There aren’t many sites in Cotonou, but it is a pleasant enough place to while away a day or so.
My priority when in town was to check out the Haring exhibition at the Foundation Zinsou. First step – try and find it! I walked for 4 k trying to find the building – damn google maps and the lying/lonely planet! It turns out the foundation has moved. The first moto taxi promised me he knew where it had moved to…. I have heard that before :-). So, i had an extended tour around a bunch of sites around Cotonou for about 45 minutes while we asked random strangers where it was, and then ended up back about a 10 minute walk from where I started.
It was a lovely free gallery with outstanding coffee and an exceptional chocolate brownie! There were two extraordinarily well behaved school groups when I visited, who were adorable. The shop on the top floor was worth a visit if you want high end african art souvenirs. Although the gallery is free, you do get assigned a mandatory guide when you arrive. I asked the guide to leave me be as I was happy wandering by myself. But I realised that he got bumped to the back of the queue of waiting guides when I ‘rejected’ him. Feeling bad, I did let him guide me up the stairs, and gave him a reasonable tip given I didn’t have to pay entry and it would have been churlish not to.
I also checked out a few other things in Cotonou – the place d’etoile, the place des martyrs, and the stade d’amitie. I was honestly too lazy to check out the grand marche, as I feel like i have seen more than enough African markets for this month. None of the sights are mind blowing but Cotonou is a great place to chill for a couple of days. The ONLY way to get around town, similar to Togo, is on the back of a zemijohn or moto-taxi. It isn’t particularly safe, but there isn’t much choice as taxis are rare and the traffic in a car is painfully slow.I stayed at the very chilled out and reasonably cheap Guesthouse Cocotiers which I would highly recommend.
Warning – this post is NOT for you if you don’t want to see photos of decomposing animals
I arrived in Lome early and had a seamless border crossing in 20 minutes with no bribes. I have my ‘thank you sir’ and ‘how you doing my friend?’ chit chat down pat now and had no problem with immigration. Likewise I have my ‘in the zone’ face sorted so largely the moto-taxis and money changers don’t give me much more than cursory harassment.
I walked from the border to the hotel, it was only a km and then I started what was to become a love affair with Lome, or at least the food! I had a stonkingly good cheeseburger, which was the start of the best meals I had in West Africa. In the two days I was at the Belle Époque, I revelled in warm buttery croissants, homemade jam, proper espresso, outstanding pizza, homemade icecream, steak, chocolate mousse and a stunning vacherin with salted caramel sauce …. sigh, so good compared to the food in the last month!
There were lots of warnings about muggings and theft in and around Lome. I walked 15k in the first day and had no problems. The grand market was positively zen relative to others I have seen in the region! I also checked out the monument to independence and the national museum.
Lome is a city of mototaxis, and they are so cheap that normal taxis no longer exist. But all the guide books advise against using them – too dangerous. Normally I walk everywhere, but the fetish market wasn’t on the map and was at least 8k away and I wasn’t sure where it was. So, I took a deep breath and found a chap with a bike to take me there. He took my request to ‘Allez doucement’ (go slowly) as a challenge to go the wrong way down one way streets, cut off cars and go at high speed. Then he had the nerve to ask for my phone number when we arrived – so ‘we could keep in contact’
The Fetish market was small but well organised. By local standards they charge tourists a lot – about 8 euros including right to take photos, but on the upside there is no hassle and you can take as many photos as you like.
It wasn’t as gruesome as I expected and quite interesting to hear them describe what they do with the ingredients – making powders, potions and things to wash with. I don’t really like looking at dead animals, but I prefer it to the markets in Haiti where the animals were still alive and not well treated. Locals come too and I was heartened to see the vendors yelling at them as loudly as I feel like I get yelled at in the markets.
On the way back I carefully picked an older driver, who I hoped had reached this advanced age by driving sensibly and safely. I tipped him generously for driving slowly!
Time for another stroll along the beach to watch the fisherman pulling in their enormous nets (it takes at least 20 people to pull one in)…. and then off for some more food. Benin tomorrow!
Finally solo! I said goodbye to the truck and hit up the sights of Accra
I hitched a ride with the truck to the outskirts of Cape Coast to make my way solo to Accra. I was sad to leave the group and the truck. While I am definitely not cut out for group travel, it was an amazing experience and I saw places I never would have seen solo (particularly in the back country in Sierra Leone, Guinea and Liberia). I also met an eclectic group of people, each with their own unique charms (and foibles). I really enjoyed Zoe and Jason (the leader and driver) who were in unfailingly high spirits, full of energy, and just got shit done in spite of the numpties on the truck (myself included) who forgot instructions, showed up late, didn’t do their jobs, broke the fridge etc….. it must be like leading a school trip but from a juvenile detention centre or herding a bunch of unusually feral cats. I did confess that if I had been the tour leader, most of the passengers would have been murdered in their sleep in Sierra Leone :-), especially the snorers and the late ones.
So, onwards to Accra – The mini bus system was extraordinarily efficient. Within ten minutes we were full up with 11 groovy Ghanaians with high tech phones, the aircon was blasting and I was wedged in between some bags. Several people offered me food and checked that I was comfortable. We also had a long conversation about African ladies backsides (prompted by how little room mine was taking up on the seat in comparison). I expressed admiration for the local derrières and was applauded by the men, but the women made a fair point that a big butt wasn’t particularly useful ‘what is it good for???’.
The minibus was a bargain for £5 as the other mini buses squish in 30 plus and still cost £2. However, as is always the way in Africa, our minibus dropped us on the outskirts of Accra in the middle of a nest of vipers a.k.a taxi drivers. A friend from the mini bus (a preacher in training) and I shared a cab to the ‘circle’ after some tough negotiations, and then I walked and sweated the last 1km to the hotel (thankful for gps on the phone as the taxi driver didn’t know the location and didn’t want to navigate the one ways).
I spent a full day exploring town – the lonely planet was correct in saying there are no show stoppers in Accra. First stop – the National museum which l closed for six months in 2015 – and has still not reopened
Next onto Jamestown, a vibrant poor neighbourhood with amazing open air boxing gyms. I accidentally ended up in the middle of an NDC rally/boisterous party (lot of beers were being consumed and it was only 9am). It was fun but I hightailed it out of there, as I was beginning to feel like a leprechaun with all the people stroking my arms …. normally just the kids do that to see if your white skin feels different but in this case I had fully grown adults stroking me….. weird! I had thought this was a celebration party given the mood, but when I checked google back at the hotel it turns out the NDC party lost the election – perhaps that explains the alcohol consumption. From there, the Kwame Nkrumah mausoleum (founding father of Ghana) – where had to wait 20 minutes for the ladies to arrive to sell the tickets – they were open, just not ready. The mausoleum is quite interesting, the museum is just a random assortment of photos of Kwame with the great and good, from Fidel Castro to queen Elizabeth.
Next to the heaving sweaty mass of humanity which was Makola market. Crazy! Loud! Like usual I would have loved to have taken some photos but it wouldn’t have been a great idea. I strolled along to Dark star and independence squares where a mass church service was being held. Evangelical events are wildly popular here and they are advertised like west end shows. It was too hot for me so I continued walking to Osu – posh Accra – and fell into the air conditioned smoothy bar on Oxford st after walking 14k in 80% humidity at 30 degrees. Then I must confess I stopped by the KFC as was craving something familiar – bad tourist! And then I succumbed to the delights of the air conditioned shoprite and loaded up on chocolate cake… aaaaahhhhh. After that I felt sufficiently fortified to stroll the 4K back to the hotel.
Surprisingly apart from a few odd looks, a couple of persistent children and some opportunistic local charmers asking how I was, I had surprisingly little hassle in spite of the warnings from the guide book and the hotel (apart from the stroking at the rally). I have decided that if you walk everywhere then people assume you are too poor for a taxi or bus and feel sorry for you, or maybe it is just being one person versus a big group means you attract less attention.
Am heading off to Togo this morning. I investigated the public transport options yesterday and worked out a good route but was warned by the locals that the bus to the border might take up to 3-4 hours to fill up and leave Accra given it is Sunday. So, am cheating and paying four times the price for a taxi to take me to the border directly from the hotel. At £32 it is good value for 3 hours and 200k and am sure they are not overcharging me as I cross checked the uber fare (yes they have uber here). While I am all good to economise on hotels and I rarely spend more then $40 per night, typically $20, saving time and hassle on public transport is worth paying for.Accra, December 16-18, 2016
We started the morning sweatily scrubbing 5 weeks of grit and grot off Aminah (the truck) and her kitchen equipment so she will be all clean for the next leg which starts in Accra in a few days. We all pitched in to scrub and mop. It is amusing to watch a bunch of overlanders ‘flapping’ the dishes to dry then, as tea towels are a luxury (and a hygiene risk) not permitted on the truck.
Once the truck was clean, we headed off to Cape Coast to see the British slave fortress, allegedly one of the largest slaving holding sites in the world during colonial times. Interestingly, the custom of slavery was well established amongst the Ashanti tribes prior to the British arriving, but of course the British paid better and in alcohol and guns.
The fort was similar to Elmina yesterday except, if possible, the slave chambers were even smaller. The chambers were ventilated with 2-3 tiny windows each and had no drainage…. apparently it was not uncommon for slaves to be knee deep in human waste.The chambers were adorned with a shrine and bouquets from locals and the diaspora to remember their ancestors.
The ‘door of no return’ has been widened here – it would have originally been person width size, and slaves were forced to turn sideways to pass on their way to board the ships. Symbolically, the door has been renamed the ‘door of return’ as some of the descendants of slaves have returned and passed through the door.
Again, ironically there was an anglican church on top of male dungeon – they must have heard the singing in the dungeons. The governors quarters were at least the same size as the entire dungeon space.
We were invited to spend some time in the cell for the rebellious slaves who were left to die without food or water but I couldn’t bear the heat or the smell (I suspect some of it was from the 60 school kids who had just passed through), so I escaped to stand outside in the shade.
Our mildly karmic tour guide – who was a bit of a slave driver – was very bossy, and herded us around like naughty cats.
Around the castle there is a bustling fishing community with all the associated smells, especially in the midday heat. We retired to the nearest place we could find that served burgers and waited on African time for burgers and fries – the fare of overlanders. We then made haste to the only store in town with a freezer to buy icecream.
After that back to the beach. A nice run as the sun went downalong the waters edge past the local fishing village, ignoring the calls from the locals ‘hey white lady – where you going?’. A few of the younger ones were more persistent and tried to run along with me but eventually gave up either when I sped up, or when I told them I was old enough to be their mama!
I am leaving the truck tomorrow, as they are headed to Kumasi and I am keen to continue on to Togo with my limited time left in west Africa. It will be weird not having 18 other people with me everywhere I go!
Cape Coast, December 15, 2016
I had a sobering morning visiting the slave fortress – St George’s castle – at Elmina. I had the whole place eerily to myself. Originally built as a Dutch fortress it is the oldest colonial building in Africa.
As expected it was grim, made more so by the guide’s descriptions. Mental pictures of 150 women cramped in any airless dungeon, unable to move, covered in their own vomit and excrement. Worse, the governor’s viewing gallery above the women’s area where he hand picked women to rape.
The door of no return, which was the access to the ships, was harrowing. The death cell where ‘rebellious’ slaves were left to starve to death was worse. The irony of having both a Catholic and a Protestant church in the fort did not escape me – unfathomable to me how slavery could ever by congruent with the ‘love thy neighbour’ tenets of Christianity. The Ghanaians are pretty forgiving and like to talk about Elmina more as a reminder to humanity to not let similar events happen in the future.
The death cell
It was nice to be myself for the morning and to have the castle to myself. I had left my truckmates to go to Kakum national park for the morning without me, as I was not inspired by the reviews, nor of the thought of doing a ‘peaceful’ canopy walk with 15 others. Instead I caught a ‘dropping’ (shared taxi) into town and had a chat with a nice lady heading into town to sell her veges.
After the fort, I went for a wander around town. Elmina these days is a bustling fishing village with all the smells and activity that go along side that. People were largely friendly. A few kids shouted ‘Obroni, obroni’ (white person) at me, and when I responded with ‘bebeni’ (black person) they laughed. I went on a futile search for wifi and gave up to have a coffee with milk (half of the milk I shared with a persuasive cat) and watch the goings on at the market.
Like most places in west Africa the market was loud, vibrant and frenetic…. but cameras are not welcome – you need to come experience the smoking fish, frying plantains and ladies sales songs for yourselves.
It took me a while to find a cab back to the beach as the public trotros didn’t quite go that far (I would have needed three separate rides minimum to get close) and all of the offers were exorbitant for an individual taxi. In the end I hopped in a ‘dropping’ and waited for everyone else to get out and then persuaded him to take me back for half the lowest price I had been offered in town. Time for the hammock!
We had a quiet night’s sojourn in Akwidaa after a five hour drive from Ankasa. It was lovely and it was great to run along the beach this morning. The hotel was run down, but in a stunning location…. and am not sure anyone had stayed there for the past six months.
We got to check out Ghanaian village life en route. This is a country with a deep love of god. The business names are wonderful – ‘obey gods will and live ventures’, ‘Christ the king photos’ and ‘jehovahs blessings’. My favourites were ‘god rules internet’ and ‘clap for Jesus fashions’.
The obsessive fascination with celebrating the deceased is impressive – the coffins are richly decorated, special funeral fashions are required, and you show love to your family members by making huge photoshopped posters of them in commemoration.
After Akwidaa we headed off to Brenu. We spent two hours faffing about en route in Takoradi – a side effect of group travel. A half hour pee stop as we all queued for the one loo at the petrol station, then a 20 minute ATM stop, then a 45 minute grocery stop, and finally a 35 minute fresh fruit and veg shop. More credits for my PhD in waiting. Amusingly (or not) it is always the same offenders who are late or last back to the truck, so there are always a few muttered insults when these guys eventually get back.
There wasn’t much to see in Takoradi but the ladies in the market were friendly and we had a bit of a dance with them to the thumping beats – I think they were celebrating the election results.
We arrived at Brenu beach around 3 and were delighted to find rooms with aircon, fridges and hot water – a trifecta of luxuries unheard of so far – and for only $25 a night each. Bliss!!! Looking forward to three nights in the same place and chilling out in a hammock. (Postscript: for the first time ever we had our room cleaned during a stay – bonus miracle :-))
I had my last cook group this evening, chickpea burgers as we hadn’t found any decent meat. They were surprisingly delicious…. though most of the truck did ask where the meat ones were…. and as a treat, we had the old school favourite of bananas and custard. Thrilled to not have to wash pots again after this!
it is quite a lovely location here, will be hard to summon up some energy to go check out the sites.
A birthday to remember – a tetse bite from ankle to knee, 6 hours stuck in the mud, and we had to leave the truck behind overnight and walk 7k to the hotel …….
We arrived in Ghana via the madness of the Noe/Elubo border crossing and headed up to Ankasa Nature reserve, the ’emerging eco tourist destination’ in west Ghana. There is apparently wildlife in the park but we didn’t see any! Some of the truckmates got up early to go on a forest tour but they didn’t see any either. However, it was lovely to get to run through the park, in the evening and morning, enjoying the peace and quiet.
We stayed at the Frenchman’s for a night, a simple but spotlessly clean guesthouse owned by one of Ghana’s most feted movie directors and photographers – Paul Kodjo, originally from Côte d’Ivoire. After packing ourselves another overland lunch with a delicious array of fillings including Texana luncheon beef – yum!, (not! I was too scared to try it,) we headed into the park to see a cathedral of bamboo.
The road bought back memories of Sierra Leone and Jason and Zoe had to dig us out countless times from the slippery mud. It took us three hours to cover the 10k on the road to get there as once we started into the park there was nowhere to turn the truck around!
We used our waiting time during digging to engage in a hotly contested competition to kill the Tetse flies on the truck. My roommate won the competition in the front of the truck with a count of at least 24 with the US approach of ‘kill first and ask questions later’. Our Dutch truckmate won in the back of the truck, with an unverified count, by wholly abandoning her typical diplomacy and turning into a murdering tetse maniac (with some collateral damage to her seat mates). I lost with a score of 5 and a huge bite on my leg and one on my foot. The floor was a carnage of smeared Tetse carcasses!
We arrived around 1pm, it took us 5 minutes to walk to the ‘cathedral’, 20 minutes to walk around it. Ironically not everyone on the truck came to see it, so it was a rougher day for them. It was nice but not that dissimilar to the bamboo forests we had seen on the Guinean border, so there were a few grumbles on the truck about the time invested to see some bamboo – ‘I could have gone to Bunnings and bought some bamboo, that would have been easier’ (from my favourite sardonic truck mate.) The time check was also made frequently by a few sharp observers that ‘we could have been at the beach by now’ as we had been planning to get to Akwidaa on the same day.
The humidity was unbelievable and everyone was dripping sweat whilst sitting still in the shade. It’s pretty manky. My roommate has invested in some knock-off jaguar balm and uses it liberally to keep herself cool, and this has the bonus upside of eliminating some of the sweat smells on the truck.
After the ‘cathedral’ visit we had to figure out how to turn the truck around. That entailed another three hours of digging, mostly on one interminable slippy slope to get to a junction where we could turn. In the end we were all enlisted to haul gravel from 400m up the road back to the truck using any receptacle available. Some of us looked like santa’s elves using the old baguette sacks to haul rocks. It was a reasonable work out. So by 4.20 pm we had managed to turn the truck around.
All went well for about twenty minutes of driving until we hit a quagmire which we had passed successfully this morning, but weren’t so lucky this afternoon. When Jason (the driver) says ‘holy fuck’, you know you are in trouble. In the meantime the bite on my leg had swollen to epic proportions and reached from my ankle to my knee – ouch! (Thanks Ann for the medical advice, Su for the antihistamine and Becky for the cream).
So we spent 90 minutes digging channels to drain the water out of the bog. A landrover with two American tourists came up behind us and wanted an ETA on when they could pass. Hmmmmm. In the end they gave up, left their 4wd behind us and started walking back to town. Night fell, which at least meant the tetse flies buggered off. We managed to finally get the truck out of the bog and to a stable place 50 meters further in but Jason rightly didn’t want to proceed further through the muddy road in the dark, as if the truck slid off the road we would have been in real trouble.
So, we ended up having to walk out of the park. It was 7.5k back to the hotel on muddy roads in the dark and my roommate and I made it 6.5k before we got a ride the final km to Frenchman’s. Nothing like an impromptu hike in the dark with a swollen leg. So at 8pm we were right back where we started this morning at the Frenchman’s, rather than on the beach at Akwidaa where we had planned. But we were grubbier, without any luggage (as we couldn’t easily get it out of the back of the truck) and we had left the truck on the road (with Jason sleeping on it). They managed to rustle us up some food which arrived 2.5 hours after we ordered it, and we all crashed out.
Another corker day overlanding! While it sounds horrific, these days are actually quite fun and the group tend to be less grumpy and more friendly after days like this! It’s a powerful bonding experience hauling gravel through the mud while covered in fly bites.
We arrived in Grand Bassam without a place to stay as none of the hoteliers had been responding to Zoe’s emails (west African customer service). My heart sank slightly as we rolled down the lovely quiet shady street past some very nice guest houses, and continued to the less salubrious end of town.
We waited for a couple of hours while Zoe went to hunt out a hotel willing to let us pitch tents on their lawn. Some people waited in the truck sweating in the afternoon sun, others retired to the dodgy bar next door. The first hotel was willing, but they only had two nasty loos and were in the process of hosting a wedding party….. so Zoe kept walking and talking….
While we waited, the truck banter meandered, as per usual. Today’s topic – one of the younger men on the truck is considering becoming a gigolo (which he pronounces like giggle-o with his accent). He received significant amounts of advice from the women on the truck about the physical changes and personality shifts that would be required for him to be successful. ‘It’s not about the thrust count’ was helpful advice. We considered running a silent auction on the truck to see what type of fees he could earn, but none of us were necessarily keen on executing on the contract.
Eventually Zoe negotiated us rooms and camping at a hotel that appeared mostly derelict from the street side but slightly better beach side, with more than it’s fair share of rubbish. Given the pitch site was tiny and 19 of us would share two bathrooms, Becky and I invested $20 each per night to ‘upgrade’ to a room that was vaguely clean but did have working arctic aircon and a burny hot shower
Grand Bassam is a sleepy beach town, the former capital and is described as having a ‘faded grandeur’…., ‘faded’ is perhaps an understatement. The buildings were definitely grand at some point but now appear abandoned and mostly derelict, albeit lovely in the morning light.
However, almost every building had people living and working in the ruins, including the wonderful Maison des artistes. The art here is vibrantly African. It looks great en situ, but would look terrible at home in the grey london light. We had a relaxing wander around town, chatted to some groovy Rastafarians and even had some young students ask for a photo.
We wandered up the beach to see the fishing boats and the very cool kids body boarding, literally on boards of wood. Sadly the fishing village rely on the sea for their ‘bathroom plumbing’ so there were abundant and smelly piles of human excrement awaiting the morning tides for disposal.
Hot and sticky in the midday heat I retired to the shade next to the pool to read and profit from the sea breeze. I opportunistically took my laundry with me as it dried better than in the room. It was nice to have a lazy afternoon followed by a long walk along the beach.
We arrived in the glamorous town of Abidjan in the early afternoon. The approach was a lovely transition from countryside to village to instant urban slum
The lonely planet lists two major sites – the Pyramide and the cathedral. The Pyramide is a much feted piece of Italian architecture. I don’t know why. It looks like crap.
The cathedral did look more interesting but there were about 400 military officials surrounding the entrance and we weren’t allowed in. Later we found out that the first lady’s father had died and it was his funeral
We found a cafe and had an extremely overpriced nespresso and then wandered round looking for inspiration. The town reeked of piss and was full of the dodgy characters you would expect in a capital city, offering to sell us Samsung 7s.
We did find a nice contemporary art gallery highlighting some of the finest local pieces.
After a quick stop to buy cheese and bread in the posh supermarket we headed for dinner to the hippopotamus – a French chain burger and steak restaurant – for an acceptable steak and chips.
Getting back to the hotel on the outskirts of town was a mission as the funeral traffic was hectic, and after a lot of braking and swearing and driving along the footpath we made it back to our air conditioned haven. On the bright side, the cab drivers here seem reasonably honest and whilst we are probably paying slightly over the odds, they are charging what locals told us to expect (which is more than you can say for all london cabbies).
The verdict in Abidjan – I wouldn’t bother :-). Others on the truck did love the western mall and nice supermarket but I can see that at home.
The delicate equilibrium of truck peace was mildly discombobulated in Abidjan as our budget didn’t stretch to double rooms each, hence some tent pairs had to split up to form triples (with the third sleeping on the couch and the other two sharing the bed). My roomie and I were divided and we coped, but were happy to be reunited the following day. However in a shock switch up, the two worst snorers were paired together after complaints from one of their tentmates about lack of sleep. Both snoring offenders look tired this morning and wry smiles are being exchanged by the rest of us! Ironically it turns out the original complainer against the snorers is also a snorer who kept his new roommates awake. Worse, he is apparently a bathroom hog who spent 40 minutes doing his beauty regime before he was forcibly evicted from the bathroom. They quietly requested that room assignments be swiftly restored to status quo.
A couple of folks on the truck are Unesco obsessives, and as we had a spare day, yesterday we headed off to Ahouakro – a tentative Unesco site between Yamkro and Abidjan to check it out. There was remarkably little info on the internet and none of the locals seemed to know about it, but apparently it is an area of large rocks with the local tribe believe have spirits or genies within them.
We stopped at the village to ask permission from the chief to visit the site. The chief asked for a sacrifice of a bottle of gin and a chicken, and given we only had gin (which no one wanted to forfeit) and no chicken, he agreed to accept 10000 CFA’s instead (about €15).
While Zoe was discussing things with the chief I had a chat to the village girls, the eldest ranging from 10-13 about school and life. They were pretty smart and are still at school and enjoying French lessons. Amusingly they asked me how old I was, and when I told them, one of them rushed off to get me a chair to sit in. Adorable!!!! I was old enough to be their granny and they were clearly worried I would fall over.
Unfortunately the guide was working the fields yesterday, as he didn’t know we were coming. So, we were given permission to camp by the quarry which is filled with water. Most people went for a swim, but the presence of ample amounts of cow shit put me off. I had a chat with some local ladies who told me they don’t swim there because there are genies in the rocks. We also managed to disturb the local rhythms as when the cows came for water they didn’t want to go past the truck so the herder had to take them another 30mins around the corner.
We were on cook group last night, and given the paucity of supplies available when we shopped, we had chickpea and pumpkin tagine with couscous which was very well received. It was a humid humid evening and most of us were sweating in the shade and drenched in our tents.
This morning we had an early breakfast, packed up and headed up to the site after picking up our entourage in the village.
We had three guides, two sacrificers and a couple of hangers on. And yes there was a bottle of gin and a live chicken. Happily the chicken was not killed, she was just released after the ceremony (she was too shocked to go anywhere). Apparently her stillness was a good thing as it indicated all was well. If she had run away immediately we would have had to leave the site. After the libation sacrifice, the gin was shared but just among the men (no women allowed).
Then we were allowed to visit the principal male dolmen which will apparently protect us now as we have made an offering. His female rock is some distance away, so the villagers say that they often see him in spirit form heading off to visit her.
The rocks were lovely, even if I didn’t feel the genies! I doubt they get many visitors here, but if you are in the hood it is worth popping by
Ahouakro, December 6 & 7,