The thing about public transport in Togo (and I am sure in most of Africa) is that you can never be sure where, when and how you will get to your destination. A case in point was on Friday. Having set off from the ship at 9am to get to Benin we naively presumed that it would take around 2 hours, give or take to get to our hotel (including crossing the border). 5 hours later we arrived at our destination.
After getting to the taxi rank at the same time as a group of 4 others from the ship and after a period of bartering a man turned up in a 7 seater station wagon – and proceeded to cram all 10 of us in. We set off, only to head in the wrong direction to then pull over just up the road and then watch our driver get on the back of a motorbike and speed off (turned out he needed to get a ticket from somewhere else to take us across the border due to African bureaucracy – this was another 25 mins of waiting). Now generally after getting the taxi sorted you come to expect some delays and some minor problems. However when, 1 hour after setting off, we were still only 100 yards from where we started it dawned on us that this was not going to be the smoothest of journeys. How right we were.
After waiting for another 45 minutes in gridlocked traffic (the worst I have seen so far in Lome) with elbows in each others faces we began to pick up speed. ‘Hooray’ we thought, ‘We are finally on our way’. Only to pull over again. The driver motioned that he wanted 4 people to get into another car that had pulled up next door. This, he explained, was because it was illegal to drive through checkpoints with too many people in the car even though everyone does it (no kidding!). So once we had split up we carried on until just before the border. We drew up to a ‘checkpoint’ which was basically a palm hut with a few men sitting in it. Our driver got out (at this point the car with the others in drove past us, on towards the border) and a large argument ensued between him and the men in the hut. He then pulled the car to the side of the road, took the keys out and drove off on the back of another motorbike. It wasn’t until someone came over to explain that he had gone to get the others back from the border as they needed to see all 10 of us that we heaved a mighty sigh and settled under the nearest tree for the wait. About 30 mins later, he returned followed by the other 4 on the back of bikes. We all piled into the car again, settling on laps and scrunching arms out of the way. After the first part of the journey, the border was pretty smooth going. Just the usual repetition of paperwork, answering the same questions at both sides and walking through numerous huts.
Once on the other side, we squeezed back in and set off on the short 10 minute journey to our destination. Apart from it turned into about half an hour. Little did we know that our hotel was just outside the town we were heading to, on the border side. Having driven past it and in to the centre of town our driver stopped and got out. ‘This is Grand Popo, you get out now.’ When we explained that we wanted to go to the hotel and that it was just 2 minutes back up the road he kicked off big time, in the style of a 5 year old. He stood by the side of the road and glared at us, refusing to move. When we realised that he wasn’t going anywhere we decided to get out and try to find another way to get to the hotel but not pay him the full agreed fare. At this he started shouting and getting very irate. Now for those of you who know me, I am not one for confrontation but certain people in my group were up for the argument. I soon realised through my (slight!) hysteria that all the noise had attracted the attention of several locals. Thankfully, after much heated debate we realised that they were on our side. Eventually the driver stomped back to the car having been told to take us to our hotel and the others on to theirs. Eventually we arrived, exhausted, jaded and a little frayed at the edges. What followed was a wonderfully relaxing weekend. Definitely needed when travelling in Africa.
After getting to the taxi rank at the same time as a group of 4 others from the ship and after a period of bartering a man turned up in a 7 seater station wagon – and proceeded to cram all 10 of us in. We set off, only to head in the wrong direction to then pull over just up the road and then watch our driver get on the back of a motorbike and speed off (turned out he needed to get a ticket from somewhere else to take us across the border due to African bureaucracy – this was another 25 mins of waiting). Now generally after getting the taxi sorted you come to expect some delays and some minor problems. However when, 1 hour after setting off, we were still only 100 yards from where we started it dawned on us that this was not going to be the smoothest of journeys. How right we were.
After waiting for another 45 minutes in gridlocked traffic (the worst I have seen so far in Lome) with elbows in each others faces we began to pick up speed. ‘Hooray’ we thought, ‘We are finally on our way’. Only to pull over again. The driver motioned that he wanted 4 people to get into another car that had pulled up next door. This, he explained, was because it was illegal to drive through checkpoints with too many people in the car even though everyone does it (no kidding!). So once we had split up we carried on until just before the border. We drew up to a ‘checkpoint’ which was basically a palm hut with a few men sitting in it. Our driver got out (at this point the car with the others in drove past us, on towards the border) and a large argument ensued between him and the men in the hut. He then pulled the car to the side of the road, took the keys out and drove off on the back of another motorbike. It wasn’t until someone came over to explain that he had gone to get the others back from the border as they needed to see all 10 of us that we heaved a mighty sigh and settled under the nearest tree for the wait. About 30 mins later, he returned followed by the other 4 on the back of bikes. We all piled into the car again, settling on laps and scrunching arms out of the way. After the first part of the journey, the border was pretty smooth going. Just the usual repetition of paperwork, answering the same questions at both sides and walking through numerous huts.
Once on the other side, we squeezed back in and set off on the short 10 minute journey to our destination. Apart from it turned into about half an hour. Little did we know that our hotel was just outside the town we were heading to, on the border side. Having driven past it and in to the centre of town our driver stopped and got out. ‘This is Grand Popo, you get out now.’ When we explained that we wanted to go to the hotel and that it was just 2 minutes back up the road he kicked off big time, in the style of a 5 year old. He stood by the side of the road and glared at us, refusing to move. When we realised that he wasn’t going anywhere we decided to get out and try to find another way to get to the hotel but not pay him the full agreed fare. At this he started shouting and getting very irate. Now for those of you who know me, I am not one for confrontation but certain people in my group were up for the argument. I soon realised through my (slight!) hysteria that all the noise had attracted the attention of several locals. Thankfully, after much heated debate we realised that they were on our side. Eventually the driver stomped back to the car having been told to take us to our hotel and the others on to theirs. Eventually we arrived, exhausted, jaded and a little frayed at the edges. What followed was a wonderfully relaxing weekend. Definitely needed when travelling in Africa.
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