So close to Lomé that you could hardly classify visiting them as a “day trip,” the charming cities of Agbodrafo and Togoville lie on the shores of Lac Togo (Lake Togo) just 31km (19mi) east of the capital. To get there from Lomé, hop into any shared taxi heading east and tell the driver you want to get out at Agbodrafo. Use your negotiating skills, but the cost should be about 1000cfa ($1.80US) per seat. Remember that there are six “seats” per shared taxi- four in the back and two smushed together on the front passenger side. I paid 2000cfa to have the full front seat to myself and away we went.
Maison des Esclaves (House of Slaves)
“What are you doing in Agbodrafo?” (I lucked out and found a taxi driver who spoke some English.)
“I want to visit the Maison des Esclaves,” I replied
“I have never been there myself. Do you mind if I join you on a tour?” the driver asked.
“Of course! I would be happy to have you come along!”
The Maison des Esclaves, sometimes simply referred to as the “wood house,” has been inducted into the UNESCO-protected slave trade historical sites along the West African coast. Throughout the 17th and 18th Centuries, Togo was known as the “Slave Coast.” Instead of building any slave forts on the Togolese shoreline, European colonialists built wooded slave houses where captured men and women would be held until they could be shipped to Elmina, Cape Coast or Ouidah before being transported to the Americas.
My taxi driver’s interest in accompanying me on my tour of the Maison des Esclaves, which has now been turned into a full-fledged museum, was a reminder that we so often are eager to travel to far-flung destinations but neglect the points of interest that lie in our own backyards. I myself have never been to the top of the Empire State Building or the Statue of Liberty. I take these sights for granted or worse, view them with disdain for being mere “tourist traps.” In reality, they’re probably pretty cool and are frequently visited for a reason. If I could inspire a local to visit a hometown attraction in Togo, then I will in turn adopt his attitude and try to visit more places in New York that I’ve ignored for far too long.
One interesting aspect of the Maison des Esclaves tour is its interactive nature. Not content to simply tell you about the experience of the captured men and women in Agbodrafo, the tour takes you underneath the wooden house to feel and experience the conditions in which the slaves lived. There are no ladders or stairs to help you descend to the sandy basement below. Just lower yourself through the opening and the ground will cushion your fall. You’ll need to be able to pull yourself up out of the floor again, too!
Once below, you will crawl on your hands and knees to see where the slaves were shackled and kept in waiting. Up above, the wooden house was a lively trading post and social center. Slaves could hear parties and dances while they suffered directly underneath; occasionally a slave was brought up to the house to act as a servant for the night, providing a respite from their cramped quarters, but also acting as an ominous sign of what their future held.
Dozens, if not hundreds of slaves could be held under the house at any given time. Slaves could wait for weeks for a ship to arrive, only to then endure the horrors that awaited them at a slave fort in Ghana or Benin. The artwork to the right of the entrance to Maison des Esclaves carries the inscription “Plus Jamais d’Esclavage,” which translates to, “Slavery: Never Again.” In these shocking times of racial injustice in America, visiting places like Maison des Esclaves is more important than ever.
It was an unexpected treat to experience the tour with my taxi driver and it gave me a different perspective on what it’s like to visit these historical buildings that contain so much pain. When I visited Elmina and Cape Coast Castles, my tours were full of Americans, Canadians and Europeans. Some Black, yes, but no Africans, save for the tour guide. Here I was witnessing someone not from the diaspora, but rather someone whose ancestors remained in Africa absorb what could very easily have happened to his own family members. (He and I were the only people at the house when we arrived and were afforded an intimate tour of the property and museum.)
Lac Togo
After our tour ended at Maison des Esclaves, my driver took me to the southern edge of Lac Togo, which isn’t a lake at all, but rather a lagoon, and helped me find a pirogue that was headed to Togoville, the city located on the northern side of the lake. (Despite technically being a lagoon by ecological standards, everyone refers to Lac Togo as a lake, and I will as well.)
Lac Togo is 15km(9mi) long and 6km(4mi) wide, making it one of the most significant bodies of water in Togo, as well as the source of the nation’s name. There are no crocodiles in Lac Togo which has turned it into a swimmer’s paradise. A few fancy resorts line the eastern side of the lake and I witnessed several young local boys splashing around in the lake’s not-too-deep water. Lac Togo provides a livelihood for the fishermen who live on its shores, as well an irrigation system for a nearby coconut plantation.
Pirogues regularly run back and forth between Agbodrafo and Togoville. These boats have no motors, requiring a young man to stand on the back seat and push the boat across the lake with a giant wooden pole. I lucked out when making the crossing to Togoville: there were already about eight people in the pirogue and, with the help of my taxi driver, I was able to negotiate a price of 4000cfa($7.25US) to make the 25 minute journey across the lake. Although I didn’t know it at the time, in a few minutes I would be meeting another life-long friend.
Cousin
It seems like everywhere I went in West Africa, I made another friend. There is something about the openness and welcoming nature of the people that makes it easy to strike up a conversation. Cousin, who works as a tour guide in Togoville, met my pirogue at the Togoville beach and helped me ashore. (There is a graceful art to jumping in and out of a pirogue that I never could quite finesse!)
You are free to explore Togoville without a guide, but Cousin seemed amiable and I was happy to take him up on his offer to show me around town. Togoville is the birthplace of Vodun culture in Togo and Cousin promised to show me the Vodun altars and shrines that I may have otherwise missed on my own. Today, Togoville has a small population of 10,000 people, and although it is a stone’s throw away from Lomé, it feels like a completely different world.
Togoville
Originally known simply as Togo, which is the Ewe word for lake, it was here in 1884 that King Mlapa III signed a treaty with the Germans that created the protectorate of Togoland. The city’s name was changed to Togostadt and was declared the capital of German Togoland. When the French were given the eastern half of Togoland after World War I, the name was translated into French, and Togoville has stuck ever since.
Togoville is home to the Mlapa dynasty; King Mlapa III’s throne is on display in the former royal palace, which is adjacent to a sacred forest. Togoville is also one of the main spiritual centers of the country, both for those who practice Vodun and Christians alike.
Notre Dame de Togoville
The Togoville Cathedral was constructed by the Germans as a Presbyterian church in 1910, but the French converted it into a Catholic cathedral when they assumed full control in 1922. The cathedral has beautiful stained glass windows, as well as colorful murals that adorn the interior walls.
In the early 1970s, a young girl claimed that the Virgin Mary appeared to her near Lac Togo. A shrine was erected and the Catholic Church declared the spot as most holy. In 1985, Pope John Paul II visited Togoville and held mass at the cathedral. Thousands were in attendance and he even prayed with local Vodun followers and blessed one of their holy snakes. The pirogue that transported the Pope across Lac Togo was painted and put on display on the Cathedral grounds.
Vodun Culture
Vodun, which originated in Togo and Benin before being transported to the Caribbean by way of the slave trade, is still practiced by millions of West Africans to this day. The devout offer up sacrifices and pray to the spirits of the natural world through fetishes, which are placed in holy shrines or on altars. Much like Catholic saints, you pray to a certain fetish depending on your various needs and desires. Fetishes can be both male and female; the females are always covered with a cloth and the males are bare.
As Cousin explained, the spirits also inhabit the natural world, including rocks, trees, rivers and animals. One of the most sacred fetishes in Togoville is the “twin trees,” which are two majestic trees that have intertwining roots and can bless women who are trying to get pregnant with twins. (Having twins is considered a high honor in Vodun culture and is most desired by expecting mothers and fathers.)
German-Togolese Peace Monument
In 1984, to mark the 100 year anniversary of the signing of the treaty between Germany and King Mlapa III, this friendship monument was erected on the northern edge of the city. It shows both a German and Togolese man holding hands and standing on the wings of a dove. I’m not quite sure one monument cures all the ills of hundreds of years of colonial rule in Africa, but the gesture is a start and a reminder that European nations need to rebuild their relationships with African people from the ground up. The possibility of a better tomorrow exists, if both sides are willing to put in the work.
Learning from our past means absorbing the wisdom of our elders too. The most affecting statue in Togoville is the one pictured above, showing a senior member for the city imparting his knowledge to the younger generation. The youth is looking at the elder, but his slouching position in a backwards-facing chair tells us that although he may be hearing the elder’s words, he may not be fully processing the lesson. The youth of the world will still make their own mistakes, and sadly history is often doomed to repeat itself. This statue is both a touching display and a cautionary tale.
A Friendship Endures
When I call the people I meet on my travels “friends,” I don’t use the word lightly. These are not people I meet and spend time with for a few days before being relegated to the corners of my memories. We keep in touch, nurturing our relationships over weeks, months and years. I have seen Cousin become a father to a beautiful daughter and been able to see him change and grow as his paternal instincts kick in.
Before I arrived in Lomé, I assumed my morning adventure to Agbodrafo and Togoville would be a pleasant diversion from the bustling capital, but I could never have imagined how the human element would shape the course of my life. Richmond, Igor and now Cousin would continue to have an effect on my life long after I had returned to New York. My West African family happily keeps growing and growing.
