The long weekend adventure

Posted by Lorah Ray September 04, 2009

The long weekend adventure

This is, perhaps, an African version of the NYC story that took place a couple of years ago...if you want to entertain yourself, go here: http://styer-the-styler.xanga.com/649910782/if-we-dont-laugh-well-cry---the-most-unsuccessful-weekend-of-our-lives/

It all started when Justin and I decided to be spontaneous about our trip to Hotel 'Chez Theo' in a town called Possetome on Lake Aheme. We knew where we wanted to go, other than that we made no preparation whatsoever. After packing we went to the reception desk to sign the ('I'm going to be away') overnight book. While signing we happened to greet our friend Tracy who asked us where we were going, and then she offered us her motor bike for the weekend and the (should've been) three hour journey ahead of us. With a rush of adrenalin and excitement Justin and I agreed, we'd take the bike, while saying something like, 'What an adventure this will be! This is awesome!'

After finding a few helmets we set off, (a few hours later than planned). Justin got on the bike with a backpack strapped on his front and myself behind him with a backpack strapped on my back. To set the scene, just imagine two very white people in West Africa, wearing cargo-ish capris, t-shirts, sunglasses and backpacks, cruising down the road on a glorified scooter with big bobbing red helmet heads.

To avoid traffic (meaning heavy, unpredictable, 'I could die' kind of traffic), we took the beach road. The sandy route along the coast is most pleasant...when driving Land Rover. Some bikes get along fine in the sand, but this bike did not like the sand- and neither did we. As we crept along feeling out of control, Justin was white knuckling the handle bars and I was clenching onto the straps on his back. With endless dips and holes, spotty thick sand, and random pigs or cows, the bike swerved and slipped along. At one point a car passed, coming a little too close for comfort, causing us to swerve and take a spill. (I could imagine that some of the locals thought this was humorous and great entertainment).

The beach road was feeling 10 times longer than usual. We were longing for the closest town, where we'd make our right turn onto some normal roads. To add to the sinking feeling that our adventure turning sour, we hit some deep sand and laid the bike over again, this time burning our legs on the exhaust/muffler. It only took a second for the hot exhaust pipe to sizzle and destroy the top few layers of skin on the back of my leg. Lesson learned: wear long pants when riding a motor bike- this is common sense and common knowledge, I'm not sure why I did not obey either. Perhaps the adventurous spirits in both of us made us feel untouchable and super human that morning (this usually results in feeling stupid later).

Not so bad at first....

Wrapped for the weekend

Later on... turning gross. (it's almost finished healing... 3 weeks later!)

We pulled over and I got a pair of jeans out of my bag (the ones I almost didn't pack) and changed behind a bush. Since I'm being candid, I also used the bush as a toilet... knowing that this bush did not suffice for total privacy. What can you do? After seeing many women and men peeing along the road, any time, any where, I felt pretty good for finding a shrub of some sort.

Off we went, my leg slightly throbbing, but no reason for us to turn around. Finally we found our right turn into the town of Ouida. The joy lasted for a few minutes before getting onto a busy main road. This major route (along southern Benin, leading to Togo) was nerve racking. Motor bike drivers in Benin do not have to be registered or licensed... this is a recipe for chaos. Large trucks and most taxi vehicles would miserably fail a proper inspection in America. Signaling usually consists of flapping arms out the windows, honking the horn, or the 'just do it' method, in which things happen with no warning.

As we carried on I looked at the speedometer, it didn't work. I was feeling like we were going 65 mph, (most likely not). I also felt like I could die at any second; people were passing each other at high speeds and at inconvenient times. Motor bikes were coming onto to the road, not looking, just 'easing' onto the highway. This caused more stress, would we be able to stop on a dime? It was time to pray, and that's what we were doing. 'God, would you please protect us, could you not let us die despite our stupid choices?'

It seemed like a breath of fresh air when we saw Lake Aheme. Seeing the water felt like a promise... we'd be at our hotel soon, having dinner and laughing about the whole thing. Now, we just needed to find the road our hotel. We swore that our destination was on the east side of the lake, so we started heading north on a dirt road. We'd stay along the lake and we'd surely run into our hotel.

After a half hour we were feeling good, cruising along on dirt roads through rural villages. Kids were waving a yelling 'yo-vo! yo-vo!' (roughly translates to 'whitey'). After 1 hour we were feeling the throbs of butt-ache and wishing our hotel would appear after every curve in the road... but it didn't. We saw power lines and thought it was a sure sign, but it wasn't. After 2 hours I looked to my left and said 'Justin, there's no more lake!' Had we missed it? After turning around, we asked a few people, 'Possetome??' And they responded with something in French while pointing across the lake, clearly meaning that our destination was on the other side. We had gone 35 kilometers, the whole length of lake Aheme, on the wrong side. The only thing to do was turn around and go south, back to the main road.

We had to stop and give our sore bodies a break. We thought we'd have something to eat but the only option was a thatched roof bar with plastic tables, chairs, and super loud, 'unique', music. We split a big glass bottle of Coca Cola and hit the road once again. This time the road seemed different, wider and more direct... and thank goodness it was. We got back to the main road in 1/2 the time, equalling a three hour detour.

The huge sign for Possetome gave us a good and a regretful feeling at the same time, knowing that we could've been there 3 hours earlier. As we drove along on a less stressful road, we saw a sign for our hotel. We turned right down a peculiar dirt road... surely the hotel would be around the next corner. A 1/2 hour later, we came to another paved road and no sign for the hotel, but more signs for Possetome. We entered into the town of Possetome, this was the home stretch! We pulled into our hotel and we were given a choice of four different rooms, this was a blissful moment in time.

We arrived! ( with a little dirt collection on my face from the ride.)

That evening we met some French folks, at the hotel restaurant, who took us (in their comfy SUV) to the doctor and the pharmacy. The doc did a good job of wrapping up my leg after dowsing it with alcohol (that's when I responded 'OH MAN!' This is better than a variety of other words that were on the tip of my tongue). Dinner on the lake was pleasant. We spent the evening with Xavior, Marjolene, and Vincent, who were all from France but living in Benin, doing road and construction projects with a French company. We got a good chance to chat and get to know one another (considering that the food came 2 or 3 hours after ordering it). Before the night was over they invited us to have dinner with them back in the city (Cotonou) the following weekend. Marjolene would be cooking a proper French meal and suddenly my burnt leg felt like an open door to meeting nice people and having home cooked French meals. :)

Justin and I crashed (went to sleep) soon after our late dinner. We slept GOOD. The next day we went out with some local fisherman who give fishing tours to yo-vos and other foreigners. We got to cast some nets and hear interesting stories about the lake and it's voo doo.

Story number one: 100 years ago a voo doo priest killed a cow and put the head on a spear, then placed it in the lake. The lake then filled with fish and everyone was happy.

Story number two: 105 years ago an evil man posed as the 'good' voo doo priest after doing a ritual involving a toilet and covering himself in poo. (We're pretty sure this is what we were hearing). But this man was bad, sometimes he was half hippo, half man. He deceived many and killed many. People are still afraid of him or his spirit (or something).

A question was burning in me, I had to ask... 'So, do you guys believe all of this? Do you fear the evil spirit?' In which they laughed a little and said in an 'of course not' kind of way "No, no. And we're Christians, no fear, we have Jesus.' I replied 'Oh good, we are too!' I was happy, and at the same time, confused about their response. I decided to refrain from debating about whether or not they should be telling these stories to all the foreigners and believing in Jesus at the same time, I've still been pondering the whole thing.

That night we enjoyed; another dinner on the lake, playing rummy, and tending to our burns. We decided to get a 9am start the next morning in order to get back to the ship in good time and relax before starting work. We looked forward to getting back to the ship, but we dreaded the motor bike that was waiting outside for us. While preparing to go, Justin decided to check the level of gasoline and the key snapped off... the same key we used for the ignition. This would usually be a disappointing situation, but I looked at it as a blessing from God. I did not want to spend one more hour on that bike.

Eventually about 7 guys, mostly hotel groundskeepers gathered 'round the bike and assessed the situation with us. We asked if there was any kind of truck or large vehicle that could take us and the bike back to the city. Our new friends were eager to help. One of them went down the road to find us a deal for our ride back to Cotonou. After a half hour or so, he came back with the good news and a cheap price. We all went out to the road with the bike and waited for the mystery vehicle to come and rescue us. After another 30 minutes we wondered if the deal was broken, and then, there it was! A small greenish taxi with 5 or 6 people already in it. This brought us back to our dating days in Liberia, squeezing into a run-down taxi was the way to go.)

Miraculously, the bike (or half of the bike) was placed in the trunk and secured with some old rags that were tied together to make a rope like thing. Justin and I squeezed in the front seat, half of my butt getting in the way of the gear shift, a family in the back with sleeping kids on the seat and the floor, a loud static radio station, and half the bike hanging out the back end. Believe it or not, this was incredible and comfortable both physically and mentally. We arrived back to the ship in 2.5 hours with one or two short stops along the way. At one of the stops, the family with small children got out of the car, leaving the back seat empty. I decided to give myself some room, it felt nice... other than the large warm pee spot on the back of my leg. One of the little girls must've relieved herself on the back seat while napping during the ride from Possetome.

THE END.

More pics....