Togo > Walking tour through Djamdé

During the night I wake up. There is a continuous sound of drums and singing. A night vigil is taking place for someone who has passed away. The music continues uninterrupted all night. I turn over in my tent and, following the rhythm of the music, fall asleep again. When I get up the next morning, the music is still playing, though less intensely. I wash with a basin of water, pack my belongings, and take down the tent. After breakfast, we walk through Djamdé with a local guide. He shows us the tobacco plants, the okra fruit, and the homemade grain silos. We visit a man who weaves baskets and are allowed to look inside his house. The walk gives a nice impression of daily life in Djamdé. The village children follow us at a safe distance.

Togo - Around the water well in Djamde

If they get too close or make too much noise, our guide sends them away. Passing the water well and voodoo symbols, we arrive at the home of the village chief. The chief, named Adam, is already waiting for us. He talks about his village. Adam is a friendly and humorous man. He tells us that he also has to go to Kara, like us. Outside, his car needs to be pushed to get started. Along the way, he drives past loudly honking. It’s only about twenty kilometers to Kara, and soon we enter the outskirts of the city. In the center, we make an extra round so Anani can point out the restaurants, interesting spots, and the internet café. Around 11:30, we arrive at the grounds of the most luxurious hotel in Kara—a beautiful hotel with a pool. In the afternoon, I walk through Kara.

Togo - In the photo with the village chief of Djamde

The local weekly market is busy in the center, especially with women doing their shopping. I walk among the people and respond with “bonjour” to everyone. Passing the stadium, I reach the edge of the center and find the internet café. There is only one internet option in Kara. I go inside and, to my surprise, must state in advance how long I want to use the internet. Not knowing the speed of the computers, I choose half an hour. Just as I send my emails, with eight minutes left on the clock, the power goes out again. This has happened at least once every day so far. The owner apologizes and offers to refund me, but I explain that I had already finished. Meanwhile, the power comes back on. On a terrace, I order a cola and write my daily journal. I start a conversation with the owner, explaining in my best French that I am from the Netherlands. She probably has never had tourists on her terrace. Street vendors come by as well but, surprisingly, leave me alone. Right next to me, a small fire is lit. A chicken is ready to be slaughtered. I realize I have never witnessed this before and watch with interest. Shortly after, the bird, plucked of its feathers, is placed above the fire. I walk back to the hotel via the market. On the hotel street, I pause at ‘Du Jardin’ for a beer in the courtyard—a wonderfully peaceful spot in this busy city. In the evening, we walk through the city and eat at ‘Du Château’ in the city center. Diagonally across from the restaurant, my travel guide advertises a nightclub as “the place to be.” It turns out the bar is only open on weekends. The security guard points us to Hotel Kara, where there is dancing—our own hotel. We walk back and eventually order a beer at one of the terraces on the way to the hotel.