – and representatives from our counterpart organisations from Europe and North America. So many people to speak to made for a busy week consisting of workshop facilitation, side meetings, networking on 4-hour bus trips to nowhere (perhaps an unfair comment, but a closed cocoa plantation with no sign of chocolate wasn’t a highlight of the trip), and the odd spot of interpretation. There wasn’t much time or energy left for evening entertainment although we did of course find our way around the local beers quite swiftly before we crashed out knowing another 6.30am start was around the corner. The saddest thing about this trip was the fact that the hotel boasted both a pool and a long beach on the doorstep – neither of which I even dipped a toe into…

After a busy, extremely hot and sweaty week, a few of us moved on to cross the border into Togo. The usual confusion of crossing a land border was exacerbated by the lack of any physical structures on the Togolese side – this time waiting for a visa in the dark in an open shack – and the disappointment of noting that baskets of baguettes at the roadside are no longer a prominent sign indicating that you have entered a francophone West African state. Our group – made up of a Brit, an American, a Senegalese, 3 Malgache, 2 Germans and Togolese – continued for another hour into the countryside outside of Lome where we would spend 3 days on a basic, but beautiful farm. Another 3 days then of meetings interspersed with a few evening beverages under the thousands of stars, an agouti-eating session (head, tail and all), a tres petit dejeuner (a small packet of salty biscuits), and an extremely sweaty but fun dancing session with a traditional group from Lome.

The final evening’s entertainment of drumming and traditional dance attracted the attention of seemingly the entire population of the surrounding village community (including little ones who slept happily on their plastic chairs, and bigger male ones who videoed the whole thing on their phones). After we had all got up to join, a message was passed to me from members of the group to find out if I was in fact African in any way as they didn’t understand why I could dance like them. Ladies – I am doing my best to dispel the same kind of myths that once assumed white men couldn’t jump… By the time I sat down, my Malgache friend confided in me that she was happy I had, as she was greatly concerned that my kikoy (wrapped around as a skirt) would fall off if I continued to dance with such enthusiasm. I reassured her that I had tied it securely and in fact have become so adept at tying it that tonight I had to cut myself out of the knot! Anyway, I wonder if the question of my potential African heritage is more related to my shape, unfortunately growing shapelier with every visit (every Coca-cola, every spag bol, every croissant, every plate of carbs – you get it). I do find it a little bit sad that I get excited about the thought of being able to eat salad without being nervous when I get back to London. But bring on the long London evenings and dust off the trainers – I have work to do!

So, after 3 days of nature I moved back into Lome to the friendly Hotel Equateur, where every evening so far community-wide electricity cuts have plunged us into darkness for however long it takes to start up the generator. As always I am thankful to have either a mobile phone or my little laptop by my side so I can orientate my way around! But why do I keep forgetting to put a torch at the top of my Christmas list…?

No surprises, but my packed programme was interrupted by a mid-week public holiday which would usually irritate me if I wasn’t warned in advance, but this time I have to admit was a very welcome break. We headed to the ‘grand marche’ where I was happy to note that our Malgache friends attracted just as much if not more attention than me – the only blanc in the group. After spending a long while sweating and holding up different types of West African material of varying colours and random patterns (including seemingly a maths lesson), my Malgache friend helped me to choose a pattern that I then took to the accountant’s house where his lovely wife will turn it into a dress. I’ve been wanting to do this for the past 3 years but never got round to it, so this time I am making the time. There was a lot of measuring and picking out hand-drawn patterns from an exercise book so we’ll see what happens! As an aside, I have just been reminded of one of the more amusing moments in the countryside which involved a fake marriage ceremony between me and the accountant (otherwise known as Papa Noel). He has called me his wife for a while now (this is the one time I can definitely say the behaviour is tongue in cheek and highly amusing for everyone), but at the unofficial ceremony, I officially turned him down. After all, I remembered kindly his wife and two small children at home…! This funny episode was followed by a question from the American colleague asking whether I have had many propositions on trips and I took the opportunity to tell some of the better stories, summarised earlier in the blog. None better than the American missionary in Senegal…

Brilliant song has just come on from Cote d’Ivoire that I first heard – and became obsessed with – in Senegal last year. Group is called Magic System and I wish I knew what this song was called… Must hunt it down. I have heard it again since in Madagascar a few months ago and now in Togo. It’s amazing how music can send you back to really happy (and of course very sad) moments and right now I am remembering with amusement a night of dancing with Senegalese guys and my fun former colleague Sophie. The first few dances were salsa which surprised me but again I loved it as I haven’t had many chances to remember the informal lessons from my friend Nando in dark, sweaty local bars in Colombia. An excellent night that I will perhaps get to replicate when I am there in a few weeks. Yep, here for another 4 days, home for 2 weeks, then off again for 2 weeks. But on a positive note I have imposed a travel ban on myself in July / August and September. Any travel will be fun time, and the laptop will hopefully stay home. (Which means it is less likely than it’s owner to get stranded due to volcanic ash, BA strikes, etc. No such luck here!)

Off to hunt down that song if the internet connection holds out long enough…

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