Friday ended up being a typical African day: interesting, even fascinating sights, unexpected events, and periodic frustration.
I had let the Ogoudélés know that they were welcome to join us on Friday morning for a visit to the famous lake village of Ganvié. Most or all of them have been there before when I or others have made previous visits to them. I wasn't sure if they would come or not, and in the event they didn't make it. So at 9:00 the four of us walked down to the hotel boat dock where Joseph, the "driver" as he called himself, was waiting. We boarded, Josesph started the outboard motor, and we headed up the river toward Lake Nokoué. Passing the Dantokpa market on the water side provides some amazing views of teaming crowds coming and going, buying and selling, in less than clean and ideal conditions. Mounds of garbage accumulate, and in some places we saw children picking through them for anything useful, while in others tendrils of smoke rose from smoldering fires.
In shallower parts of the river, 10 meter (30 foot) or so long wooden boats were held in place by posts rammed into the river bed. Men and boys with buckets would take a deep breath, duck down to the bed holding both the buckets and the posts to keep from being taken by the current, and scoop up sand which they would then bring back up and hoist over the side into the boats. When the boats were full to the point of near sinking, they were floated down to the market where the sand would be sold to make concrete for construction.
There was a great deal of garbage in the water; some of it was organic but most of it was plastic sacs of various kinds. Every so often one would foul the prop and Joseph would put it in neutral, pull the sputtering motor up, and unwrap the plastic, throwing back in the water for next outboard that came along.
As we continued north, at the edge of the lake, we came to a fishing village with many houses built on posts over or on the edge of the water. Naked children and adults in various states of dress and undress went about their activities among high piles of empty clam shells and other detritus. As we continued north we wove back and forth between many lines of fish and shrimp traps. After nearly an hour we arrived in Ganvié. Marjolaine, Fiona and Tatiana have seen my photos and video of this fascinating village many times before, so they were excited to see it for themselves.
Ganvié was built in the 17th century during a time of tribal warfare. The Tofino tribe was under attack by a more powerful neighboring tribe which was capturing many people and selling them to the European slavers on the coast. They knew of a superstition that the enemy warriors couldn't cross water while at war, so the whole tribe moved out by pirogue to the middle of the lake and began living there. Their descendants still live there, and the village has become the number one tourist draw in Bénin. The visits must be done by boat though there are some official buildings (and the cemetery) on patches of dry land now that have either grown from detritus or from soil carried in by boat.
The closer we got to Ganvié the more we saw fishermen old and young either in the water building elaborate fish traps or balanced on the prow of their dugout canoes casting their nets.
We stopped at the "francophonie" building first. This welcoming structure was built about 10 years ago for a meeting of the French-government-sponsored group of French-speaking nations. They have rotating meetings in francophone nations to discuss extending the reach of French in the world. When such meetings come to the developing world there is often a flurry of tourists related construction to capitalize on all the visitors. We disembarked and took some photos, shot some video and Fiona and Tatiana bought a small painting from an artist as a souvenir.
We embarked again and floated through some of the main canals past the town hall, several churches, the statue of the king who founded the village, and the market, the central meeting point in the village. A new hotel is being built on the far side of Ganvié, and will be open for tourists in a few months. It looked like it would be quite nice. Joseph turned us around and we tied up at the hotel/restaurant "Carrefour"(Crossroads), where we again left the launch so we could have a cold soft drink. A small shy monkey was tired to a tree in the center of the compound. As we drank our Cokes and Sprites, and munched on roasted coconut meat, we looked through the souvenirs for sale, and stared out the windows at the activity in the market. Dozens of crisscrossing pirogues piloted mostly by women and children boasted all sorts of wares: fruits and vegetables, medicines, hardware and batteries, even lottery tickets. Across the canal on a patch of earth, blue-uniformed school children out on recess were yelling and running about, playing games. Nearby, a man was filling recipients with potable water from a wide hose for people who floated up to him with various large plastic containers. This was the most fascinating part of the excursion and we drank in all the animation for several minutes.
Before leaving we looked at hotel room number one built of bamboo and wood planking over the water. It had a bed with a mosquito net, an electric light, a bathroom complete with shower corner, sink and a sit-down toilet. As we entered we asked the cost per night, and were told it was 6500 CFA (about 13 dollars), as we walked out thanking the girl who showed us the room, the owner called over from her shop stall at the boat landing that we could have it for 5000 a night. We said we'd think it over and might stay over on our next visit. Then we embarked for the last time, and threaded our way through the canals on our way back to the hotel. As we neared the hotel Joseph stopped the motor and explained that if we wanted to give him a tip now was the time to do it, because if we waited until we got back he would have to share it with other staff. I gave him 2000 CFA, at which he beamed. The entire trip had taken a little over three hours.
After lunch I went in to confirm our onward flight to Douala, Cameroon on the Monday night Air Ivoire flight. The kindly woman behind the office desk looked at the tickets I handed her and checked her computer screen. Then she told me "you have tickets but you don't have reservations," meaning we had tickets for that day but no seats had been reserved for us. "I don't have any seats for you now, but I will try to find you some" she told me taking my contact information. This is not an uncommon experience in this part of the world, and I don't anticipate a problem, but it is always a little unsettling. I'll check back with her on Monday.
Then I drove to the Immigration office to pick up the passports. The official asked the nationality. When I said "US", she opened the appropriate drawer, and pulled out the three passports with the paperwork. She had me sign papers, and I checked the papers and a passport to make sure they were the right ones. As it turned out I should have checked all three passports. That evening when I got back to the hotel and pulled the passports out to double check the visa dates, I found that I had been given Marjolaine's and Tatiana's passport but that the third belonged to someone else's four-year old daughter named Fatou. We don't for the moment have Fiona's passport. We're praying it can be found Monday when the office reopens, especially since we're supposed to fly out later that day....
Friday evening we had a sandwich early so that we could be ready for a Bible Study at the Ogoudélés at 19:00 (7:00 pm). Mr. Ogoudélé rode to the hotel on his motorbike so that he could guide a taxi to his home. The Ogoudélé family lives in the popular quarter of Akpakpa on the outskirts of Cotonou, toward Lagos in Nigeria. Leaving the main road, we turned off the pavement and onto sand streets with deep holes filled with water and high bumps from heavy traffic passage. Drivers have to slalom back and forth as well as up and down to negotiate the streets which are left to themselves, with no apparent maintenance whatsoever. The rainy seasons are the worst, since the runoff digs out large, deep depressions that when filled with water can drown vehicles whose drivers don't take care.
We arrived just on time and I was happy to see several new faces, people who has recently begun attending with the small congregation in Cotonou. I opened with prayer and followed by asking if there were any questions. I often find it useful, rather that just presenting a prepared study topic, to take questions, especially since we only see each other several times a year. We easily filled an hour discussing various Biblical topics including how to live a Christian life in a world increasingly going a different direction, how Christians are to remain separate from the wrong ways of the world, what happens after death, and the various festival observances taught in both the Old and New Testaments. The questions were earnest and in large part based on personal experience, so it seemed instructive and useful. Afterwards we chatted for a while and got to know the new people some of whom didn't speak French (conversations requiring translation)
A little after 21:00 (9:00 pm) we said goodbye for the evening, and drove back. At the hotel, I had my last unpleasant surprise as I prepare for bed. As I took off my rimless eye glasses to clean them, they broke at the nose piece and fell into two pieces in my hand. For many years I traveled with a spare pair of glasses but I never needed them for years (this is the first time in 10 years), so I finally didn't bother bringing them any more. I have with me some disposable contact lenses but only enough for one week (it's so dusty and gritty in sub-Saharan Africa that I had to give up on contact lenses here). So I started thinking about my options. Marjolaine laughed as I stuck one lens in my eye like Colonel Klink with his monocle and enumerated the possibilities: first, try to get the glasses repaired in Cotonou (I didn't have much hope that this would work), second, call my ophthalmologist in Cincinnati and have either a new pair of glasses or more contacts lenses express mailed to Rwanda or South Africa, third, have him send me the prescription to have another pair made in either Rwanda or South Africa, or fourth some combination of numbers two and three.
I went to bed thinking with several things weighing on my mind....
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