When you’ve crossed a land border in Israel the West African version is somewhat underwhelming. We got to the border in another tro-tro, this one ruthlessly fast but safely driven with no air-conditioning but plenty of air-cooling coming in the open windows. We were deposited in Afloa, the tro-tro station being a convenient walk from the border.
We crouched in the shade of a wall while we ate leftover pizza we had brought with us and I tried to ring MTN, the mobile company we had a Ghanaian SIM with, in the vain hope of finding out whether the SIM would work in Togo. This being a public holiday for New Year’s Day (actually Monday the second) I got the expected waiting music which made for some entertainment while I chomped my food.
Afloa in Ghana borders with the capital of Togo which is called Lome. It is on the coast so as you walk up to the border you catch glimpses of the glistening water and tanker ships out on the horizon. It’s a very pretty spot for a border, but this is not the place to be sightseeing. We had important things to do like stand in line and watch bored officials stamp our passports. Getting out of Ghana was simple enough once we had established where the passport office was. We were checked by the officials then waved through by guards. On the Togolese side the official held court on the verandah of a dilapidated building with the sea sparkling behind him. We were purchasing a seven day visa which required a hell of a lot of stamps, including one postage stamp showing the price. It makes a nice change for passport geeks in these days of visa waivers and no stamps at all in many places.
Sarah confessed later to being annoyed at how slow he was going but I would rather have a well done visa than a slap dash version with mistakes in it. We didn’t have any urgent need to get going. It was just after lunch and the sun had some sting in it. The official called over a passing boy selling cold drinks from a cart, then told him to wait in a classic power play. When he finally ordered the drink he told the boy to place it on his desk, “No, no, not there, put it there!” He didn’t look at the drink for a while but when he did noticed that the boy had the last laugh by not opening the non-screw top bottle. When finally the last stamp had been carefully placed in our passports the official had to take our passports off to another building, which was the most anxious event for me. I never like to see my passport wandering off without me. All was well and we went through one final check before getting our taxi.
As usual the taxi driver had not heard of our hotel but there was a guy hanging around (one of the few West Africans I have seen with a full beard) who gave directions and got some change from the driver for his assistance before clicking his heels and giving a mock salute. So we were on our way into the thin sliver of a nation called Togo.
Recent Comments