...part I of the black, rubbish-trash bag adventure...

The bright African sun that had been blazing down on the dock just moments before was rapidly being replaced by a dark cloud cover. The gentle breeze coming off the ocean started to pick up and with it came more grey-black clouds. The ominous appearance of the clouds suggested sheets of water would soon be dropping from the sky. There was a refreshing, tangible temperature drop in the air. I looked at the menacing sky wondering if my friends and I would have to cancel the adventure we had planned for the weekend. The four of us stood by our bicycles on the dock as a torrential rain burst forth from the heavens. We ran for cover under the dockside tents that double as a patient waiting area. We contemplated our next plan of action. We took a vote & determined that a little African rain storm would not spoil our planned adventure. One of my friends ran back inside the ship & returned with a handful of large, black, rubbish-trash bags for each of us. I quickly donned one and secured one over-around my back-pack. Other crew members stood on the gangway, laughing at us, reporting we were crazy, but wishing us well. We peddled out the port gate and my friend questioned if we were abusing God’s grace. I turned that question into a prayer & said, “God please give us your grace if we are being stupid.”



We peddled along people-packed dirt roads, through the market, through puddles, and out of Lomé toward Lac Togo (Lake Togo), our weekend destination, a mere 27 kilometers away. We splashed along through puddle after puddle, mud sloshing up all over our legs & bodies. I continued to cycle along, taking in all the sights & sounds around me. I took a deep breath & smiled, I was home again, in Africa!


We rode kilometer after kilometer, sometimes side-by-side, sometimes single file. We thanked God for the rainfall and cooler air that made the ride pleasantly easier than we had anticipated. We passed little stores, grass-mud huts, hotels, wood-working stands, restaurants, goats running through the streets, naked children bathing, women & children working in fields, the beach, women washing clothing in mud puddles; we passed the beauty of God’s creation.


As I peddled along I had the chance to practice a few of my French phrases as it is customary & entirely rude if one does not greet those they pass on the street. Kilometer after kilometer I said, “Bonjour (good-morning), Bonjour, Comment çe va (how are you)? Bonjour Madame…Bonjour Monsieur… Bonjour…Comment çe va?...” I just kept smiling, peddling, and greeting all those we passed. I laughed as some little; toothless, old men on the side of the road clapped & cheered my friends and me on. I prayed for those going really fast on motorcycles who were so intrigued with four white people riding bikes in the bush that they forgot to watch the road, and instead would stare backward at us until we were out of sight, a dangerous activity with cars coming toward them from the other direction!


I did my best to wave at all the little dark skinned, kids on the side of the road as they jumped up and down singing what we have come to call the “Yovo song”…A little chant that echoes throughout the streets of Togo anywhere a white person is seen. I was amazed at the fact that just when I thought no one was around, out of a field or abandoned looking house-shack-hut, I would hear “Yovo, Yovo, bonsoir, çe va? çe va bien merci! Yovo, Yovo, bonsoir, çe va? çe va bien merci! (White person, white person, afternoon! How are you? I’m fine, thank-you!) Many times I couldn’t even see the little singer, but could only hear the precious, endearing, song!


Early afternoon- we finally reached our destination; Lac Togo & some little bungalows we had hoped to stay at over night. We dropped our back-packs off in our rooms, checked out the lake (contemplating jumping in, but not certain of its “hidden treasures” possible parasites that unleash havoc on one’s body after they secretly burrow in your skin), ate the sandwiches we had packed for lunch, and then chatted about our plan for the rest of the day. It was decided that we hadn’t had enough bike riding for the day, so we headed out on the road again. We decided we would see where we ended up. One destination could have been the Benin border, but we determined we would listen to our muscles and then go from there.


Out on the road again, we passed the little town of Agbodrafo and some other towns with names I could never pronounce & that don’t show up on any maps. It was getting late in the afternoon & we concluded we should find somewhere to get a coke & turn back. We didn’t want to be out on the road in the dark, even though my African friends joke with me, saying, “you glow in the dark” because of my skin color. I didn’t trust my skin color to be my safety reflectors.


We stopped in Aného, the old 19th century, colonial capital of Togo. This city was once a Portuguese slave-trade port. All that remains of its grand history are crumbling buildings that barely show how incredible the city once was. We found a hotel on the beach & enjoyed a coke with the sound of waves crashing against the shore in the background. After our brief break, we mounted our bikes once again to return to Lac Togo. We enjoyed a lovely super back at our beach bungalow, drenched ourselves in mosquito spray, & crashed in bed after making sure our room was cockroach free.

Stay tuned for Part II of this adventure!