Tatas, Atakpame, Lome....Benin!

The next day all of the things that Stacie had been doing, training, trip to Morocco, getting ready for us, the Fete, the Camu and village life in general had taken its toll. In addition to all of that she had a spill on a moto (motorcycle taxi) and she was skinned up and bruised. We all agreed that she should indulge in electricity and running water at our motel room, while we traveled north to Kande and see the Tamberma Compounds or Mud Fortresses called Tatas. John and I both wanted to see these working villages and a Peace Corps Volunteer in the area had agreed to arrange it for us.

During the time of the slave traders, people who were trying to protect their families escaped to the north and built the compounds for safety. Everything about them were designed to watch for enemies and to protect themselves. They used what they had, mud and sticks. The structures were impressive to say the least. They were of various dimensions, but most at least four stories high including the "pantries" or food and grain cashes on the corners that looked like turrets on a castle. They also served as lookouts for enemies. They had secret hiding places for the children and holes strategically placed for shooting arrows. They had everything they needed within their walls to keep safe from the ruthless exploiters of human beings.

The Taxi north didn't sound like it would make it. The rear end howled and shuddered the driver coasted down every hill trying to extend the life of a car that should have already died. He wanted to drive us around the Koutamakou area and back, but we had already made arrangements with Mary the volunteer who lived in Kande.

We walked with her to a complex housing young people who lived in a type of gardening and farming commune. Akanto, a young man who runs the operation works with kids teaching them skills and giving them an opportunity for an education. The produce pays for the expenses. He gave us the use of his car and we paid the driver who was from the Koutamakou area to take us on a tour of a Tamberma Compound.

The Tatas were indeed very impressive and we were allowed to go inside and climb up the three levels to the rooftop of one of the fortresses. The village chief wanted us to take a picture with him and some of the villagers sold us ceramic creatures. Our guide explained the structures and culture of his people. It was really interesting and fun being a ceramic artist in a mud fort!

It was getting dark and we had a long way to go, so we started back down the dirt road out of the Koutamakou area. As we made our way the car lurched there was a loud sound of metal breaking and simultaneously the car came to a sudden stop, listing to one side. It didn't look good. The entire wheel had broken off and the car was sitting on it sideways.

Mary was on her phone talking to the owner of the car trying to figure out our options. A group of kids of who were walking down the road stopped to watch and a couple of motorcycles stopped and the people riding them talked with the driver who was extremely distressed and I thought was possibly close to tears. Quite a crowd had gathered but nothing was actually being done to help our predicament, it was more like sideshow entertainment.

Then a Bush Taxi that had furniture strapped to the roof and was filled to the brim with people, yams, chickens and luggage stopped. The driver was from Kara and recognized us from the Camu a few days earlier. He offered to take us back to Kara, so we arranged to meet him in Kande as soon as our replacement car arrived.

The full moon lit the dark night as we waited and hoped the Bush Taxi wouldn't leave for Kara without us. It was only a few hours, but it seemed longer, a car came, we hopped in and they got out and started working on the broken car. Mary kept apologizing as if somehow it was her fault. We really appreciated having her there to interpret for us and making all of the arrangements. It was a true African experience.
Eventually we made it back into town and the bush taxi did wait for us and removed some of the yams & furniture as well! It was really late when we got back to our Hotel, the Bush Taxi let us out right in front and of course Stacie was really worried, but the trip from Kande to Kara was one of the better rides we had in Africa.

The next day we bought bus tickets for a trip to Atakpame. The owner of the hotel gave us a ride to the bus station because there are only moto taxis in town and we had 50 pounds of luggage each, and the bus terminal was a couple of miles away. We were so thankful!!!!

Another volunteer who was getting on the bus, said, "Bad news no air conditioning, good news the TV is broken!" "They like to play really lousy Nigerian Soap Operas that are similar to Bollywood only worse", Stacie told us, "the air conditioning never works, and the windows don't open, but it's not a Bush Taxi, you get a whole seat to yourself!"

We spent the night in Atakpame at a hotel with a rooftop restaurant. One of the fun things about Africa is the restaurants. They give you a menu and when you try to order something they say, "finish" which means they don't have it. Then when you finally find out what they do have, it isn't even on the menu, so you order it and then they bring you something completely different! Because you're so hot, tired and thirsty you really don't care as long as they bring a cold beer with it.

Bush Taxis, as I have described before are an African transportation system that really cannot be explained, just experienced. We survived the trip to Cat's house in Badou, we had cold beer, shopped the marche, cooked chicken curry, hand washed our laundry and spent the night. In the morning we had leftovers for breakfast then took a Bush Taxi back to Atakpame.

It was really hard to say goodbye to Stacie, but she headed home and we went south to Lome in a different Bush Taxi. Many painful hours later we arrived, but we stayed in a different hotel than the one before that was running a drug ring.

The next day we carried our luggage down the dirt road to the main street. John flagged a taxi and haggled a price to take us to the square where we could arrange transportation to Cotonou, Benin. We hadn't gone far when the Taxi driver flagged another car. It pulled in front of us and we all stopped. Two big guys jumped out and surrounded our car poking their heads in through the windows and shouting in French. In spite of the craziness of it all we realized they were going to Cotonou, we haggled a price, transferred our luggage and hopped into their car and off we went. They were happy, John was happy - I was scared. Turns out my fears were unwarranted. They walked/held our hands through the boarder crossing and delivered us safely to our destination in Benin.

The Camu

We were invited to a Camu in Lama-Kpedah, the village in Togo where Stacie lives. The event promised to be an experience of a life time....it did not disappoint. Upon our arrival we were treated as honored guest along with Stacie. Working our way through an immense pulsating crowd filled with dancing Africans in all manner of dress from traditional to European to young men in dresses. When we inquired about this anomaly we were told, "it is ambiance." Eventually we came upon the mud hut compound of Mr. Boutuli who had insisted we attend his Camu. Happy dancing people greeted us with chouk, hugs and the Togo Handshake, which when done correctly ends with a nice snap of fingers.

Mr. Boutuli ushered us into a dark mud hut where a table was set with a meal for us African Style. He was very excited and animated explaining about the food before us, as our daughter interpreted that along with the rice, spaghetti noodles the red sauce contained meat from a creature he had caught just this morning and prepared it himself. He couldn't think of the word for it in French, but when described Stacie recognized it as Bush rat! He was very proud and happy to have us as his guests.

I helped myself to some rice and spaghetti, then Mr. Boutuli generously spooned red sauce on top and last but not least a nice big chunk of gray meat. When everyone had been served he took out a bottle of gin and poured a shot glass full then passed it around. Thinking of the looming cuisine before me I gulped down 1/2 of the gin and passed it to John. The red sauce was tasty and the rice and noodles soaked it up nicely. I summed up the courage to try the morsel of impending doom. I lifted it on my fork to my mouth and tried to bite it without success. The spongy rubbery substance thwarted any attempt to chew it. I examined it closely in the dim light I could make out tubes projecting from the spongy mass and quickly accessed the recesses of my mind for a distant memory of a certain biology class of dissection. I searched for identification of the tissue before me. Upon realization of the match: Lung Tissue. My throat instantly snapped shut and now all of the gin in the world was not going to wash that down. Time for Plan B. Outside there was a commotion that caught the attention of our gracious host. As he exited the curtain clad door of the mud hut I executed Plan B. The tiny window before me opposite of the door was open and the offensive chunk took flight. As it was arching toward it, to my horror at the exact same time a woman passed by the window. Trajectory disaster would result in a collision of the meat with her head in an "OH-NO" second. But fate was with me that day and the rubberery projectile wobbled in flight then bounced off of the edge of the window, ricocheted back into the dark room and slapped around in the corners of the inky blackness. As I listened I wondered it it was only bouncing or if it had taken on a life of its own and was making its way out of the earthen womb where we sat.

Our host returned and we followed him to the soiree and we were swept into the gyrating crowd of Africans. Finger clackers were given to Stacie and I, John was given a knife to thrust about in a heathenistic fashion, stopping every few steps to slash the ground as instructed by the surrounding men dancers. Drums pounded horns blew as the dust rose in the frenzied mass of humanity swarmed in union to the rhythm of the evening. A full moon was rising as we exited the party. We recalled our experiences as we walked the dirt path back to compound where Stacie resided in the community. The chouk that was consumed the dinner that wasn't and how much joy and enthusiasm her village had.
　
　
　

　
　
　

Another day in Togo...

The day after the "Fete" we went to Hotel Kara and sat by the pool. Because of the holidays many of the PCV's were in transit. So when the word got out that we were at the pool an impromptu party happened. Danny who is posted in the far north of Togo and Danyelka showed up. He is a second term PCV and Danyelka is his girlfriend from his first post in Nicaragua. They were getting her VISA extended. Lizie who is stationed in the northeast, and Emily who is to the east, also were there. Kara is a hub for transportation and it just so happened they were all passing through and felt an afternoon at the pool before they went to their reclusive posts was in order. Stac and Lizie who is from Louisiana caught a Zed (motorcycle transport) and brought back CHEEZEBURGERS!!!!!! This was something special for all of us and was quite a treat. Things like this are just not available in most areas. Later that evening we went to a Togolese Restaurant and had authentic food, which was delicious :) Pate is a starchy substance from...um....boiled cornflour? There was also a dumpling thingy and rice. You picked out what type of meat or tofu you wanted and a sauce. They make tofu in Kara for the country...ironic that Stacie had to stop being a vegetarian to become a volunteer....The really funny part is I think she was so meat deprived she seems to have gone the other direction! She said when she sees a chicken it is just like the cartoons. She sees a drumstick and meat walking by.

The next morning Stacie and I went to the Marche to buy food for breakfast and dinner. It was something like a very large permanent Saturday/Farmers Market. The difference being you really don't have other options. Add the fact there is no refrigeration = creative cooking and LOTS of planning. Most of the time what you make for dinner sits on the stove overnight and you heat it up in the morning to boiling for at least five minutes, that would be breakfast. There is no "stocking up" on anything because the rats or bugs will get to it before you do. Inside the Marche there are hundreds of tables and smells, some good, some not so much...

Buying meat is a challenge you have to look past the flies, make sure it was killed that day, know what color fresh meat and fat should look like, work your way around the less desirable body parts (i.e. the head with eyes that seem to follow you, the feet, tail, hide and bucket o' stuff) then examine the carcass, indicate what chunk you desire while they hack it off with a machete. All the while the smell of blood and offal fill the air. I found that if I repeated to myself, "I'll cook this to death" over and over, then I was able to execute the deal.

I followed Stacie through the Marche holding a cloth bag. She haggled each merchant over each vegetable we needed. She had her preferred vendors and tried to get something from each one. They knew who she was and shouted Pialo as we worked through the crowd. Some of the women she saluted even if we didn't buy anything that day. They really appreciated it. I never learned how to properly salute. It is something like, "Hi (insert name) how are you? Your health? Your family? Your house? Goats etc... In turn they ask you the same. It is quite a process and can last up to 20 minutes or more if Tchouk is involved.

Papa John and Stacie walked into village one afternoon for Tchouk Saluting. I stayed behind and prepared for dinner. I found out that if I had every ingredient chopped and ready, that it was much easier to cook with a headlamp. It starts getting dark in her house at 5 pm with the dust & smoke even less light. We ate on her porch by candlelight at night and battled chickens by day.

John had a "Togo French" lesson with Marie, Stacie's French tutor. The volunteers all came out for breakfast at Stacie's and then left for their villages. There wasn't anything left for another meal, but I got to cook again. Everyday in Africa is a challenge, just to accomplish the most basic preparations for life. If you can achieve one goal beyond basic needs, it was a very good day indeed.
　
　
　

A Visit with Stacie

It was so good to see Stacie and to meet her people! This includes the "Village People", Peace Corps People, Business People (i.e. Post Office, Internet Cafe, Marche and whoever else she deals with along the way). Stac is able to converse with people fluently in "Togo French" which is its own unique flavor and Kabiye, the local language in Kara. Everyone calls her Pialo and I was quickly dubbed PialoMama or PialoPhotocopie.

Stacie lives and a small house in a compound with a few other families. There is no electricity or running water. She has a small two burner gas cook top and a charcoal stove for cooking longer than 20 minutes. Mazzie is Stacie's puppy. She looks like a small version of Sandy, Orphan Anne's dog. Mr. Bojangles, Stacie's cat had her second batch of kitties while we were there. Only two lived. Dogs and cats are eaten as delicacies and there is little medical treatment for people, much less animals. Garbage is dumped into big heaps and burned, or in the city of Kara dumped into the creeks and gutters where pigs, chickens, goats and whatever else picks over it. There was a huge colony of huge bats in one large tree possibly fruit bats. Some of the main streets are paved, but most are dirt. It is Harmaton season which is what they call cool/dry. Dust from the Sahara Desert fills the air along with smoke from the field and garbage burning. The people are downtrodden but very nice. We were never threatened or had anything stolen or even an attempt to do so. The Peace Corps is there for a reason, it is an extremely poor country with poor infrastructure. Neighboring countries seem to be better off in so many ways. All across Africa we experienced power & water outages lasting from hours to a day or more.

In Stacie's village Lama-kpedah, were treated like celebrities. Stacie threw a Fete for us. She bought two goats which the neighbors slaughtered and prepared as well as rice and Tchouk, the local brew of millet...an acquired taste that I did not acquire. Drummers came to her house in a compound and led the procession. We had finger clackers and danced parade style down the dirt path past many other compounds to the grade school where the entire village came out to greet us. Even the Chief! A large group of women were dressed in matching panyan (a lightweight, brightly colored fabric with wild designs so sweat doesn't show - brilliant!) They danced and sang for us and then we were instructed to join them. Benches were brought out and we sat while village politicians made speeches in Kabiye, which were translated into French and Stac translated for us. After a few of them spoke she would say, they too are very glad you are here, you are the first PCV parents to visit their village. Finally it was time for more eating, drinking and dancing. The heat, dust and smoke took a toll on us and we quietly left the party and walked back along a moonlit path to Stacie's house. Shortly after we heard the sounds of drums and singing coming closer. The courtyard filled with musicians, dancers and party goers. who finished the night there.

We got to experience the African forms of transportation:
Bush Taxi or Bus = sardines but smells worse and packed in tighter, may include vegetables, animals or any other thing you cannot even believe or imagine to be true. Then you flail down the worst pot hole, dusty excuse for a road dodging other similar vehicles, motorcycles, pedestrians, animals or anything else you cannot even believe to be possible such as fallen trees or fires burning uncontrolled. Not to mention unbearable heat/humidity sweaty, smelling, stinky humanity...oh...wait that was me. Throw in the driver stopping to salute his friends along the way, one or two of the five people in the front seat getting out to walk around the police check point, who also have to be bribed to continue anyway. Not at all relieving pressure of the people packed into the back of the car trying to sit on one cheek in effort to somehow make a four passenger car into eight, or a van meant for nine to hold 20. Fill the vehicle with dust and smoke, jolting from ditch to ditch, while still hitting every pothole, slamming down with such force that the wheel falls off (yes this happened) but most likely overheats requiring the driver to stop every 15 minutes to add water. This will last four to eight hours depending on your destination, which if you do achieve this, it is considered a successful trip.

Alternately in town the Zed, Moto, boda-boda or whatever you call motorcycles, carry people, animals, vegetables, or any other thing that you can't even imagine or believe. Flail down the street through pot holes, bumps, dodging pedestrians, animals, or any other thing that you can't even imagine or believe. No helmet on driver or passenger, fast as possible, if the road is paved, there is no such things as lanes or set directions in any direction, speeding vehicles and humanity hoping to reach their destination and survive another day in Africa. No wonder they dance and party harder than anyone else - they live each day as if it were their last and very soon, most likely they will be right.

We had a awesome time with Stacie. It went way too fast. We have many more stories that I will send as we have Internet time.

We miss you all!!!!!

MamaPhotocopie & Papa John

Ghana to Togo

"Soooo.... this is Togo......" Stacie turned to me and smiled as she said it. We had just walked out of the air conditioned office of the Ghana Boarder Control, and across the dirt road through throngs of beggars and masses of vehicles to the Togo Boarder Control Office. It resembled an old open air, wooden school bus shelter with armed men flanking a uniformed man seated at a desk. There wasn't enough room in front of the desk to accommodate baggage and more than one person. With 50 lbs. of luggage strapped to me and sweat dripping off of my face as if I were the human form of Niagara falls, I tried to fill out the requisite paperwork we had to complete at every boarder crossing. Forms when you enter, forms when you leave. Basic information of identification, dates, reason for your visit, type of transportation, how much money you have and whatever else they deem critical at that particular time.

It was the same day that we had picked up Stacie at 4 am from the Ghana Airport. It was so good to see her coming out of the terminal just as we arrived. After a very long group hug, we went made our way back to the Oceanfront Lodge in Accra where we were Staying.

Stacie had spent a week with her friend Rachel in Morocco. We agreed to meet her in Ghana, then travel to Togo. So far it had gone according to plan. Stacie has skills for haggling that are unmatched. She arranged for a taxi to drive us to the boarder and informed us how much we'd need to pay and in a few hours we were there.

When we left the Togo Boarder Office a guard called to us, he spoke to Stacie in French indicating that he wanted to search our bags. Stacie pushed her backpack towards him and with a smile explained to him that she lived in Togo and spoke to him in Kabiye. She gave him the Togo handshake and he melted like an ice cream cone in the heat of Africa. She later told us they like to detain you in order to get a bribe. He wasn't able to resist her charm that day, and we once again we looking for a taxi in the throngs of hawkers, beggars, Nigerian Money Changers, merchants, motorcycles, cars, buses and trucks.

The Mediterranean Hotel where Stacie suggested we spend the night before heading north to Kara was modest and had a roof top restaurant. We were all exhausted from the travel du jour but Stacie was sick and getting worse. I gave her some medicine and she went to bed.

John and I walked along the beach to an ATM for some local currency. We hurried because it was late in the afternoon and it is not safe at night. After we successfully filled our pockets with CFA's and were on our way back, John whispered to me, "don't look there's someone who's naked across the street." I looked. Yep, there was a very tall, very skinny, very naked person. "Was that a man or a woman?" he questioned. "Don't know, didn't look that close," I replied. The mentally ill people in Togo are called a Foo, Stacie informed us when we told her about it the next day. She said that in her village they kept them shackled in a house.

I noticed as we got closer to the hotel, that the evening sky was filled with big black birds. It suddenly became evident that they were actually big bats. We quickly made it back to the safety of our hotel at least that's what we thought, but the events of the long day took yet another turn...

A nice cool breeze wafted over us as we sat at the otherwise unoccupied roof top restaurant, while we sipped on glasses of cold white wine from the bottle we had ordered. A tall, swarthy man came up the stairs and walked up to our table. He inquired weather he might sit with us and ordered a bottle of wine to share. It wasn't something that would happen in America, but we were used to adjusting to situations after two months of world traveling.

He introduced himself as, "Aziz" and immediately dominated the conversation with broken English and centered it upon himself. Where he lived, traveled to, what he liked, how he had just come from a very large party at the beach, how much he drank and that he was in the cosmetics industry. He went on to say that times were difficult because he couldn't find drivers for his cargo that was sitting on the docks. He told us that we could go to is house and have a party or stay or whatever we liked. He said he was able to get hashish, cocaine or anything else we might like. Before he was done saying these things, the owner of the Hotel, a Lebanese man, arrived at our table carrying a hookah that he was puffing away on. He sat and looked at us with eyes at half mast and offered us a smoke, which we declined.

The two men exchanged conversation in a language that neither one of us knew, but most it was most likely Arabic. I leaned over to John and in a low steady voice said, "go with the flow". At this point we were just looking for an exit. We had nibbled on our dinner and the Hotel owner was called away by the staff. I made my move, it would be easier if we left one at a time....well easier for me anyway. I quickly said that I must go check on my daughter and departed.

Stacie was asleep and soon I was too. The next day John related to me the rest of the story of the Night We Had Dinner With A Drug Lord. He told me of how after seeing the movie, God Father, we would wake up with a horse head in our bed if we owed this guy a favor, and so therefore bought yet another bottle of wine to share with him. Aziz wanted to drive us to Stacie's village and was insisting on helping us. "My ability to handle liquor finally paid off," John said, "but I was only able to drink him under the table because he was already three sheets to the wind when he arrived."

Early the next morning we walked to the Peace Corps Headquarters in Lome in order for Stacie to file a reports. She introduced us to some of the other volunteers that were also visiting there. I relayed the story of our dinner guest and a the volunteer said, "Oh yeah, everyone knows they have a drug ring there."
Adam another PCV found out that we were going to Kara and wondered if he could hitch a ride with us. On the way up he and Stacie swapped stories of their Bush Taxi experiences while we waited along side of the road for the driver to add more water to the overheated car. Of the dozen or more times this occurred, only once we thought we would be killed, when the car died as we turned in front of a semi truck. I guess it wasn't our time to go, because it was a miracle the truck didn't hit us. About half way through the eight hour drive, the taxi driver apologized to us saying that another car would have to finish the trip. As we pulled into the next town and stopped, a car pulled up behind us. In less time than it took to add water into a radiator we were on our way in a different car with a different driver.

We realized as the driver dodged potholes, swerving from side to side while playing chicken with other drivers that there would be no dinner for us, and the early morning light breakfast was a distant memory. Stacie enthusiastically told us about a restaurant a couple of hours before we would reach Kara that served Life Changing Mutton Sandwiches! She had the number programed in her phone even. When we got to the landmark she deemed was the appropriate amount of warning, she phoned in our order. Indeed when we arrived our dinner was ready. The juicy mutton was thinly sliced, grilled with onions and tomatoes and served on a fresh crusty roll. Stacie was right.

It was late and dark when we finally reached Kara, but Stacie was really excited and kept exclaiming that it was the fastest, best trip that she had ever experienced from Lome to Kara. Adam agreed.

The Hotel in Kara where we stayed served us big ice cold beer upon our arrival. Stacie insisted on going the rest of the way home because she was so homesick.

Currency: Communaute Financiere Africaine - $1 USD = $490.90 CFA

Ghana

We were exhausted when we finally arrived in Accra, Ghana. So when the airport official who was checking our bags asked, "Where's my New Year's tip?" I just laughed, and she waived us through. Sometimes ignorance and laughter is a good combination for a bad situation....

We checked into a nice Oceanfront Lodge at a good price, however, the beach was not safe at night, garbage and raw sewage were dumped along the shore line. It could only be appreciated as a distant view from our room's window.

The weather was very hot and humid. The sky filled with smoke from burning heaps of garbage. In the streets, people put everything on their head and walked up and down in the traffic selling everything from water to fire extinguishers. They apparently do well because everyone is stuck in traffic most of the time.
We spent most of our time acquiring VISA's for Togo & Benin. It was an all day process for each country that involved filling out forms in triplicate, without the help of carbon paper or copy machines. They also made you pay in the currency of the country you wanted to visit even though you didn't have access to the currency until you arrived in the country. But not to worry for a nominal fee they gave us a crappy exchange rate in order to help us acquire the VISA.

After we successfully obtained VISA's for Togo and Benin, we realized that each country was taking more space in our passports that we thought. We were fast running out of room and wouldn't be able to make it around the world without more pages in our passports. We took a taxi to the US Embassy for more Passport pages only to find out that they closed at noon on Fridays, it was 1 pm or 13 o'clock as the rest of the world sees it. We would have to get them in another country.

We had one day to sight see before we collected Stacie from the airport and headed for Togo. We decided to go and see Kakun National Park which boasted of a Treetop walk in the jungle with a chance to see monkeys and tropical birds. We paid a taxi a flat day rate to drive us there and also to the Cape Coast Castle on the way back.

It was great to get out of the city and see the country side, but the smoke still filled the air from field burning. I saw vegetable stands and many other people selling things along the road sides. Then I saw something I couldn't identify. I asked the driver who told be it was Bush-rat and they sold it fresh or flat! Flat was a smoked version stretched over sticks with head, tail and feet still attached. I asked him if he ate it. He said it was quite good. I inquired if it tasted like chicken. To which he replied, "It is sweeter and much better than chicken."

The Treetop walk turned out to be aluminum ladders suspended from tree to tree with ropes for hand railing. It was precarious at best and bounced and swayed with each step. Out of a group of about 15 people only one turned back. I'm glad to say that it wasn't me. We didn't see any monkeys or birds, most likely because we were concentrating hanging on for dear life. When we were at the farthest point out and just the two of us were standing on a tree platform of patched plywood, I let out my monkey call, one I learned as a child by watching a chimpanzee on TV. A group of people the next tree over got very excited and started making the best monkey sounds they could muster. Jungles bring out the best in people.
The Cape Coast Castle sat on a rocky cliff with a beautiful view of fishing boats and a small village. The peaceful scene did not reflect the gruesome history of the slave trade that once darkened its shores.
The trip took much longer than we had anticipated and the driver was quite worried as we drove back in the dark. He told us the highway was very dangerous at night because of the bad drivers. He was right, but thanks to his good driving skills we made it OK. When we hit Accra the worst traffic jam since Toronto, Canada welcomed us. We sat for two more hours inching along while listening to the most obnoxious radio station that ever aired. It wouldn't have made it five minutes in the states.

Early the next morning we collected Stacie from the airport and took a taxi to the boarder....
　

Zanzibar

There are a lot of fancy and nice resorts in Zanzibar, we did not stay at them. Mainly because it was over the New Year and a lot of other people spend it there. We stayed in the old city called Stone Town. It was within a few blocks of the beach, but we couldn't swim because they dumped their garbage on the beach as well as the raw sewage. We were able to take a boat out to Prison Island one day and another to the south end where we swam with dolphins and snorkeled. On the way back we stopped at a park and saw monkeys.

Stone Town's heyday was back during the slave trade. It was an ugly history and what we heard and saw of it was gut wrenching. There is a very large Muslim population, and the mosques broad casted their prayers over loud speakers six times a day. Two were located on either side of our hotel resulting in a weird dueling chanting effect. When they were quiet the cats, kids and general population that was crammed into the small area of tall stone buildings with very narrow streets, created a continuous echo of sounds.

Our favorite spot was Mercury's named after the lead singer of Queen who was born in Zanzibar. But one night, as we walked along the waterfront esplanade, we came upon a big square lit with tiki torches and filled with tables heaping with every imaginable kind of seafood! The center was equipped with hot grills. As we walked around it "waiters" tried to sway us to their table. They were all pretty similar with the choice of precooked food, such as shish kebabs with shrimp, lobster, fish, scallops - pretty much anything you can imagine. In addition, all kinds of naan, breads, samosas, bananas, salads and other side dishes were displayed. We were overwhelmed with tantalizing smells and heaps of beautifully displayed tropical cuisine. We decided to walk around and look at all of the tables first. Each "waiter" had a schpeel such as, "our money helps orphans" or "I'm fisherman Jimmy and have the FRESHEST food and here's why...".

John thought it might be fun to get a something from different tables. When he selected a lobster kebab, samosa and salad, they heated the lobster on the grill and put it on a plate with two toothpicks. A napkin had to be requested. Seating was an unoccupied small patch of concrete wall we had located. Another "waiter" appeared and asked what fresh squeezed juice we would like. I had sugar cane with lime.

It was my turn. I thought that crab claws at Fisherman Jimmy's would work for me. John guarded our concrete real estate while I sought our our second course. When I arrived at the table and asked for Jimmy, I was told he was gone and the resident waiter said it was OK they all worked together. I had heard that before in Africa and believed it. But no sooner than he had handed me a plate and slapped a crab claw on it, Fisherman Jimmy appeared asking me where John was, at that moment he realized the other guy was serving me. Immediately Jimmy jumped the waiter yelling at him that I was his customer. In retaliation the waiter on the other side of me snatched the claw from my plate and shook it at Jimmy in the most threatening way possible. I stood between them quite shocked as they shouted at each other, and the waiter gesticulating with my dinner. I searched the crowd helplessly for an escape or solution to what seemed to be an inescapable problem. I saw one young man who was entirely entertained by my misery. However, I was not.

I interjected, "I asked for Fisherman Jimmy!" which was all of the leverage he needed to end the fiasco. The now empowered Jimmy grabbed my claw from the defeated waiter and slapped it onto my plate, which was still suspended in front of me. The waiter with one last act of aggression grabbed the claw off my plate and threw it back on the table. He glared at me coldly and hissed, "$5000" and stomped away.

Jimmy retrieved the claw, took my plate assuring me that he would crack it and heat it on the grill, and would I like some fresh lime & salt on it? Minutes later he returned and I handed him the $5,000. Jimmy looked stunned, "it is $15,000" he said. I dug in my pocket for the other $10,000. I found my way back to John and after devouring the over priced claw we called it quits. We didn't have the stomach to face the ordeal again. Whether the Crabby Waiter cursed us, or Fisherman Jimmy wasn't entirely truthful about the freshness of his seafood, we both suffered the "Revenge of the Crab Claw" for about a week.

Currency: Tanzania Shilling (TZS) $1 USD = $1,479 TZS