Operation Go Go Togo

Now that it's like a month after Fall break and I haven't updated any of you wonderful people on my African adventures since (except for my amazing care package from Madre; Meda ase!), I'll try and recall a smidgen of the awesomeness that continues to be my life in Ghana.

Fall break quite honestly was better in theory than practice. Having a week off snuck up on all of us, and everyone else was frantically trying to figure out how feasible going to 5 different countries was or if it was even safe to leave the Ghana. You would not believe how many warnings the US State Dept has out for surrounding West African countries. Kidnappings, civil unrest, Al-Qaeda.... exactly what I want on my Fall break; kidnapped by Muslim extremists while crossing the boarder in a dilapidated tro-tro where no one speaks English. Sounds like a blast, I wish I hadn't taken Spanish. I sat back during all this confusion with one goal in mind: Togo. Hop on over for a couple days, get some beach time, explore a new country, hang out with butterflies. What could be better! There was also the pesky detail of having to get my Ghanaian visa renewed, and by leaving and reentering that was done automatically. Once again, my laziness prevailed and managed to be the building blocks of my African vacation.

After finding my fellow non-explorer companions, the 4 of us began our preparations. We read guide books, called hotels, got our Togolese visas. And by we, I really mean Ivy, who ended up being our fearless French speaking tour guide. The plan was to leave Saturday for Lome, hang out for a few days on the beach, visit the markets, then head up north to see a park full of butterfiles, and return to Ghana, where we would be able to tell everyone we knew back in America that we traveled Africa! Operation Go go Togo would be a success.

So Togo? How was it? Well, our little plan to leave on Saturday was interrupted when Kalin, Sara and I got sick, like everyone does here after eating too much Kelewele (pronounced: killy willy or the delicious fried plantains from heaven. 3 months and I have yet to become so disenchanted with it, unlike my evil culinary nemesis, rice). So we decide to leave Monday, since there are no buses on Sunday because the entire country shuts down to go to church. Oh the number of times I've wanted to order pizza on sunday, but everyone is hanging out with the Big Guy....

So it's Monday, we're packed and ready to go. We get up at 4am to get to the bus by 5 am. Guess what we discover when we arrive at the bus station? The bus to the Ghana/Togo border broke down! Try again tomorrow! And we do. We get up at 4 am again and this time, THERE'S A BUS!
Broke down bus was a sign, and we ignored it. The ride to AFLAO and the border (as an NYU student, I can spot an acronym when I see one, I just have no idea what this means) was torture. Crowded school bus on the bumpiest, pot hole ridden roads I've ever encountered with all the windows closed because dust from the road was everywhere. Several times my traveling companions and I looked at each other, knowing it may very well be our last living memory. We made it though, and crossed the border into Togo! Lome is right on the coast, so we basically walked along the beach looking for a hotel. For someone who grew up in a landlocked state, this beach was as prettier than anything I'd ever seen.... except for that time I went to California/Florida/Jersey Shore. Sand, waves and palm trees, so thrilling.

It was hotter than Hell in Togo. We crossed the border and I swear the air temperature spiked 30 degrees and the sun got closer to the earth. After about 30 minutes of walking, I was ready to find any shaded structure where I could get a Coke and call it a hotel. Luckily, we found a place with beds too. Hotel Gallion, which is a nice name for a not so nice hotel. It was cheap, and our room looked like something straight out of a horror movie or National Lampoons Vacation, but whatever. We booked it out of there pretty fast to the nearest pool to cool down. I have never in my life loved a pool as much as that one. We spent hours in the sun, in the water, basking in the glory of surviving our treacherous bus ride into a foreign African country.

You must be thinking "Caitlin! African sun for hours! But your poor lily white skin!". I didn't burn.... in the traditional sense. The doxycycline I proflactively (hehe) take for Malaria also increases sun sensitivity. As super whitey, I just thought that meant extra sunscreen, but noooo. I got sun poisoning from the Togolese sun that's mysteriously closer to the earth than it is in Ghana (for you smart people that want to Google it, it's medically know as phototoxicity). As a result of pool day, I pretty much ruined the rest of my break and had to stay out of direct sunlight for the next week. Yes, that's correct: Togo turned me into a vampire. Edward Cullen finally has my sympathy (TEAM JACOB!).

To revive our sun-dried bodies, we ventured (two blocks from our hotel) to enjoy some authentic Togolese cuisine of pizza and beer. Togolese food is basically right up there with Ghanaian food. Meanings rice. Meaning none of us were forcing ourselves to be culturally adventurous on vacation. I must say, the Togolese know their pizza. I haven't had pizza this good since the Wolfgang Puck Express at Chicago O'Hare this summer (I'm absolutely serious... every time I fly home through Chicago I pray that I have a layover long enough and in the right terminal to get some of this deliciousness). I can't even remember what kind of pizza I got; all I remember is its pure cheesy deliciousness and thin crispy crust. I have to give kudos to French Colonialism in West Africa; they brought cheese and for me, thats almost enough apology for all the other unseemly colonial practices. One more thing on my Back-in-America To Do list: make up for 4 months of cheeselessness. During that meal the four of us concluded that even if disaster is following us on our Togo trip, bonding and girl talk over pizza and beer on the beach was the best memory we could ask for. Kalin, Sarah and Ivy totally made my Operation Go Go Togo a success.

Post dinner/girl talk, we headed back to our hotel bar to continue our evening with a little live music. Live music was meh-so-so (it's Togo, not Woodstock), but like the rest of our trip, the travel gods decided to be funny. As soon as we sit down a vaguely familiar young man asks us where were from. We tell him we're American and NYU students on fall break, and he gets all excited (no, its not that kind of funny story, get your mind out of the gutter) and introduces himself. Yup, I knew I recognized him! Mitch, A fellow NYU Greek, and a Pike too. Wonderful. All the Greek Night memories of Pike's steroid-driven testosterone victories came flooding back into my mind (Who remembers 6-peat?). Turns out Mitch is in the Peace Corps now, and proceeded to tell us alllllll about it for the next hour. I was more stunned than irritated, so it was fine. We told him about our plans to go up north to Kpalime to see the butterflies, and he invited us to stay at the Peace Corps house and explore the Togo he knew. We slept on it, but decided the next day my poor vampire skin needed to get back to Accra and scratched our trip up North. We made a visit to the market, which to me looked exactly like Makola in Accra, except more expensive because they use the CFA and we're silly English speakers that can't bargain in French. After one more night of traditional Togolese pizza and beer, we headed back to Ghana. I wanted to kiss the ground I was so happy to be back, but I thought twice and decided that with this trips record, I didn't need to get a parasite or disease from mouth to ground contact.

Our three day effort to basically get our visa's renewed left us with a good chunk of Fall break left. My fawesome traveling buddies and I explored Accra, venturing into the fetish voodoo market and braving the tourist souvenir trap Arts Center. We also managed to make a baby cry at our whiteness. I don't know why I'm so amused by this story; I'm sure if I were a small child and had never seen a tall white person before, I'd probably scream bloody murder too. To add to it, the market women thought it was hilarious to torture the baby a little more by taking it from it's Obruni-proof hiding spot behind a box to come over and take another look at our ghastly whiteness. So effing funny. I'm also pleased to report that since our trip was short, I got to watch Ghana kick Brazil's ass in the Under 20 World Cup final. Almost as cool was sitting in my house listening to the city celebrate after they won.

Fortunately, not a lot of interesting stuff has happened since Fall break. I dont know if it's because life reallyhas just been a little dull with classes and internship (oooh internship, how wonderful you've been for giving me time to catch up on my blog), or if I've just become desensitized to all the weird Africanness that would amaze me everyday. Whichever, I'm sure my Dad will be pleased that I finally updated. Now you'll have something to do at work!