The light through the window this morning was orange and sickly like the lights of a deserted supermarket parking lot at midnight. Something like red sky in the morning (sailor take warning!) but we were not going sailing, thank goodness. After breakfast a rub behind the ears for Cookie, the dalmation who had been keeping us company for the past day, we hopped onto a taxi and made our way once again into the the pit of Lome. Marco described Lome as looking like a city that was in the process of rebuilding after a nuclear holocaust. I would put that as not far off the mark. Nevertheless, I have been consistently amazed at the functional chaos that we've experienced here, in the sense that it seems preposterous that things go and yet they always go and somehow everyone ekes out a living and the laundry gets done.
Squeezing into a taxi and yet again negotiating a price, we fearlessly navigated out way to the fetish market. You could see the horned and antlered heads of animals before you even got through the gates of the compound. Stacked high on tables are the feet of piglets, hedgehog skins, shriveled fetal chameleons, porcipine quills, the skulls of small monkeys, elephant jaws and brushes made of the hair of various animals. Eagles and hummingbirds and birds of all sizes in between are laid out in rows and sparkle with salt that is sprinkled on them to dry them out, their insides exposed and sweet rottom smelling, but not like death, like magic. Our guide took us up right away and brought us to see the Man to see, we entered his hut and he showed us the little charms and fetishes for good luck, good love, good memory and dreams and safe travel. The charm for good travel was my favorite. It was called a telephone fetish (I'll show you a picture shortly). The idea is that you speak to your fetish and whisper your travel plans into a tiny hole, then you seal the hole with the attached stick and then carry it with you in you pocket for the duration of your journey. Jen and Marco were also accidentaly united in marriage during a beautiful ceremony performed right before our eyes and much to everyone's surprise. We all selected the charms we were consisting taking with us and they were blessed appropriately and the proper benedictions were said. After this, we were each taken aside to visit the big fetish who had great wisdom and insight into what the proper price for them would be. When my turn came, the guide escorted me into another room where the big fetish lived. The Man selected four cowrie shells and threw them into the dirt at my feet. The configuration of the shells suggested to him that I should pay ten thousand CFA for each of the three charms I had selected. I furrowwd my brow a little and suggested that the fetish consider that I only had four thousand in my pocket. The fetish was not impressed and though she offered to let take one charm for myself for the four thousand, I thought that would be selfish so I politely declined and left the plastic bag and the three charms wrapped in brown paper on the floor of the hut. When I emerged into the light I knew I'd done the right thing, even though I must admit, I was concerned that if I left the place without my charms some ill omen would befall me. But, I figure I've got enough charms, thank you very much. So, I took pictures of kids and bought something else so fantastic (to mitigate any bad luck) that I can barely wait to show it to you.
We left that dusty city in the late afternoon, in a taxi that took us to the border where we bid au revoir to Togo and hello again Ghana. The passage across was a little hectic, people pouring across along narrow passageways, bottle-necking at passport controls and customs . We got to the other side fine and a blue arch topped with a black star blessed our entrance. Now we're on the road to Accra after boarding a bus from the market square, ourselves and our baggage being a point of interest for many vendors of things like undershirts, screwdriver sets, sodas, biscuits and the like. We got some coconut biscuit snacks for the road, passing the money through the window and into Rosemary's waiting hand. The first half of the ride was thought the dustiest red road, the traffic scaring up the dust and setting on everything. The trees and vehicles looked forlorn and oxidized by the roadside. We have been stopped at several check points so far and for some reason the police are very interested in a white sack stashed in the back, yet show no interest whatsoever into the big black box under Marco's feet that could very well hold guns or grenades but is just Nico's camera. The road to Ghana is smooth and I can see the gently bobbing and nodding heads of the fifteen passengers in front of me and the tail lights of John 3:16, the name of the car in front of us. I can't remember if I told you but religious references are ubiquitous here and often bless businesses and vehicles. More about that later.
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