And Along Came Benin

{Disclaimer: what you are about to read is very long - sorry!}

It was Benin or Bust that long weekend we created beginning with Friday the 13th. Maybe we should have started with Saturday the 14th because looking back on those three days so many things went wrong but I guess it could have been a lot worse.

The plans to travel to Benin came quickly as our posse, who consisted of Brian, myself, Piotr and Laura (two friends from TNS), decided to go just a few days before leaving. Looking into the logistics of our trip Brian and I were set with Togo visas but needed some for Benin. Piotr and Laura were in need of both. Togo visas were taken care of and because of time restraints and also confirmation from our trusty guidebook confirming we could get Benin visas at the border, we all waited on the Benin visas.

Early Friday morning we found ourselves at our usual Friday hangout, the STC bus station. We boarded the bus to find it contained the most uncomfortable seats to date. It looked like an old school bus that had been converted into intercity travel excursions. This was not going to allow for any (or good) sleep on the ride to the Togo border.

A few hours and awkward sleepy head rolls later we were in Aflao. As we did last weekend, we confirmed when the STC bus would be departing to Accra on Sunday. Unfortunately this time we received a different answer, there were no buses departing on Sunday and advised one could easily grab a tro-tro anytime of day. We thought, ok, no worries it should be seamless to find a tro-tro on Sunday afternoon. So we set off for the border.

The Ghana border was no problem; we were like pros at this point. The Togo border proved similar and then we set out to have a celebration beer at our friendly Togolese border bar oasis. We found it near the crimson colored bougainvilleas spilling over the side of the bars outer wall. We were disappointed to find our bartender, Richard, was not in but were happily greeted by his brother.

After a short break we moved on to find a taxi to take us to the taxi stand on the beach front of Lome. After much haggling, which was expected, we set out for the Benin border. Everything appeared to be smooth sailing at this point; we would arrive at the Benin border around 2pm (3pm Benin time). That afternoon we planned on spending in Grand Popo and making plans for the rest of our weekend.

Arriving at the Benin border triggered the first of a series of misfortunate events. We inquired about obtaining visas and the border patrol just laughed at us. They muttered something to one another and declared we had to go back to Lome to the Benin Embassy for the visas. So much for trusting Rough Guide’s advice.

So it was back across the border into Togo to hail a taxi back to Lome, from where we just came. More haggling ensued and our car departed. The drive to Togo’s capital was long and full of traffic. It was Friday afternoon and everyone in the country was on the road. We told our taxi driver the address of the Benin Embassy, per the guidebook, but people in West Africa don’t really use street addresses, as landmarks are more prevalent. We stopped to ask several times where the embassy was located but never seemed to get any closer. At one point our driver pulled to the back of the US Embassy confusing us, wondering if he thought we wanted to visit our home base. Finally we had him call the Benin Embassy (which we should have done from the get go) and made it across town to arrive around 4pm.

It was unclear at this point if Benin was going to happen and we started pulling together Plan B for a night in Togo. But Benin proved a go after a few sad puppy dog faces and pleading with the Benin visa administrator. Brian thought an exchange of funds would be necessary but it fortunately didn’t come to that.

Around 5:30pm we had Benin visas in hand and it was time to head east for the border (again). It was well after dark when we arrived which was a little nerve racking as border towns present an air of uneasiness and urgency to pass through. Nevertheless we knew exactly where to go and found ourselves on Benin soil around 8pm local time.

The next step was to find a taxi to take us to the Awali Plage hotel in Grand Popo. The taxi situation proved very frustrating and challenging in Benin relative to Togo and Ghana. The concept of shared taxis, cramming 6 people not including the driver into one vehicle was customary. However, because of time and security we wanted to find a taxi we could hire for the 4 of us to take directly to the hotel. We thought we had one but not one minute down the road and the taxi driver pulled over to a group of 3 or 4 large women. We were infuriated, knowing he was charging us a premium and promising it would only be us 4. We stormed out of the vehicle and told the driver this was unacceptable. The language barrier (Benin is a Francophone country) made it seem like we were objecting to the women entering the car who also perceived it that way. Trying to explain to the women and the driver that what we had agreed upon wasn’t being followed proved difficult but finally seemed to make itself clear.

The driver took off with the women and we had to find another car. One was found after some more wearisome haggling and we were on our way to the hotel. So happy to pull into the hotel’s parking lot we jumped out of the car. The driver persisted on trying to get more money from us despite agreeing upon a price beforehand and reluctantly gave the correct amount of change after some coercing.

We headed up to the main reception area, located at the restaurant/bar. The guys settled into some chairs while Laura and I inquired about rooms for the night. Note: prior to departing for Benin we tried several times to call the hotel to make reservations but to no avail. They never picked up. Who would have thought they would have no rooms available!?! It was one thing after another….. We were starving and had dinner while trying to figure out where we were going to lay our sleepy heads that night.

The bartender and wait staff were very helpful in calling around to other hotels for vacancies but nothing came of it unfortunately. After some time a woman in the restaurant came up to Brian telling him of an available nearby guesthouse. She was apparently affiliated with Awali Plage and heard of our circumstances so offered us a place to stay for a cheaper price. We were interested in seeing the place before agreeing to anything so she said she would drive us over.

The guesthouse was not far down the road and could have been reached on foot if we had known exactly where it was located. The gentleman who slept in one of the rooms downstairs showed us the three available rooms upstairs. They were perfect. Each one was like new and came with a bathroom, bed and ceiling fan. Not quite the Awali Plage but just the resting place we needed from our hectic day.

The next morning started around 8:30am. Walking out onto the balcony adjoining our three rooms we enjoyed a magnificent view of a beach hugging the waters of the Gulf of Guinea. To our left sat a small village full of thatched roof huts and people going about their morning routines; a mother playing with her young children in her backyard.

It was time for breakfast back at the Awali Plage and because it wasn’t far we chose to walk. As we walked the dark clouds seen brewing overhead dumped a bit of rain on us. The light sprinkle wasn’t too detrimental. On our way we noticed a sign that read, ‘Obama Beach’ and to our left one boldly painted in red letters, ‘La Patience’. Ironic how that sign would represent the sense of fortitude needed throughout the rest of the weekend.

Breakfast was had, nothing too spectacular to mention except it came ripe with little Nescafe packets, the only and always disappointing coffee of choice. Some women working locally with an organization called Mercy Ships, chatted us up about our reasons for being there and gave some helpful advice on how to plan the rest of our day.

First, it was off to the stilt village of Ganvie but on our way we would stop at a crafts center in the dust filled city of Cotonou where bandanas and masks could be seen saving people’s air passages from the even layer of grime in the air. For about an hour we browsed and negotiated then came away with lovely trinkets representative of Benin and other West African countries. To get to the stilt village the guidebook suggested we grab a boat from the Hotel du Lac in Cotonou so that’s exactly where we headed.

The front desk at the hotel was very unhelpful. We inquired about the boat to Ganvie and they said the gentleman in charge of the boat had just gone out and wouldn’t be back until late. We asked about other options and were told there were none. We tried to clarify about other options outside of their services and they said there were none. Essentially that was their version of the Ghanaian, ‘it’s finished.’

We knew the stilt village wasn’t ‘finished’ and hailed a taxi to take us there directly. It took some time to find one that didn’t consist of a team of motorbikes. Given our recent purchases at the arts center it was best to be inside a vehicle not scooting along the back of one (although quite fun!). After some quibbling in broken French and agreement to a steep rate we were on our way to the village. The traffic was horrific and it took about an hour.

We arrived around 4pm, purchased our tickets, and then found ourselves sailing along the calm waters of what’s said to be Africa’s largest lake village. On the murky colored waters on the northwest side of Lac Nokoue, boats adorned with meshed patchwork sails floated around us. There was a bit of bailing out excess water on the way but never enough to present any real danger.

Despite having paid a fair price for the outing our captain stated that for an additional fee he would gladly give us a descriptive tour of the surroundings. We thought it best to enjoy the view in tranquility and declined his offer.

We glided up to the village that was an assortment of small houses supported on stilts carved out by narrow waterways. We initially passed by a red wooden souvenir shop that doubled as a bar, thinking our captain would weave us in and out of the water passages. Not so. With our nose swiftly pointed towards our place of embarkation after only a short jaunt behind the souvenir shop we told him we were interested in having a drink after all. We didn’t want to leave this amazing sight too quickly.

While three of us enjoyed our beverages peering out onto the main water channel, one fed the hoarding instinct burning inside for more African masks. I won’t name any names….but you can probably guess who this refers to. For a nominal fee I was able to get photos of a young girl skulking on the boardwalk close by as well as a boy commandeering a boat up to the shop’s watery steps. It is common for locals to shy away from cameras, as it is perceived a photo will take away one’s soul. Sometimes you will find people who do allow you to take their photo but won’t look directly at the camera. The children I met had no reservations on either.

After our beverage break that we shared with our captain and other boat mate as well as a successful mask purchase we were back in the vessel cruising towards the shore. As we drifted and paddled forward, the sky put on a show full of vibrant reds, oranges and purples emanating from the pulsating sunset. It was a peaceful evening in Ganvie.

Our taxi driver was waiting for us after we said our goodbyes to the captain and his first mate. It was off to dinner at a restaurant called Pili Pili located in Cotonou. For about 3 hours we enjoyed a lovely meal laced with good conversations allowing us all to get to know one another better. For future reference, if you’re going to Pili Pili and order the vegetarian dish, which is not on the menu but was excitedly offered by our waiter, do know it only consists of one-part French fries and two parts friend plantains. Albeit very tasty not the vegetarian delicacy implied by the server.

It was encroaching upon 10:00pm and we had at least one hour’s drive back to Grand Popo to the Awali Plage where we had left our luggage and confirmed earlier that morning our reservations for 3 rooms. We employed the help of the restaurant in finding us a taxi to Grand Popo. They recommended we take one to the taxi station close by and then get another one from there. After some time a taxi pulled up and we jumped in for the short ride down the road. It was just 5 minutes later when we were pulling away from a stop at a traffic light, and a guy reached his hand through the car window trying to grab the bag sitting in Brian’s lap. Luckily Brian clutched the bag tight enough and the guy was not successful. What a relief as the backpack contained both of our cameras, my passport and both of Piotr’s passports. After this shake up, it was only a short jog down the road and we were at the taxi station.

It got even more hectic as the night went on. When we got out of the car, a group of men all began working with and against each other to find us a ride. It was difficult to explain in French that we only wanted a non-shared taxi for 4 people to Grand Popo (for security measures). At first we were escorted into a car, which didn’t have working door handles, and had two people sitting in the front seat. Brian helped them get out. Next we were told to get out of that car and walk down the road to another car that was going to Grand Popo. As we walked down the street we noticed we were missing someone, Piotr was no longer following.

In the heat of the moment, terrible thoughts ran across my mind and I could see the same thing brewing in Laura’s. We stopped immediately with Brian and headed back to the first car. We found Piotr standing next to it looking concerned. As we rounded the front, we confirmed he was ok as he explained he was looking for his missing camera. At some point it had slipped out of the pocket of his shorts.

Over the next 10 to 15 minutes we looked for the camera, which was not to be found and searched for a car to take us to Grand Popo. One finally agreed for an outrageous fee and we struggled to communicate that a camera had been lost and that we needed to check back at the restaurant up the street before going to our hotel. Once understood, this amounted to an additional hefty price tag but at this point we had no choice, it was getting late.

Back to Pili Pili but no camera was recovered. It had most likely been left in the taxi car coming from the restaurant or possibly swiped on the street; it was unclear. From here we finally headed to Grand Popo. Getting out of the taxi at the hotel, the driver tried one last time to squeeze more money out of us. He didn’t succeed but ended up with a nice amount for the hour’s drive.

Laura ran up to the reception area to locate our bags and get the keys to our rooms. It was about 12:45am and neither the bags nor hotel staff were anywhere to be found. We inquired with the security guard at the front gate about our bags and the keys but he said everyone was gone.

For the next 30 to 40 minutes we tried all possible avenues of getting into our rooms or at least getting to our luggage. The guard, reluctant for fear of getting in trouble, phoned the hotel manager who ended up hanging up on us in mid-conversation. He showed us the manager’s quarters but several attempts at waking him through knocks on the door also failed. We had run out of options. The guard suggested we go to another hotel up the street. However, it was not within walking distance and there was little chance at finding another taxi this time of night. Besides, the hotel had our luggage.

So it was snuggle time with the hotel’s lawn chairs surrounding the swimming pool. We doused ourselves in bug repellant then went for a quick walk on the beach to blow off some steam. The stars were glorious in the night sky and the sound of the waves would soon lull us to sleep.

Laura and I came back from the beach first and as we walked towards the pool somebody called out to us. We were so shocked to find 3 men looking around the area. They said they were security guards and were checking the grounds. In broken French (flavored with a bit of unintentional Spanish, the language she does know) Laura explained our situation. Surprisingly, the guys soon got to work making sure we were going to be comfortable in our makeshift beds. Just as they were laying tablecloths out as sheets the guys came up. We told the guards they were with us and they continued rearranging the lawn chairs.

It wasn’t long until we were snoozing away under the palm trees. To our delight the bugs seemed nonexistent and fortunately because our bottle of bug spray wound up missing. So there we were, at a hotel that came highly recommended, sleeping next to its’ swimming pool.

Morning comes quickly when you’re sleeping outside. Brian was the first one up and went off to read at the restaurant. I joined him not long after and noticed he was sitting with our luggage. The first thing I did was pop out my contacts to give my poor eyes the oxygen they’d been deprived of overnight. Soon thereafter Piotr and Laura joined us.

We all got washed up at the showers outside the swimming pool area then had some coffee. One of the ladies working at the hotel said to me as I waited for Brian to finish his shower that our rooms were available to use instead of the pool facilities. I told her we didn’t have rooms we slept by the pool. She just gave me a funny look.

As we waited for our bill at breakfast, with the unrealistic hopes that it would be on the house given the night we just had, a waiter brought us a bill for our rooms. Our cheeks burned from the slap in the face. With controlled rage Brian immediately asked to see the manager. He walked over to the overweight owner sipping his morning coffee and explained to him that it was completely absurd to expect us to pay for rooms we didn’t occupy let alone put up with the lack of customer service he provided the night before. It didn’t take too much more to convince him, he waived the bill (surprisingly and fortunately for him because he probably didn’t realize that was Chuck Norris he was talking to).

Wanting to leave the vicinity and go on with our day as fast as we could we set out for Ouida, a nearby voodoo village. The thoughts of just heading back to Accra crossed our minds but we weren’t going to let the circumstances prevent us from exploring Benin. So we jumped in a shared taxi en route to Ouida.

Ouida provided a glimpse into Benin’s voodoo culture with its Python Temple and fetish sculptures scattered about the town. The architecture was similar to that of Togo with an orange rusty colonial style decaying down the side streets. Laura, Brian and I all wrapped a python around our necks and entered a snake pit to see the slithering beasts scattered about the floor.

A large Catholic church protruded through the sky across the street from the python temple. We took photos in front of a large tree centered round-a-bout displaying carvings representative of a melded history between Christianity and voodoo. Down a few blocks we visited a museum hosting exhibits on the slave trade as well as the voodoo culture.

Next we hopped on motorbikes to return to the taxi station to hire a taxi back to Grand Popo. We had to retrieve our luggage we left at the hotel and then it was off to the border. Making our way through the Benin border was seamless. After a few CD purchases of local music we were in a taxi back to Lome.

It was good to be back in Togo and before reaching the border with Ghana we stopped at a lovely restaurant called L-Meze, which served up some wonderful Lebanese food and was the perfect dinner to fill our stomachs before the long journey back to Accra.

Our taxi driver waited while we ate and then zipped us over to the border where we crossed again on foot. From there several taxi drivers were soliciting us with their private, air-conditioned cars. We took into account their prices, which seemed pretty high but still moved on to check out the tro-tro station that had been our original plan.

Laura and I waited at the tro-tro station with our bags while Brian and Piotr scouted out the best deal for a hired car. As we waited a couple of tro-tros pulled forward and filled up within minutes. It wasn’t exactly clear where the mass of people came from but in no time we had to pass on at least two vans. One of the tro-tro drivers said he had saved Laura and I seats in the front of the vehicle but he could no longer hold them, as they had to depart for Accra. We thanked him kindly for his generosity and said we’d see him back in the city.

As the tro-tro began to leave it started to sprinkle. Seconds later a torrential downpour ensued. Just as a market woman was helping us with our bags, ready to lead us to shelter, a car pulled up and its door flew open. A voice from inside said get in and we noticed it was Brian and Piotr just in time!

The drive back to Accra was lengthy and wet. The rain was heavy and the car stuffy with little ventilation. Everyone took turns dozing in and out, tired from the crazy weekend in Benin. It had been three long days filled with frustration and challenges but proved to be an expedition richly soaked with fun and adventure.

Note: the streak of bad luck didn't quite end that night. Piotr left his souvenirs in the taxi but was able to retrieve them a couple of days later.

C’est la vie...