10-10-10 in togo!

On September 9, 1999, Oprah had a little girl on her show because she was turning nine. That's it. Turning nine on 9/9/99 and you're on Oprah. I remember realizing that one day I would celebrate my birthday on 10-10-10, and even though  I wouldn't exactly be turning ten, I figured that was still talk-show worthy. So all last week, I anxiously awaited Oprah's call. But, my phone stopped working in Togo so she wasn't able to reach me, I guess. I suppose I'll have to wait until the next 10-10-10 rolls around

Yes, I spent the weekend in Togo- the skinny little country that borders Ghana to the east. I wasn't sure what to expect there. I knew they spoke French, but beyond that- would it look pretty much the same? smell the same? sell the same food? Would people look the same? Would I hear different music? Honestly, I didn't anticipate it being too different from the world I've been living in for the last two months.

But the moment we crossed the border (only after waiting two hours for an expensive visa while we watched African after African bribe their way across the border), everything changed. There was a newer quality in the air- cleaner, fresher, calmer. The beach was all the colors that a beach is supposed to be, minus the black trash bags and bottles that sunbathe along Ghana's pasty shores. People milled about in flashy shirts and capris. Actually, everyone was wearing capris. Literally everyone. We exchanged our money from cedis to CFAS which was really just so troublesome. It's roughly 1,000 CFA to 3 cedis. Doesn't that just seem inherently wrong?

A loud roar and we were surrounded by the greatest invention there ever was: moto-taxis. The two among us with some remnants of high school French took the lead on bartering and we were off. As we zoomed down the coast, I realized I had never been on a motorcycle before. The sensation was probably akin to the look on my face my mom remembers when I tried ice cream for the first time: Why have you been hiding this from me? The thrill of cruising down that road with a whole new country on my left and the Atlantic on my right over-shadowed the small part of my Type A brain that was calculating the risk involved on such a vehicle, without a helmet, on a dirt road with 42 potholes for every stoplight. I didn't care. I was on a moto-taxi.

We arrived at our hotel, Le Galion. It is an adorable guesthouse owned by a French couple featuring an open-air cafe, a balcony, and high-ceilinged rooms that let me pretend, just for the weekend, that I had studied abroad in Europe. I was blown away by how different this country was; Ghana's next-door neighbor looks nothing like it! How is it that none of the influences have seeped across the border even a little? Not even any of the food...?

Oh, the food. That night my friends let me choose the restaurant from the recommended list in our guide book, and I'm not trying to brag or anything, but- I CHOSE WELL. Greenfield might be the best dining experience I have ever had and I fully realize the role that context plays in that superlative. We walk in and Jason Mraz is playing. For those who don't know, Jason is my all-time favorite. And he was playing that night in a restaurant in Togo. Thank you, universe. The outdoor seating area was lovely, covered in brightly colored lanterns and funky artwork.

I can't really describe the ecstasy of reading the menu, but I'll do my best. The suspense was heightened by having to wait for Liz's sloppy but fairly accurate translation of each item I pointed to. I grew more and more overwhelmed by the options before me until I flipped to the last page and saw a word I recognized all too well: guacamole. Yes friends, guacamole. So, one order of guac and chips, a huge plate of ravioli, two scoops of ice cream and one martini (!) later, I sat back, full. Full of food and full of gratitude.  I looked around at the faces of those who had become such quick friends and marveled at their willingness to go to such great lengths to celebrate 21 years they had only been a part of for two months. I am blessed to add these six to my relational world and I was so lucky to have them with me this weekend.

Then we were off to Privilege- the largest night club in all of West Africa where we met the Tunisian soccer team coaches and learned of a big game the next day, lounged on the cheetah couches, made some Israeli friends, and danced to Shakira's "Waka Waka" which the DJ allowed us to request over and over and over.

Sunday morning was spent at the beautiful beach. Looking for every excuse to moto-taxi, I volunteered to go find food, run back to the hotel, find a spot farther down on the beach, etcetera, etcetera.

We decided to check out the Togo-Tunisia soccer game, especially now that we had an in with the coaches. It was unlike any professional sports experience I have ever been a part of. The game was free to get in and try as they might to maintain some kind of orderly entrance, the policemen (with beating sticks in hand) were outnumbered by the hundreds of people pushing against the gates, jumping over and under the fences (we went under- I had a dress on), and scrambling up, up and up to find a place to sit down. I legitimately think the whole country was in attendance. The game itself was very entertaining; fights periodically broke out around us over who knows what, and I came to the conclusion that those horns are only obnoxious if you don't have one yourself.  Tunisia came out victorious and the cold rain at the end of the game echoed the nation's disappointment but we were happy for our buddies.

That night came and went with more new friends who we couldn't really communicate with, crepes, baguettes, and some reflection, perched, as we were, at the halfway point of our trip. Hard to believe.

Monday, we took a day trip to a small village called Togoville that can only be reached by canoe. Our bargaining efforts with the canoe man were pretty unsuccessful given that we really had no other way to get to the town. He could basically charge us whatever he wanted. And he did. He really did.

It was a pretty impoverished town but their claim to fame is a beautiful cathedral on the water with outdoor pews reminiscent of church at K-West. It is also the namesake of this deflated-balloon shaped country. It is believed that the virgin mary is in Lake Togo that surrounds the village and for this reason, Pope John Paul II and many others have made the trek out to this sacred place. There was a sign by the entrance that explained some of this and at the bottom in bold red ink, it read:

pray for us.

I don't know why that got to me, but I was struck by the simple profundity of that request. I sometimes feel so overcome by the problems and plagues of the poor that I forget the power of prayer. I am not as helpless as I fancy myself. If nothing else, if I never come back here, if I never send money or clothes to these people, I can at least pray for them. As they have asked me to.

I'm glad we saw Togoville. I think I would have left with a false impression of this country had we not. Overall, it was a wonderful getaway and an important reminder of what we all know but so often forget; that Africa is made up of many many different countries that happen to be close to one another. It is unfair and blatantly incorrect to clump these drastically different regions into one big blob of being as we so often do. Each country has their own unique challenges, histories, politics, traditions, and values and they ought to be thought of as such.

So, Lome, Togo has been added to my list of favorite places. And this birthday hs been added to the ranks of the pre-school castle party, the American Girl movie-star shindig, 8 for Dinner, and the sweet sixteen costume party. But be sure to tune into Oprah in 2110. You might just see a familiar face.