Monday, January 23, 2012

Visiting or Moving to Togo

The past few weeks we have been getting random emails from people asking about life here in Togo. After doing a quick google search we figured that maybe we should post some of the answers to common questions here so people contemplating moving or even visiting Togo will maybe be able to get a few answers here.

What is the weather like in Togo?

I arrived in August of this year, so have not been here during February -- but I have heard that it is brutal in terms of climate at that point in time. The heat apparently last until April. That being said, with climate shifts the seasons can be off by a month or two. (The costal rainy season, which we're told takes place in October, didn't show until late November) It is quite humid in Togo, especially along the coast, to which means you start to sweat about 2 minutes after getting out of the shower.



Some places have AC or fan access but don't count on it. For clothing, 100% cotton is the way to go, but not the thick knitted stuff the light woven kind (like button up dress shirt material.)

Shorts aren't really worn here by women. You will see them mostly in dresses, some in skirts and pants maybe even capris. I wouldn't recommend wearing short shorts as it will attract the wrong kind of attention, especially if you are working with local men. Tank tops are not a problem. Spaghetti straps are generally ok too. When bringing a bathing suit you can wear a bikini but wearing board shorts with it cuts down on men problems. Here one can't really swim in the ocean as there is a strong under current. There are hotels with pools and one at the BSL club in La Caisse/ Residence du Benin, so you can swim there for a fee.

What should I pack?

It's probably best if you bring your own hair and beauty products like shampoo, deodorant, makeup, etc. Bring sunscreen too as here it is crazy expensive. That and bug spray. You can get it here but it's cheaper from home. Just remember to put it all in ziplock bags in your luggage!

You may want to bring your own mosquito netting to sleep under. You can buy nets here but it is one less hassle if you bring one with.

When it comes to electronics, bring your own power surge protector as power blips can kill any electronics and make sure they are rated for 220V. In Togo, All the plugs are European round prong style. iPod chargers and memory cards are really expensive here so bring your own from home.

If you can't live without Kraft peanut butter, Stash chai tea, aloe vera lotion or iced tea powder you will need to bring it from home.

Do you need to know how to speak French in Togo?

My French is minimal but the Lonely Planet phrase book comes in handy. If you can speak any amount of French you will get a lot more out of your Togo experience. That being said out in the villages surrounding Lomé people speak tribal languages more than French.

I'm worried about the food, what can I eat?

We were pleasantly surprised by the variety of 'recognizable' food available at restaurants and markets in Lomé. We were a bit concerned prior to our arrival, especially as most expats consider this to be a 'hardship post.'

There are German, French, Ethiopian, Lebanese, Indian and Italian restaurants around Lome. You can't find a McDonalds here but we hear the local fast food joint Al Donalds gives you the same feeling in your stomach.

Most 'staples' are available in the veggie markets, just remember that it's all local produce. You can buy what is in season. Right now, cucumbers and tomatoes hard to come by, and are more expensive. Last month, you could get a half a dozen perfect tomatoes for 20 cents. Now, half a dozen sad looking worm eaten over-ripe tomatoes costs 40 cents.

Squash, lettuce, parsley, dill, celery sprouts (not stalks), beets, potatoes, onions, carrots, cauliflower, broccoli, zucchini and most any fresh herb can be found at ridiculously cheap prices.

We buy our meat from one of the 'expensive' stores (meat is refrigerated!), but meat markets are plentiful if you fancy meeting the rest of the cow that you get your steak from.

I am a vegetarian what options are there for food?

Meat is generally reserved for special occasions in village settings. We know vegetarians who live in Lomé and they seem to be doing just fine. Most western restaurants have non-meat options. (Double check what you're ordering, as non-meat options do not mean vegetarian. It will likely be cooked in the same pot as meat, they just don't give you any.) 'Western' These restaurants are usually higher priced -- approximately 4-5,000 CFA ($8-10) per main plate. There is plenty of fresh fruits and veggies in season at all the times.



How safe is Lomé? How safe is the rest of Togo?

Now in terms of safety, Lomé is generally considered quite safe, as long as you stay away from the beach after dark and use common sense when dealing with pickpockets, dark alleys and such. Villages would likely be even safer as in about 2 minutes the whole village will know that a foreigner is there and they will look out for you. No matter where you are, people will ask you for money, gifts (cadeaux) and some are bold enough to ask for cars or laptops. Some will ask for your hand in marriage. If this thought is unnerving, wear a fake wedding ring!

Internet access in Togo- is it easy to come by or quite difficult?

Internet, depending on where you are, can be spotty or nonexistent. In Lomé, Internet cafes exist, but may be out of commission given a variety of factors -- power dropping, Togo telecom ( the Internet monopoly here) arbitrarily pulling the plug for no reason, or someone accidentally cutting the cable...

If/ when you find Internet, it will be slow, but it should be fast enough to Skype with, check email, etc. There are also a few restaurants in town including Casa Asia and Eiffel that have reliable wireless connections.

On occasion the Internet at our house is fast enough to stream TV shows from North America but they can take a long time to load (more than 2 hours for a 20 minute show).

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Getting to Ghana

While plans are made to be broken, sometimes, just sometimes, it would be nice if plans actually played out the way we envision. But as the saying goes: TIA. This is Africa. And that means plans -- even the most simple, basic ones -- will never play out the way we want them to.

With that in mind, we set out on our 'vacation' to Ghana...

The main border crossing at Lomé/Aflao is crazy. Nuts. And seeing that we wanted to visit Kpalime (a beautiful town 120 km's north of Lomé) it only makes sense to cross to Ghana from Kpalime. We heard that the border was quiet and calm, unlike the chaotic madness playing out to the south.

So we drove to Kpalime, eager to get our 'new' Land Cruiser on the road. We stayed at a fantastic hotel, Chez Fanny, which also serves a mouthwatering dinner.

After a leisurely breakfast, we filled up the tank and rode off toward the border crossing. As the road got narrower and narrower and the potholes became larger than the rest of the road, we wondered if we were on the right track. But sure enough, eventually the border post came into view.



And sure enough, the guards were relaxed, friendly and smiling. We were stamped out of Togo with remarkable ease and made our way to the Ghana entry point, where the guards were equally casual.

As we were filling out our Ghana entry forms, the guard in charge of vehicle entry meandered up to us and asked if we already had our entry stamp in our passports. No, we had not yet gotten that far.

"Good. I'm sorry, but we can not let you enter."

"Um. Excuse me, could you say that again and elaborate? What do you mean you can't let us in? Is there something wrong with our papers?"

"No, all your papers for the are in order, except the Ghanaian Government has changed the procedure for out-of-country vehicles entering Ghana. We used to take down the C59 temporary import information and send it to Accra, but now everything must be done by computer, and we don't have the computer. In fact, the only crossing is at Aflao. You'll have to turn back."

"That's a 3 hour drive -- and we just came here to AVOID that."

"We really are sorry, and we wish the government would give it's own workers the tools they need to do their job, but we can't. Please tell everyone you know that the Ghanaian government is not taking care of their own workers. It embarrasses us that we need to turn people away. Please tell everyone you know."

With that unfortunate news, we turned back to the Togo border post, and got stamped back into Togo. (Upon closer inspection later, it turns out they used the exit stamp and stamped us out a second time.)

And so, what was supposed to be the most easy, relaxing border crossing of all was beginning to turn into a quagmire.

About a kilometre before you reach the border crossing at Lomé/Aflao, you can sense the chaos about to unleash itself. People are everywhere. Lorries waiting for their paperwork to be processed line the already narrow street. As soon as you step out of the vehicle no less than half-a-dozen people offer to be your handler.

A handler at a border crossing? How hard can it be? Stamp this, sign that, paperwork this, and exit -- right?

Wrong.

No building is labelled. And so, we did indeed need the help of a handler to find out where on earth to get our passports stamped. And then, while money changers hissed at us, we navigated our way to the vehicle registration building.

A lady who was stuffed into a uniform much to small for her stature rolled her eyes as we entered the stuffy office. The male officials were off watching football on TV. She took our entry forms, took our photos and mumbled something incoherent.

"Excuse me? Could you say that again?"

She sighed. It sounded like she was saying 'such a bother, working.'

"Go ... office ... wait there."

"Uh. You want us to go to that office and wait there?"

Another sigh.

A few moments later, an imposing dishevelled looking middle aged man with lots of stars and bars on his rumpled and unbuttoned uniform entered the office. Without a word he grabbed our passports, and was fumbling through the contents of his desk drawer, presumably looking for a stamp pad, when his mobile rang.

He ignored it at first, looking determinedly for the stamp pad, but the customized tune won out, and he frantically groped himself looking for his phone.

He found it just as the caller hung up. Speaking for the first time, the border guard, who knew we were North American decided to show off his Westernized English using a vocabulary comprised of four-letter words. You'd have thought he just shot himself in the foot, not a missed call.

He then proceeded to drop the phone. And let loose again.

Passports stamped, we exited the no-name office. It was now that we realized that money sellers have no memory, either that or all pale skinned folk look alike. TSSSSSSSSSSS! You need Cedis? We have Cedis. You buy.

"We already said no. Why are you asking us again?"

It can't be that we all look alike, we were the only two Yovo's in the area. With the money changers still in our faces, trying to push wads of Cedi's up our nostrils, we made our way back to the Land Cruiser. We noticed that our handler had gained an accomplice.

Though she wasn't so helpful as he was. She quickly insisted that it would cost 1,000,000 CFA ($2,000) to register the vehicle and that we should give her the money so she could begin the process.

We asked a bored official where to go to register the Land Cruiser.

Go past this building, walk past the next one, you'll see a road, walk down that road till you see a sign to the revenue office, look right and you'll see a building with big flags. That's the one.

Are you kidding me. This is THE border crossing. Why are the offices not in one logical straight line?

We did find the office, and managed to lose the handler's shady cohort -- we left her with the bored official, who was giving her an earful in Ewe after we happened to mention, with a directional nod, that someone told us it they would take 1,000,000 CFA to register our vehicle for us.

'It's only 10,500 CFA ($20)-- a far cry from one million -- and we are to do it ourselves,' he informed us. A helpful, kind person. Little did we know how rare those were at this border.

We step up to the counter and hand over all the paperwork -- still in the same order as when the guards looked at it in Kpalime earlier that day.

"Where is your insurance card," the guard barked.

"The insurance sticker is in the window, where it belongs."

"NO, WHERE IS THE ECOWAS BROWN CARD," he hollered. There was no football game muted on the TV here, a TV preacher was blasting as loud as the poor speakers could handle.

Why did the other border guards say we had everything in order, if the brown book was missing? We called Robert, and asked if he knew anything about such a book. Indeed he did, it's a document that he forgot to give it to us when he gave us all the paperwork.

"I'm sending someone to the border with it right now. But you may have some explaining to do, even with this. I hope you get across."

Great. It's dark now. IF we make it across, we'll be driving in a strange country at night. And what did Robert mean, we'll have some explaining to do? We waited, mulling over our options. Maybe we should just give up for the day and go sleep in our own bed. It's only 20 minutes away. We've been at this border for over 2 hours already, if we give up now, we're liable to never come back, because it is such a hassle.

The ECOWAS BROWN CARD arrives, and the potential problem is glaringly evident. Insurance in Togo sticks with the vehicle -- it's more of a useless formality than actually providing insurance -- and while the insurance company knows the car has been sold, they won't give out a new booklet until the old insurance expires. But plastered all over the brown card booklet is the previous owners' name.

Confidently we stride up to the counter and pronounce that the Brown Card is here, and we're ready to go. The guard painstakingly analyses the contents. Great. He's seen the name.

"Who is this," he demands, jabbing his finger at the name.

"It's the previous owner of this car," I say, jabbing my finger at the line that shows the licence plate number. "See, it's for this car. And it's valid," I reason, jabbing at the expiration date.

"But it's not you."

"But it's for this car."

"But it's someone else."

"That someone else used to own the car, and the insurance is for the car, not them."

"But it's not yours."

"The insurance company won't give us a new booklet until this one expires," I say, jabbing at the date again.

"It's done differently in Ghana."

"I know. We're Canadians. We think Togo's way of doing it is strange, but what can we do.. we have to follow their rules."

"I'm sorry, I can't let you in."

And round and round it went, until Natalie -- who had been unnervingly quiet -- piped up.

"We're coming to Ghana to buy plane tickets so we can see our families. Do you want to keep us from our families? This is Christmas time, and we're all alone," she proclaimed, her lip trembling and her eyes watering -- capitalizing on the fact that family means a lot culturally.

His eyes narrowed, he sucked in his breath and with one last sideways glance at the name on the brown card, he stamped the C59 form and sent us off to the revenue office.

We sat at the revenue office for 20 minutes before anyone noticed we were there. Oh, there were plenty of border officials, but they were all eating dinner. Guards of a lower rank were busy delivering flats of Coca Cola and Fanta to their superiors.

One man finally took us to his office and typed the particulars of the C59 form into his computer (this is the part of the process that kept us from entering Ghana from Kpalime) while regaling us with tales of great Ewe cuisine.

We waited another 20 minute in a mosquito infested room surrounded by massive columns of ledgers. Upon closer inspection, these ledgers contain all the vehicle and driver information of people travelling to Ghana -- including licence plates, passport numbers, occupation, and contact info. Good to know it it stored safely.

The cuisine expert hands us the form with a bill, which we take to the ECOWAS bank building next door, pay up and then take the receipt from that transaction back to the building with the flags and the grumpy hollering guard.

Grumpy stamps the form once again, and says the words we've been waiting to hear for four hours -- "OK, you can proceed to the exit now."

We race to the exit before anyone can change their mind. But Ghana won't let us get in that easy. Turns out grumpy lied.

"Where is your vehicle inspection stamp," the guard queries, shining his barely functioning flashlight into our faces. "You must go back and have your vehicle inspected."

"The officer at the customs office told us to come here," we plead.

"No, you must go and get your vehicle inspected. Turn around and go back to the beginning."

It sounds disheartening, and our hearts did sink to our toes. But what the officer was saying in African English was that the inspection office was back at the beginning. As in, the beginning of the border chaos, back where we got our entry passports stamped. A fine testament to the insanity and incomprehensible lunacy of whoever designed the border crossing.

At the inspection office, we are greeted by a friendly, familiar face that is twisted in shocked confusion.

It's the friendly guard who pointed us in the right direction earlier and saved us from dealing with the handler's corrupt cohort.

"WHAT are you still doing here," he queried empathetically.

"Your border is a mess. We've been here for four hours, and while all our paperwork is in legal order, we're dragged from office to office and denied and delayed to the brink of insanity," we honestly tell him.

Without moving from his wicket, the guard breathed an apology for his incompetent colleagues, stamped the form one last time and bid us a safe journey into the warm Ghanaian night. Little did we know the adventure was just beginning.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Multiple Choice

Here in Africa, one often encounters situations that are 'out of the norm' and the scenarios that run through a mind often resemble a multiple choice test question. Any given strange situation can be handled a number of ways.

Take our trip to Ghana over the Christmas break for instance...

What do you do when told by a grumpy power-tripping border guard that while your Togolese vehicle insurance is valid, you will not be allowed into Ghana because Togolese insurance is filled out differently than Ghanaian insurance. (Togolese insurance stays with the vehicle, not the owner. Even if the vehicle changes hands, the old insurance -- still under the old owner's name -- is valid for the new owner until it expires.)

A) Give up and try again tomorrow. It's already dark and it's been a frustrating hair-pulling experience just to get to the border anyways.
B) Reason with the official and explain that you would do insurance differently too, but you're not the one who makes the silly rules.
C) Burst into tears, tell the guard you just want to have the chance to see your family.
D) Demand to speak to his superior, as this guard is a serious piece of work. And you can see his boss blissfully eating dinner in the next room.

Check back on Wednesday to find out what happened!

Monday, January 9, 2012

The Vehicle Hunt - Part 3

It didn't take us long to say yes -- there was no way we were going to let this car escape us again!

We agreed to look over the Land Cruiser one final time and, should everything go well, hand over the cash that very day at 10 a.m.

Hastily, we scrambled to scrape the money together and eagerly awaited the call from Robert that the vehicle was being driven over.

10.

10:15.

10:30. It's OK, it's Africa. There's traffic, delays. Things like this happen.

11.

12. We call Robert, and ask him what is going on.

"Oh, the owner's wife needed to do some shopping, so they took the Land Cruiser into town. They should be there very soon."

1.

2. Pins and needles. Waiting all day now. We call Robert again.

"The owner remembered that he still has the other man's deposit, and doesn't feel right about selling the vehicle while he still has the other man's money. He's called the other man, but he is not picking up. The owner has gone into town to look for him, so he can give him back his money."

3.

4. Nothing.

4:45. Robert calls. Good news, the deposit has been successfully returned!

But as it is now nearly 5 p.m., it is time to go home. Work for the day is finished, the man has gone home. What time can we meet tomorrow?

We agree to meet at 9 -- SHARP -- and hoped that the days events would not repeat themselves.

After many frustrated phone calls from Robert to the owner of the Land Cruiser, the chariot finally arrived. Each time he called, they were 'only five minutes away.'

They arrived at 9:45.

At 10:10 we made a list of repairs to be made -- all minor, thankfully -- a new mirror, new belts, pull some dents, make sure the hood stops sticking shut, rear seat belts, etc...

At 10:30, we handed over the cash to Robert, who, as the middle man, took the car to the government offices to start the paperwork.

At 1:00 p.m, we received word that the car was clear to be sold (ie, not stolen, not on any Interpol lists), and the transfer paperwork process had begun.

On Friday morning, the paperwork was all but complete, and most of the repairs were already done.

On Monday, with the new paint over the now-dentless surface dry, we rode off on Togo's windy, bumpy roads to Kpalime, a breathtakingly beautiful town surrounded by picturesque hills, cascading waterfalls and flurries of butterflies.

From there, we -- with quite a detour (stay tuned!) -- rode off into the Ghanaian sunset for what turned out to be one crazy, crazy trip to Ghana.