Cultural differences: House-help (Part 2)

So. You're looking for house-help.

One of the best ways to get a reliable house-helper is by inheritance. Find someone who is leaving the country and is passing on their house help, or someone can recommend past employees. Embassy and international school staff would be good people to ask.

Hiring friends of friends or someone with no recent references almost always ends badly. We're speaking from experience here.

Make sure your house help knows how to properly wash and dry clothes. You may have to remind them to only wash similar colours at once (The purple -- formerly white -- shirt incident of 2012 taught us this) and to be vigilant about ironing everything, especially if you are in areas prone to mango flies. 

Also speaking from experience: once you've found someone, make it very clear that their first week is a trial week. IN WRITING, spell out all expectations and make it abundantly clear that it is a trial week only. If the trial week doesn't work out, culture in Togo dictates that you can not tell them what they did wrong, but only that it won't work out.

It is also standard practice to change the all locks on your house when an employee is terminated. We know several people who have been burgled days after firing an employee. Revenge is very much alive in Togolese culture.

Going back to keeping things in writing: You need to do this to protect yourself, as laws in Togo favour the worker and not the employee. You can be sued for firing someone for not doing their job, as it is your job as the employer to help them become less incompetent. If you have them sign a contract that states they are on a trial period, and on a subsequent month-to-month contract which can be terminated by either party, that helps balance the scales. (do make sure your contract still falls within the parameters of Togolese labour laws.)

In the contact you should also write down a basic idea of expectations: laundry and dishes daily, wash floor twice a week, wash windows once a week, pick up groceries on Wednesday, etc. Do make sure you go through the house with them, showing them the ropes, where things are stored, how you like your bed made, how you prefer your towels hung, etc.

Make sure the contract spells out working hours, salary, holidays and leave and miscellaneous clarifications such as whether or not loans will be provided.

Lastly, make sure your house help are able and feel comfortable asking you questions about their duties and work. They're not mind readers.

As mentioned above, make sure your expectations fall in line with the law. 

Cultural differences: House-help (part 1)

Having some form of house help is a natural part of life for expats living in Togo. It is expected that if you have more money (or are perceived as having more money) than average it is your responsibility to share that wealth with others. If you do not share your wealth, you are viewed as being selfish and not a friend to the local community.

As an expat, having someone cook or clean at your house is culturally expected in Togo.

Before we left Canada there were a few things that prepared us for hiring someone. The first was talking with people (or in our case, relatives) who had been part of the service industry when first immigrating to Canada.

A close relative told us about her experience working as a cleaner to a well known public figure in her community. She worked very hard and this was noticed by her employers. They were kind to her giving bonus' at certain times of the year, occasionally giving her extra food if they had too much for themselves, not docking pay if she needed to take a day off due to a flu bug. They helped her secure a building permit when the family needed to renovate the house. Their kindness to her was never forgotten.

The second was watching a movie called 'The Help.'  Some people do still treat their house help as a separate class. Having extra hands around the home to help are such a blessing for us, we're not quite sure how people can behave so backwards.

If we were going to get someone to help us in our house I wanted to make sure they would look back on working with us as a time of good memories and remember us as fair, kind and generous employers.

What to bring to Togo with a shipping allowance

A fisherman in the Lome harbour, as a container ship is unloaded at the port.

One of the biggest unknowns we faced when moving to Togo was wondering what supplies would be available to us in the country. 

Through N's job, we had some space in a sea container -- but not knowing what was available (or affordable) in Togo turned the process into a bit of a guessing game.

As it turns out you can get lots of stuff here, but you have look for it. Things like kids bikes and couches are often sold roadside,  so if you see it: buy it. Tomorrow it will be gone. In the supermarkets, plenty of appliances are around -- at a cost and not always of the best quality. 

So, in order to hopefully take some of the mystery out of this process for others, here's our thoughts on what to bring if you've got a shipping allowance. 

Kitchen:

Stainless steel pots and pans. Teflon and nano-ceramic are everywhere, but getting good quality stainless steel pots and pans seems to be impossible. 

Slow cooker. Hands down, this has been one of the best things we shipped to Togo. African meat can be tough, and nothing softens it up like 8 hours in a slow cooker.  It's worth reminding for anything electronic: Togo runs on 220 Voltage. If you can't get 220V appliances in your country, try ordering things from Amazon.co.uk,  Maplins.co.uk or similar online retailers.

Rice cooker. Cheap quality ones are available at supermarkets like Horizon and Champion, but it may be worth investing in a durable one from a reputable brand.

Espresso/Coffee makers. They are available here at a cost,  so it may be cheaper to bring your own. Stovetop espresso makers and French presses are readily available here, as are many brands of coffee.

Blender/ food processor.  Also available in Togo, but at a cost and not necessarily good quality. So, if you've got a 220V one at your disposal, bring it.  Immersion blenders can be found in Togo. 

Household & living: 

TV, speakers, gaming systems, etc. These are all VERY expensive in Togo, and not always from brand names. Reminder again: 220V!!!!

Power regulators: we brought a large scale voltage regulator and battery backup for the house, however these can be bought in Togo for several thousand dollars. Surge protectors and regulators for individual wall outlets run around $150 depending on the quality. Buy those here, as they're not much cheaper anywhere else. As for the large scale ones, like we got, they are available here but not for less than $5,000. We got ours on eBay for under $1000.  

Upright pianos. You're going to have a difficult time finding a well-maintained one here. Talk to a professional before moving your piano from a dry to humid climate!

Fine furniture. If you've got furniture you can't live without, bring it. That being said, Ikea or anything made of particle board is not fine furniture!  You'd be better off getting something made here. 

Books. They're heavy, and very little English literature is available here. 

Office furniture. As with many things, they can be found here but at a hefty cost. (A basic $19.99 chair from Staples costs $70 here. I've also seen a $2000 office chair here that didn't look all that special.)

Pet supplies. Dog and cat food can be found here, but it is not always the best quality. If you have a snobby pet who likes more than Friskies or Purina, bring your own. Same goes for absorbent litter.  Pet toys are available here.

Big kids toys. Like bicycles or trampolines. These can be found here, but again not at a cheap price and not always at good quality.  Pool toys are plentiful though.

Mattresses. If you like spring mattresses, bring your own.  They might exist here.  Somewhere. Maybe.  I have seen spring mattresses on promotion, but quality and cost are questionable.

Vehicles. We know people who have imported their vehicles, and if you want to avoid the hassle of buying a car of questionable history here in Togo, it is an option.  Don't bother importing anything without four-wheel-drive or smaller than an SUV. The potholes will eat it alive. It is very important to remember that import fees on vehicles can go up to 52% of it's value. That's before bribes and imaginary 'port exit fees.'

Lastly, and this applies to all things on the list, bringing more than two of any one thing may result in customs wanting you to pay duties. Please do your due diligence and speak to customs officials before you bring things, we're not customs officials! All this is based on our experiences and what we've learned from others.

Fly on the wall

This week, we had the opportunity of sitting through a four hour piano recital (without an intermission), and one thing that became abundantly clear to us again is that the media here are not as discreet as we were used to in Canada.

D tells me this is not how media normally acted back in Canada. I guess the fly on the wall concept has yet to take hold here.

Media: front and centre. Where's the kid playing piano?

Togo-Benin Border Crossing

If you've read our blog, you know that we have a special dark place reserved for crossing the Ghana border.

It's just not fun. Even when things run smoothly, the guards are unfriendly, abrupt and sometimes just plain mean.

We recently witnessed a Togolese border guard at the Aflao crossing (Ghana) demanding 15,000 CFA ($30) from a traveller because he made an error on the customs immigration form. That's the normal form handed out freely like candy.

Lorries waiting to be processed by customs near the Togo-Benin border.

But having just crossed the Togo-Benin border with a vehicle we can confidently say it is much easier to cross.

The layout at the border is a lot more straight forward for and follows a relatively straight line!

Show up, park the car under a shady tree, get exit stamped out of Togo, show yellow fever vaccination card, cross border to Benin, fill in Benin paperwork, get entry stamp into Benin, get car paperwork. Hit the road!

Time: approximately 30 minutes.

 Not bad, not bad at all.

There were no people insisting they be our guide or trying to be 'helpful' by grabbing our hand bags.

The only place where guides exist is by the Benin car paperwork post, which they will run and fill for you for a small fee (1000 cfa or less). They can sometimes be helpful, as the location of the paperwork post is not always as advertised! (We found the border guard hanging with his buddies in a different shack.)

The only visible sign of corruption was rather benign and also helpful, should you have forgotten your yellow fever vaccination card!

If you forgot your yellow fever card it costs 500 CFA ($1) to pass without it, though the European (Yovo) price may start higher.

We should note that our visas were processed before arrival. If you get your visa at the border, it will take longer!  On some days, border officials may run out of visa forms, or simply not want to process them unless a 'gift' is given.

Impromptu Guides

For those of you who would like to visit West Africa someday, one of the first things you will notice is that you stick out like a sore thumb.

And as you go exploring, it is inevitable that a few men or youths hanging around the neighbourhood will casually accompany you.

They may not speak English or French, but will attempt to point out an interesting building or a strange tree.

As you continue walking, you may find that you know more than them, simply because you read Lonely Planet.

However, as you explain to them the significance of the building they attempted to point out to you, they will ask you for money. Since they are your guide.

How they became your guide, you will never find out. Well, actually, you never asked for a guide.

Tourists visiting a slave castle in Cape Coast, Ghana. 

Once, we visited a picturesque abandoned Portuguese fort in Ghana. Lonely Planet tells us that the difference between the renovated and abandoned forts is quite striking and well worth a look.

We packed a picnic lunch, and planned to enjoy the lovely views.

The gate to the fort was locked, and once we found the woman with the key, we wandered inside. A few moments later, a very drunk man attached himself to us.

His less-than-helpful comments included:
This is a door.
The floor is wooden.
The walls are stone.
This is where a cannon was.
The ocean is there, and people go fishing for fish in boats.
Boats are made of wood.

While we had point-blank told him we had no money to give for a tour, he persisted. So, to try and assist him in his attempt at tour guiding, N kept prodding for deeper answers by asking what type of fish locals were looking for. (answer: big ones.)  What type of trees were used in the construction of the flooring? (Answer: wooden ones.)

After 10 minutes of this, we decided this would not be the calm, relaxing picnic at the fort we envisioned.  And we decided to leave once the man turned to me and asked for a ridiculous amount of money.

And when I declined his offer, repeating my earlier statement of 'we have no money for a tour today,' he suggested that our wedding bands would be a good form of payment.

Naturally, that did not impress N, who knew more about the fort than this 'guide.' So we gave money to the woman for opening the locked gate, and suggested the drunk man learn a bit more about the history of the fort before trying any more guide attempts.

Culture shock #3

You have a what?

House help. Yes, that is right. We have someone clean, do dishes and laundry.

For us this took some getting used to, but it all goes back to the idea that those with wealth share it.

And while we don't have the money that the "Yovo, Cadeau" guys think we do, we can afford to hire someone to help with the house work.

This is the cultural way to spread wealth: our house help is then able to buy a motorcycle, giving the motorcycle dealer business. She then buys gas, giving the artesianal (re:illegal) fuel sellers some income. She can afford to buy more veggies from the market, support her family, etc.

Those with larger appetites hire cooks, those with children hire nannies.

The wealth spreads. Those who hoard wealth are seen as selfish and ungrateful to the local community.


I'm going back in the village...

One thing we have found that fundamentally shapes the way foreigners are viewed is the idea of the village.

Say a Togolese businessman loses their job, runs out of savings and food. 'Oh, I have to go back to the village,' he will lament.

Losing your job and running out of everything is not the end of the rope as there is always your traditional family home/land in the village. Sure, the once-proud businessman will have to bury his pride with the seeds he'll need to plant, but he still has a tribal network that will take care of him.

I've met quite a few Togolese who draw a similar conclusion about all foreigners. They show up for a few years, then leave. Where do they go? The logical answer must be: their village in America, with homes bigger than the ones we see in those Hollywood films.

This will often lead to the conversation of, 'when you go back to your country, can you take me with you?'

Now, while some expats do have homes, cars and businesses in America, I'm often left explaining that no, we do not have a home or car or village in Canada. So no, we can't take you back to our country because there is nothing there for us and 'our country' is now Togo.


Artesianal fuel & drug

Markets are informal, and that goes beyond the fruit and veggie sector.

Forex's are non-existant in Togo, money is changed at the border by scary looking guys holding thousands of dollars of cash in US, Euro's, Ghanaian Cedis and CFA. The only thing making them less intimidating is the fact that they're also wielding big nerdy 1980's style calculators.

Clothing is also sold roadside, and if you find something you like, just strip on down and try it on! It's a bit unnerving for those of us who are used to carefully guarded change rooms, but no one else blinks twice.

Given the proximity to Nigeria, which subsidizes it's fuel (unlike Togo), an abundance of smuggled fuel is available at discount rates on the roadside.

Unfortunately it is often dirty or watered down, so not necessarily the best to use.

But the trade does drive a large part of the informal economy. From the smugglers who bring it in (usually by boat), to those who warehouse the fuel, the distributers, the street sellers, the tens of thousands who rely on the product as they can't afford to buy from the pumps, etc.

It's a big business.

While we haven't looked into it too much, the street-side sale of expired pharmaceuticals appears to have a large following as well.

Culture shock #2

A voodoo caretaker in a typical local neighbourhood grotto in Benin.

Voodoo

Is your business not doing well? It's probably because of voodoo.

Is your business doing well? It's probably because of voodoo.

Is your child not feeling well? It's because someone in the village has done some voodoo to make them sick.

Are you failing a certain grade in school? It's voodoo that has made you stupid.

Basically anything bad happening is blamed on voodoo and likewise, good things happening may be voodoo as well. 

Unfortunately, this thought that others can control your destiny has created, in our opinion, a large societal problem.

When someone is doing well (financially or otherwise) someone will do voodoo in an attempt to rob them of their success or transfer it to themselves.

Finding dead chicken heads on your doorstep may just be creepy, but it often escalates to poisoning, arson or violence. Not so much voodoo, but plain old jealousy.

In our observations, this has led to a society that really doesn't -- and can't -- trust their neighbours, family or anyone. Everyone has an ulterior motive.


Yovo Yovo Cadeau!

Say you are walking down the street, minding your own business when an ordinary looking fellow walks up to you, thrusts his open hands into you your face. "Yovo, cadeau," he says.

He wants you to give him a present (re: cash.) This man is a total stranger, in no apparent financial distress, asking for a gift!?

It can be considered rude if you look horrified, say 'no' and keep walking. You have to say, 'maybe next time or some other time.'

Being a stranger and having a different skin tone means that you are obviously loaded and in a position of sharing your enormous vast, expansive, crazy, superfluitious wealth.

The mindset is that a Yovo walking down your street is basically the equivalent of Santa Claus coming to town.

This can get annoying, but at least here in Togo people don't get too upset if you don't give them their gift.

On the other hand, in Ghana we were stopped by police officers on many occasions demanding that we give them their money! Or, "give me my Christmas gift!" (Note the use of a possessive. Somehow their money has slipped into our pockets and we have stolen it!)

Your problem, which I created, will go away if...

Which takes us on to bribery, a common practice here though there are attempts to crack down on it.

Being asked for what we would call bribes by police, health officials or government bureaucrats is common. In many instances the locals see it as a tip for good service to be performed.

If you want your documents serviced promptly give a tip and the worker will do his work. If not, your documents end up being rejected on the spot. "Sorry, it's not possible. Though I can make it happen, ahem.."

A mini play at the school highlighted this fact. The setting took place at a border crossing where two border guards were screening a line of people.

The first person had crossed too many times that week therefore they needed to pay something. The second person had a suspicious look to them so they had to pay. The third group did not have the right colour sticker on their documents so they had to pay. The fourth person had to pay because they forgot their travelers immunization book at home and so they had to pay for every shot that they could have needed in order for the guards to let them through.

We laughed during this play but when you have to deal with it in real life all the time it's not always so funny. 

There are different types of bribery, some of which are more extortion than bribery. It can get very stressful very fast if a police officer looking for his gift decides to impound your vehicle when you don't comply with his request.

While the police looking for 'infractions' aren't really geared up like this, it does represent what it feels like for us.


In our experience, if you're pulled over by a police officer who does not have a ticket book and insists you've committed some sort of offence, get ready to negotiate.

Personally, we find bribery difficult because it undermines the way we think a country should operate. A token of appreciation should be given for good service, not in order for good service to occur.

And as for the extortionist police officers, a can of Fanta or a box of crisps with the line 'my officer, it is so hot out and you are working soooo hard, would you like something to drink and eat," works a lot better than cash. And saves us time, as negotiations can get lengthy.

"Sorry we're late, got stopped by the gendarmes," is a common line to hear in Togo, and definitely part of the culture we had to get used to -- fast.

Culture shock #1

Culture shock is a term people living or traveling abroad understand. There are different types of culture shock but for now I will outline the reason I have been feeling the shocks quite violently these days.

There are small daily differences you notice almost immediately once you get to Togo. These things may be quite small and insignificant and can provide interesting stories and amusement when swapped with friends. 

TSSSSSSSSSS! To get someone's attention you hiss at them. Full out spit flying, loud cat like hisses. Want the attention of the waiter in a retaurant? Waving your hands won't work neither will coughing a loud ahem but if you hiss they'll be there.

Want to get public transportation? Make sure you hiss loudly because flapping your arms (or politely raising your hand) won't get you anywhere.

If someone is trying to get your attention they may also make a smooching sounds. And no it is not just men doing this to women, men do this to men too.

For you, special price. Haggling is something that is expected. It is not rude. But people here jack up prices ridiculously high if you are white.

For example a few weekends ago D and I wanted to take a moto from one part of town to our home. The motorcyclist insisted the correct price to pay was 4000 for each of us (roughly $8 us dollars). Having made this journey many times, we know the trip should only cost 600 each at most ($1.20) but the price increased for us because we have white skin.

A street vendor at sunset in Grand Popo, Benin.


Optimistic price hikes are often directly related to the largest bill (10,000 cfa) in Togolese currency, which means that all yovo's (white people) must be able to pull them from our noses. How much is this shirt? 10,000 cfa. And a ride to the market down the street? 10,000 cfa. Riiiight. When the bartering starts there, it's usually not worth even trying to haggle. Just walk away and find someone who isn't shooting for the moon.

I can go to the main market and the common 'best price' I can get for 1 pineapple is probably around 1000 cfa. Our house help Rosalie can go and can get 1 pineapple, 5 medium oranges, 2 large onions, 6 medium tomatoes, 2 field cucumbers and 6 bananas all for roughly the same price.

Ne pas uriner ici! Then there's the bathroom thing. Public washrooms exist everywhere. What is classified as a public washroom? The ditch, a wall, the side of the road, a tree, a bush, a swamp, a mud puddle, a rock. You get the picture. So many people do their business in public.

Now I know sometimes when you gotta go you gotta go. But one expects that with kids but grown men and women are merrily participating. This is also one of the reasons you are warned to keep your shoes on at the beach. Surprise!

Visiting or Moving to Togo: Flights

Accra's Kokota International Airport on a hazy day.

A few things ground rules:
Finding a direct flight from Lomé that lands anywhere near your destination may be difficult.
On average, international flights in Lomé appear to be $500-600 USD more expensive than ones in Accra.

And as Accra is only 3ish hours away from Lomé by car, many expats living in Togo simply drive to Accra and enjoy a cornucopia of international flights. There's also shopping malls, movie theatres with current films and traffic laws that are obeyed! (A year-long multiple entry visa for Ghana costs $150 USD or so.)

Flights in Lomé and Accra are usually paid in cash if you are booking directly through the airline at their office. In fact, certain airlines may not allow you to book online if your IP address shows it is coming from West Africa. (Consider using a device to hide your IP address.)

We found great priced tickets with a certain Turkish airline, but were unable to book them online as our flight was departing from Africa. The website gave us an error message with a number to their call centre. We called, and while we were able to reserve the tickets, we were told that we had to make the payment at their office in Accra.

'OK, we're going to Ghana over the Christmas break, no problem. Where is their office?'

'It's in the Accra Airport.'

'And how can we pay?'

'We are proud to accept Visa, Mastercard and debit cards.'

'Are you sure, in our experience most places don't. We just want to make sure...'

'Absolutely, we proudly accept Visa, Mastercard and debit cards as means of payment.'

Well. We get to Accra (scroll down if you missed the tale of how we got into Ghana), drive to the airport and lo and behold, the airline office is no where to be found. They have a check-in gate, with a small sign stating that their office is adjacent to a hotel, somewhere else. Having never been to Accra and being map-less, this was not boding well.

We managed to find their office without much hassle.

'Your reservations are here,' the smiling lady behind the counter pronounces. 'That will be ¢2,576 per ticket.'

I hand her my Mastercard.

'Oh, I'm sorry, we don't accept Mastercard.'

I hand her my Visa card, which we planned only to use in emergencies.

'Oh, I'm sorry, we don't accept Visa. Cash -- Ghana Cedis -- only.'

'Excuse me, but just a few days ago, we called the Airline office and were clearly told several times that you accepted these as payment options. They didn't even mention cash.'

'There's a bank down the street, maybe you can get some Cedis there.'

In the sweltering heat, we trudged to the Barclays Bank. A smiling teller confidently pronounces that they are able to assist us, and taking out several thousand Cedis is not a problem. Then quietly, almost in passing the teller throws in that while possible, the transaction must take place at the main branch -- downtown. A vital tidbit of information, as it's late Friday afternoon and traffic in Accra is atrocious at best on any given day.

Rather than fight a losing battle, we continue with our vacation and return to the main branch of the bank early one morning the next week.

A surly middle-aged teller commands us to her wicket. I hand her the Mastercard and tell her how much we need withdrawn.

'Oh, we impose a limit of ¢1,500 per day. We can't give you that much money.'

'But, the teller at the other branch... uh,..' We were slightly flabbergasted.

I hand her the emergency Visa card as well. I figure that at least we would be able to purchase one ticket between the two cards. That's better than none, right?

She commands us to sit. The bank is air-conditioned and clean, so we don't mind the wait.

A few minutes later, we are beckoned.

'This one is blocked, and this one is giving an error message,' she says, thrusting the cards into our hands. 'You must call your bank.'

I reach for my phone, and start dialling the 1-800 number. This will be pretty expensive, I think to myself.

The phone starts ringing. A security guard grabs my arm.

'You can't use your phone in the bank.'

'But, the teller just told me to use my phone.'

'Out.' He's dragging us to the door.

'Isn't there an office, a quiet room we can use? It's loud out there, and I'd rather not be sharing my personal details with everyone on the street.'

He shakes his head.

We decide to stand next to two hired police officers guarding the ATM outside. At least we're sort of safe if our personal details are not.

I call the bank, and inquire about the Visa card. All of Accra decides to get louder. Cars start honking. A battered diesel dump truck decides to stop and rev his engine next to my ear. I can't hear the representative and she can't hear me. Finally I manage to answer some security questions, shouting out my birth date and digits of my SIN number to anyone who cares to listen. Oh, this card (which we've never used as it is an emergency card) had some problems while being activated.

'Great, let's activate it,' I say.

'Just a few more security questions. What is your mother's maiden name?'

This card is used by both of us, and we both had to fill out cardholder information. I ask her if she knows which one of us the question refers to. No idea, so I shout out my guess. She reads it back to me. Totally wrong. I shout it out again phonetically. This time we get the same letters.

'I'm sorry, that's the wrong answer, I can't help you any further.' Click.

I call Mastercard, and while waiting on hold, I start to wonder how much credit is left on my phone.

'Mastercard, how may I help you,' says the lady.

'You have one minute remaining,' says the phone.

I hang up. We buy some more credit, and try again.

'Is there a reason that the card has been frozen? '

'The reason the transaction was blocked, and your card frozen is because there was an attempted transaction from the Barclay's Bank in Ghana.'

'We notified you that we would be travelling in West Africa, is that note not on the file?'

'Oh yes, but this transaction took place in Ghana, not West Africa.'

My phone interrupts again.

We look at each other and decide that today is not our day. These plane tickets are not meant to be and so we leave Accra, spend the night at a beautiful mountain resort and head back to Togo.

Visiting or Moving to Togo: Money

So here's our thoughts on a few money related questions about traveling in West Africa, specifically Togo.



Visa or MasterCard - can you use them here?

A resounding 'NO.' In Togo, they are absolutely useless in daily life. I can count on one hand the number of businesses in Lomé that accept credit cards. I think a few banks state they accept Visa. Regardless, cash is the way to go.

As far as we can tell, Benin appears to be similar to Togo.

While Ghana seems to have a few more options available for tourists, the easiest method of payment is still cash. Places that say they do accept cards may not -- nonfunctioning machine, incompetent clerk (I almost paid $720 for a $72 tab) and perhaps they just lied to get you through the door. Banking institutions in Ghana are able to get cash off the card, but most impose a daily limit of ¢1,500 or so. If the machine is functioning and the transaction appears on the verge of being successful, odds are your credit card company will block/hold the transaction even if you've told them you're travelling in West Africa.

How much should I bring and in what currency?
It really depends on how long you're staying, what your accommodation is like and what you're buying.

A bed to sleep on at a very nice hotel may cost $200 or more (now this hotel may only have a three star rating but you will get hot water, air conditioning, clean sheets, wireless and good food in a marble crusted environment.) In smaller cities, I've stayed at perfectly comfortable local establishments (albeit not as posh and with a squeaky fan and no air conditioning -- probably 1/2 a star) for $5 a night.

In Togo, it is hard to find a proper Currency Exchange, but at the borders, you can change Euros, US, Cedis and CFA with ease with guys walking around with wads of bills. Do make sure you know what the going rate is before going and use a calculator to double check any calculations.

In Ghana, proper establishments exist and banks can change currencies as well.

Be aware that some people will not accept worn or damaged currency, as they believe it is 'broken' and worthless. Also, banks will often not accept US bills older than 2003.

What other money services are there?

Moneygram and Western Union are everywhere, and if you end up stranded without cash, these provide an easy way to get back on the road.

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.

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.

The Vehicle Hunt - Part 2

Sold. The vehicle we had wavered back and forth about and finally decided to buy had sold just when we made up our mind. Ripped from our grasp.

We were disappointed but figured that there must be a reason this vehicle was taken from us -- perhaps there was a better one just around the corner.

So we kept looking for this better car.

We looked at a late 90's Rav4, which looked nice, but upon closer inspection we became convinced that this was not the car for us.

Keep in mind that in Africa, cars are not considered in need of repair until they will no longer move. So strange banging and clattering noise emanating from the engine compartment are of no concern whatsoever. In fact, the seller may dutifully inform you that the angry sounds show that the car is really, really powerful.

Labour is cheap, and paint is nearly as cheap. So often times you will find freshly repainted cars for sale. This Rav4 had been painted, of all colours, black. We asked the man why on earth he would paint a car in Africa black. He muttered something sheepishly and declined to comment, but the consensus we have reached is that black equals luxury, even if you will roast alive under the scorching blaze of the sun.

While a fresh coat of paint is nice to look at, we found you're probably better off getting a vehicle that has not been repainted, as paint is also seen as a way to hide any critical blemishes. Like rust. Most cars we looked at suffered from serious rust issues, but rather than dealing with the rust and plastering the problem spots, the rust had simply been painted over.

As mentioned before, details are not the forte of the locals. We were informed that this Rav4 was 4x4. It wasn't even all wheel drive. A quick look at the dash or under the rear wheels could have shown that. Either the seller thought that we would be blissfully unaware or was somehow ignorant of the matter himself. Sort of a scary thought.

So we declined the Rav4, lurching us back into the realm of no vehicle and no leads.

We racked our brains all weekend and after a good dose of kicking ourselves for not buying the Land Cruiser when we first had the chance, we decided to go back to the Port first thing Monday morning.

To our surprise, we did indeed find several candidates, including Land Cruisers, right off the bat. But just as with our previous Port experiences, what you see on the outside doesn't always reflect under the hood. One of the Land Cruisers, an 86 LJ70, had a decent engine, but lacked a single VIN number. All VIN plates and numbers were removed and scratched off. Hmm. But the price was right. Too right...

A second Land Cruiser also had the right price and looked great from far away. But the magic of paint only works from distances over 10 feet. Upon closer inspection it became very evident that there was lots and lots and lots of rust that had been simply painted over. The interior was also infested with black mould. No idea how that happens.



Looks good? Step a little closer and you'll see loads of rust and an interior covered in black mould. Yeech.

The prices we were being quoted were considerably less than in previous weeks -- and I'm sure it was because Natalie was along -- but with all the work that would still be required to make these vehicles safe, the cost was rapidly increasing well above the cost of the now-sold '87 Land Cruiser.

I'll admit it, old Land Cruisers are not the most attractive of vehicles. They're boxy, uncomplicated, and don't have power steering or air conditioning. So naturally, Natalie started paying more attention to the other prime candidate for us: a Rav4. Far more curvy, a lot newer and quite a bit more comfortable.

But one mishap with a Rav4 in one of the Port lots made Natalie, who was completely hooked on the idea of a Rav4, refuse to buy one.

One of the dealers was proudly showing Natalie the comfortable drivers seat as I listened to the engine. Unsatisfied, I told Natalie, who was sitting behind the wheel to turn the car off, which she did. After she got out, the dealer put the car into first gear, since the e-brake did not appear to be functional. We continued to look at the car for a few moments, just to be polite.

The dealer, who was now sitting in the passenger seat, reached over to remove the key, which became stuck. Instead of cautiously wiggling it, he recklessly flicked the key back and forth -- into the on position, causing the car -- which was still in first with the faulty e-brake on, to leap forward. Several workers jumped to safety, narrowly avoiding crushed limbs, but the car proceeded to plow into another parked car. The polished plastic bumper splintered and cracked, the hood bent out of shape and the red-faced dealer frantically explained that the damage was no problem and was easy to fix and the car was still a good deal for us.



Natalie turned to me with a solemn look on her face and said, "we are never going to get a Rav4. If a 5km per hour collision does this to the front end, imagine a highway collision."

I agreed wholeheartedly, making sure to mention that Land Cruisers have a real steel bumper.

Even though the Land Cruisers we saw were real pieces of work, we called Robert and asked him to look over them with us, and he agreed to do so on Tuesday.

Frustrated, but optimistic that one of the lemons we saw may turn out to be OK after all, we fell asleep knowing that Tuesday would be another day with many more cars to look at.

I awoke to my phone ringing. It was Robert.

"Hello," I mumbled, expecting him to say he could not make it to the Port after all.

"Remember that Land Cruiser I showed you? The one I said was very good, but you did not like because it was too old and too expensive? The one that you then decided you would like, but it had just sold?"

"Yes Robert," I said. What I meant was, 'really, you don't have to rub it in. We get it. We missed a great opportunity.'

"The man who bought the car could not find all of his money. The car is unsold."

The Vehicle Hunt - Part 1

You may remember we were dissuaded from buying a motorcycle after a series of not-so-nice motorcycle related events.

So, the hunt for four wheels began.

First off, it is important to note that here in Togo there are no online classifieds -- or reliable old-fashioned classifieds either, for that matter.

And as we soon found out, used car lots are not the place to buy a car.

One afternoon, Natalie, another teacher at the school who speaks French and I trekked out to a conglomeration of vehicles parked outside the vehicle registration office. Dealers will buy cars from the port, register them and sell them right outside the office.



We made several observations rather quickly.

Firstly, cars here are EXPENSIVE. North American or European blue book values mean nothing. Don't blink twice if asked to pay 10,000 USD for a rusted, battered mid-90's Toyota 4runner. Car values are determined by the availability of parts and how easy they are to repair. For example, Toyota is more expensive than Ford, Mercedes or BMW because parts are readily available and mechanics know how to fix Toyotas.

Secondly, dealers don't only avoid telling you faults; they will bold-faced lie when you show them a problem. The smoke pouring from the engine compartment moments after you fire up the vehicle? It is only because they changed the oil just before you came, and happened to spill some. There is oil/other engine fluids seeping and bubbling from engine block orifices? No problem, the vehicle will be just fine. That is normal. Stupid American knows nothing about cars. Trust us, this car is very strong and will last forever. But for you, special price. Only 3,800,000 CFA (approx. $7,500 USD.)

Needless to say, we enjoyed the experience of looking at the car conglomeration, but vowed not to buy one there.

Which left two options. The Port and Robert.

Now, The Port of Lomé is full of vehicles of all shapes and sizes. Numerous dealers (most who happen to be Lebanese) have massive storage lots crammed full of Mercedes', Reneaults, Peugeots, Fords, and most any other brand imaginable. These cars, I am told, are often the 'rejects' from North America and Europe that have failed emissions testing or were police seizures. I've even seen a few with VIN plates removed and any identifying numbers scratched off.

And should you find a vehicle you like, the price you will be quoted will likely be quite lucrative. But there is a catch. Cars in the port lots have not had their import tax/port fee paid. And at 52%, the tax makes the price of a car quickly skyrocket.

Furthermore, the mechanics at the port are even more crafty than those selling cars outside the registration office. We've been told that several people have had experiences where they will pour some sort of syrup in the engine to mask any rattling sounds. Of course, it will hold together for the test drive around the small lot, but once you pay up and take it out of the lot and drive a little faster -- the engine seizes. And there is no Better Business Bureau. Your loss.

The last option we had available to us is a mechanic named Robert. Over time, many of the teachers at the school have asked him to help them find a car, and he has developed a reputation for being able to find the car you want at quite a good price. As a bonus, he guarantees the vehicles for 6 months and takes care off all the government paperwork to boot.

So we consulted Robert and asked him to find us our vehicle: a two-door 4x4, preferably Toyota. Preferably mid-90's.

A few days later, with our lack of French and his limited English, he informed us that he had found us what we were looking for. He described it as being very much like another teachers' vehicle -- which was a 94 Land Cruiser Prado.

It was at this point we learned another quirk of local culture: prices are not discussed on the phone, at all. But we were told it was within our requested price range.

So the next afternoon, we agreed to meet at 3:00 at the school. At 4:45, he showed up with the vehicle. It was definitely not a 1994 model. This is another cultural quirk. Car models and manufacture years mean nothing. If it looks sort of like something else, it is.

In fact, this one was a 1987 Land Cruiser LJ70. Despite the age, the kilometres were low, and the engine was in remarkable condition. But Natalie had informed me that in no way was she interested in a vintage vehicle. Besides, the asking price was at the top of our range -- and this was a really, really, old car.



Disappointed, we looked a few other cars in and around town, but nothing but a bunch of lemons showed up. We reassured ourselves that surely, by Christmas we will find something.

Robert informed us that he had bargained the price of the vehicle down nearly a million CFA. It was lucrative, but still felt a little too much for our naive taste.

I went back to the Port with Robert to look at some of the other Land Cruisers we had seen, but all had either serious mechanical issues or were even more expensive than the Land Cruiser LJ70 he had shown us. We began to rethink our decision. Maybe the oldie-but-a goodie was the way to go.

Besides, Christmas was just over a week away. And we had another complication to consider: the potential devaluation of the currency, rumoured to take place on January 1. If we were holding on to millions of CFA, we could stand to lose a lot of money. Furthermore, the cost of cars would skyrocket.

And after discussing it with many of our friends one evening, we decided that though the price was still a little uncomfortable, it was in our best interest to buy something now. And a vehicle that was easy to fix, with very few electronics (the radio is the most complicated thing in it) and a great track record was the way to go.

So we called Robert and informed him that we would like to purchase the 1987 Land Cruiser after all.

"Oh, Mr. Daniel. The Land Cruiser was sold in the last hour."

TP

Part of N's agreement with her school is that they provide housing. Very, very, nice, impressive housing. But just like all houses, things break or need repairing. The school takes care of all the maintenance at all 25+ of their houses and we must fill out 'work order request forms' whenever something needs repairing. And then wait.

Ever since we moved to this house, there has been a long list of things that need doing due to the previous tenant's lifestyle. Screens for the doors. Doors that actually close. Cupboards. Cupboards that don't fall over as soon as you put something in them.

The list has been getting shorter much quicker than we expected, but one thing that has been neglected is the toilet paper holder. I never knew how much I missed a simple fixture that holds a roll of chaffing, itch-inducing poorly recycled paper (now including bits of plastic for your wiping pleasure!)

After over a month of asking, one of the school's repairmen came over, and five minutes later, we finally had a toilet paper holder!!! No more twisting around, trying to find where it has rolled behind the toilet, only to find that the ants and cockroaches found it first...

Hopefully this month we can resolve the dozen dead power outlets, the bedroom door that won't stay shut, and maybe find a shower hose that doesn't leak all over the bathroom floor (leaving you ironically dry).

Two wheels or four?

As many of you know, we packed along two motorcycle helmets in our luggage. We planned on purchasing a motorcycle to zip around town on. When required, the thought was D could use it when off on assignment as well. Small, cheap, blend in with the crowd, good on gas, easy to fix -- what could be wrong with that?

But our plans have since changed. We are now looking for a car -- here's why:

While vacationing in Benin, we got caught in a sudden torrential downpour. (Trees across the roads-wind pushing the rain sideways-roads turning into rivers-can't see five feet in front of my face rain.) Thankfully we were in a vehicle. Watching motorcyclists scramble like drowning rats for any semblance of shelter planted the first notion that perhaps a motorcycle might limit our travels.

About a week later, we had some shopping to do in downtown Lomé, so we hailed a cab here in 'la Caisse' (literally, 'the cashbox' -- an affectionate nickname for our neighbourhood.) Within two minutes we had veered into oncoming traffic a few times, nearly side-swiped some very expensive SUV's and almost taken off a few motorcyclists' legs.

Turns out our taxi driver was not only drunk out of his gourd, but one of his front wheels was about to fall off. We calmly asked him to pull over at the earliest opportunity. As we tried in vain to hail another cab, two thoughts crept into our minds. Firstly, not all taxi drivers (or their cabs) are reliable. Secondly, I wouldn't want to be a motorcyclist when that cabbie is still on the loose.

Eventually we made it to the Grande Marche, finished our shopping and caught a cab back to 'la Caisse.' The drive was uneventful, until we came up to the entrance to the neighbourhood. A car had struck several motorcyclists -- injured people laying on the ground, motorcycle bits strewn across the roadway, etc.

Before that horrifying scene had a chance to sink in, a clap of thunder and a smattering of rain reminded us to hurry the last block home.

We didn't make it. Just as in Benin, the rain which we thought was at least 15 minutes away was upon us in a flash. Crazy downpour. Again. Now we were the absolutely soaked rats.

As we stood on the flooded street, trying not to think of all the goodies mixed in the rain water swirling at our ankles and over D's nice Josef Siebel sandals, the last nail struck Mr. Motorcycle's coffin.

And now, the search for a car begins...



The street after the five minutes of rain that changed our mind.

Togo Tummy

Well, it has finally arrived.

At first I figured that I had made it unscathed -- that somehow my innards were more fortuitous than the rest.

But thanks to some suspect prawns cleverly disguised in a scrumptious coconut-tomato sauce -- Togo Tummy has arrived.

At first, it was just a rumble in the distance followed by some awkward squirming.

But by this evening, I was sprinting toward any porcelain pot in sight.

And internal events can be influenced by external surroundings...

Whilst making my way toward the neighbourhood supermarche, Ramco, I began to notice the rumbling once again.

'It will be a quick shopping trip, nothing much -- just some deli meat, cheese and some cereal,' I reasoned.

I can control my functions for five minutes, right?

But unfortunately, Ramco has bone-chilling air-conditioning, which, as I found out immediately, speeds up time.

Three minutes later, Natalie was left to do the shopping on her own, whilst I bolted for the door.

Once outside in the sticky heat of the night, things settled down long enough for me to march home.

Also, Pepto Bismol is a great invention.

Internet and interesting computer quirks

Today I am very thankful that the Internet problems were all sorted out yesterday and now we have wireless Internet at the house. After living 2 weeks without it, it feels like quite a luxury to use my IPad to talk to from the comfort of the couch in living room, as oppose to the concrete step outside the ict room at school at 11:00 at night.

My Dell laptop has been acting up these days though. Whenever it is plugged into the wall (via the charger, surge protector, adapter/converter) the touch mouse acts up. It acts as though the left mouse button is stuck so my mouse arrow will click on everything it passes as I drag it along the screen. For the first few days I didn't make the connection that it only happened when it was plugged in so I was ready to throw my Dell in the rubbish bin as it was so frustrating to try and get anything done. But now that I know I just charge it at night and use it with only it's battery during the day when I need it.