25 Novembre - Lomé Lomé

I am ready to leave at 7am, as promised, and Maman FECECAV is waiting for me. She is headed to Lomé to buy pagnes at the Grand Marché to resell in her boutique and I have a meeting with Monsieur Lare Damessanou, an expert in renewable energy. Before heading out, all I know is that he is the head of an NGO in the North and he has invited me to spend the day with him to hear what he knows and see an installation he has done in a Lomé quartier.

Maman FECECAV and I wait for an hour and a half at the station in Kpalimé, as obviously the car will not depart with less than 14 people inside….finally, after much harassment by the gang of unemployed, twenty-something men that constantly loiter around the ticket window, we have 13 jammed into the 8-seater van and we roll (literally) out of the station. With some pushing and a frustrated jolt, the van starts and off we go. Two hours later we have made the now-familiar trek from Kpalimé to the outer suburbs of Lomé.

I call Lare and he tells me to come to KASEF and look for the Ministry of Teaching. When I repeat the word KASEF on the phone and look at Maman FECECAV quizzically, everyone hushes and I feel even more white than usual. When I hang up and ask what KASEF is, every single person in the van looks at me like I am an alien. Apparently, KASEF is the central government zone that houses all of the ministries.

I immediately feel my heart sink. I thought Mr. Lare was an outsider, the director of an NGO, a maker of change and a signal of the future, not a well-fed minister’s pet project sitting in an air conditioned office. I sigh and decide to go anyway of course, but am a bit disappointed and also confused since I was told that no one in the ministries would be interested in meeting with me alone.

Maman FECECAV helps me to skirt the gauntlet of moto drivers asking me if I need a ride or, alternatively, if I’d like to be their wife, and sets me off towards KASEF. I promise to call her when I arrive. We drive into the cluster of run-down buildings with their crumbling sidewalks and broken-down entryways, air conditioners clanking and dripping from sporadic windows.

Lomé is so interesting in this way, and KASEF is a microcosm of it – it absolutely reeks of what it used to be...”The Pearl of West Africa” all the travel books called it. When the British and the Germans left it, it was a profitable export market and European vacation destination, complete with exotic nightclubs and restaurants and luxurious hotels (no real Africans involved in any of this of course, unless they were servants) – that mysterious allure of colonial Africa that I imagine from time to time, in this totally bizarre and conflicted emotion of both craving and immeasurable disgust. These buildings still exist, the 3 tallest buildings in Lomé are hotels, and the beaches still sparkle, but you can almost hear the white caretakers and business owners hysterically stuffing their bags full of everything they can fit and leaving empty bureaus without so much as a sideways glance at what they were leaving behind, or whom. The new Togolese government, businesses and public who took over these establishments haven’t had the cash to repaint or repair since…

The building I enter, the Ministry of Education is, like most, not centrally air conditioned, only the offices of ministers and other governmental peons, whose offices humm off of open hallways, which are more like crumbling balconies and an occasional broken window. A team of workers are carrying bucketloads of cement up and down the stairs on their heads, sweat dripping down their foreheads in oily beads. They don’t seem to notice la chaleur, as I fan myself with a piece of paper. I think about how stupid I am that I even care about trying not to sweat through my now thoroughly wrinkled shirt…

After I realize that I am in the wrong place, someone leads me through the sand to the Ministry of Education for Primary and Secondary Education. Mr. Lare is standing outside waiting for me, a small, thin man wearing slacks, a collared shirt and, yes, a tie. He also wears glasses, with bifocals, halfway down his nose. He doesn’t push them up, and greets me with a huge smile and solid handshake.

He leads me up some stairs, where I trip on the way up (NEVER FAILS) and about 4 men “come to my rescue.” These well-ironed attachés are much sleazier than any hissing moto driver in Kpalimé, and their lingering handshakes and winks really make my skin crawl. I pretend not to be bothered, plaster on a smile and follow Laré into a large, air-conditioned conference room that is empty except for a large table and a laptop sitting at the far end.

We sit and begin to talk. As we have already exchanged several emails, he knows the basis of why I am here, but I remain cautious. I decide to feel him out – I ask what he is doing here at the ministry, that I thought he was affiliated with an NGO and that I am surprised to find him here. He laughs and tells me not to worry, he has never had and never will have any intentions of working with the government. He explains.

Lare is an electrical engineer, and earned his Masters in Solar Energy in Ghana in 1992 and came back to Togo to start ACDI-Solar, an NGO based in Dapaong (in the far North of Togo.) He has worked in the field ever since. As a result of this experience he has become one of the 3 experts on renewable energy in the country and, due to this knowledge and position, he is now a member of the Togolese Commission for Energy and other governmental working groups on the energy crisis but, importantly, he considers himself a private consultant in all of these capacities. He goes on to tell me that, of the 3 experts on renewable energy in Togo, he is the only one from the private sector. He reiterates this point several times throughout the day, which makes me much more comfortable, and intrigued.

Lare is here at the ministry because he had been summoned the week before by the government to do a presentation on renewable energy for a UNESCO conference. He will be more than happy to share the presentation with me, he says, please give me your USB key.

His manner is very polite but informal, and soon he asks if we can address each other with the friendly “tu” instead of the official “vous.” He says that after 10 minutes you can judge a person’s character. I feel validated that he seems to like me. Mr. Lare is very forthcoming and open, and I soon begin to realize the depth of his expertise, research and life’s work.

Lare and I begin to talk quickly, almost in circles, and have to continue bringing ourselves back to the organization of our conversation. He appreciates this kind of systematization (such an engineer) and tries to drive the conversation around several points, all information he wishes to impart to me. First, he tells me that the biggest problem with the expansion of solar energy here is twofold. One, there is no experience, no techs, no materials. This is a logistical issue that he has found ways around – training his own team, procuring and shipping materials for those who have the means from a partner in Houston, TX.

Importantly, Lare and I agree that under no circumstances do we use Chinese products in solar installations. If there is one thing that needs to be sustainable, he says, it is a solar energy system, and China has proven to us in Africa that their products will be gaté within a few months. I am thrilled that he shares this view, as it has larger implications, in my mind, of the way that the solar industry will develop here in Togo and else where in Africa. China has monopolized the electronics and other cheap import markets, but I’ll be damned if they can do it with solar modules…

Lare also has ideas about training more workers to promote and respond to demand for solar energy usage. I let him know that this is a big part of what we want to do as well and we’d love to collaborate. He said that there might be an opportunity to work together on a training conference he is trying to organize in January/2009 – he even said that, since it will be sponsored by the state, we might be able to get airfare and hotel rooms paid for…this is very interesting, exactly the direction we need to be moving in. I am very happy to see it happening – albeit from one man – and I think that Jon and Ron will be enthusiastic about participating.

Lare explains that the other part of the problem with the expansion of solar is a lack of knowledge, on both the populations part (similiar to what Aminou told me in Kpalimé) and on the part of the government. That is why I am here, he says, to show the government that it is in their interest. But it is an uphill battle, he says, even when I show them the figures.

In many West African countries, such as Mali, Burkina and Senegal, there are solar industries that are beginning to develop. They have already seen the light, so to speak. This is because there are widespread laws in these countries protecting solar – no tax credits or rebate programs of course, but incentives nonetheless. In Togo, this is a very recent phenomenon (our timing couldn’t be better in fact…) The majority of the population does not know that there are laws protecting solar in Togo. My partners at FECEAV didn’t know and I didn’t know either. He says that he is not surprised that I am not aware of this, as the government has done a superb job of keeping it hidden. In 1998, a decree was passed that removed all taxes and other fees on the import of solar panels into the country. This decree was not rendered active and applied until March of 2008, after Lare himself devoted several years to lobbying ministers, making presentations and schmoozing attachés.

He will be happy to make me a photocopy of the decree, he says, because if I go into the archives and records I will not find it. It is active, but it has been removed. Import taxes are a large source of revenue for the Togolese government. He says that if I have this decree, I will have no problem getting my materials through the port hors taxes.

Lare goes on to explain about the Port of Lomé. To my amazement, he tells me that is the most secure port in all of West Africa. If I were to try this in Accra or Lagos, he laughs, you would end up with half of what you started with. He recounts a story of when he went to the port in Lagos to retrieve a shipment and, without anyone stopping him, entered the port, found the container, took what what his and left. No one said a word. The Port of Lomé, he says, is serieux. If you have the decree and your Authorization to Operate in Togo (I am working on that, and it is a good thing I am here in the country to do it, otherwise I would have a hell of a time, it is hard enough while I am here!) you are good to go. You will have no trouble, they will guard your materials in haute securité and the same person who unloads your materials will be responsible for driving the rented truck from Lomé to the materials’ final destination. Excellent.

Throughout our conversation, I mention the names of those I have met or contacted so far in Togo that have worked with solar – Aminou and his professor, Prof. Kossi Napo, Youth Volunteers for the Environment – and Lare knows them all. Not only does he know them all, he has worked with them all and is “frères” with all of them. Apparently the energy community in Togo is very small and it is so fascinating to me that however corrupt and inaccessible the government, etc. seems, I am already in the door and right in the thick of it – due to some internet research, some emails and due diligence.

By the end of the conversation, he still does not push up his glasses. He is full of such idiosyncrasies, and I get used to it.

We discuss constraints of working in Togo, and he warns me not get played. He says Kira, I am Togolese, so I can tell you honestly that people will try to take advantage of you. Be careful. He also says that he can tell that, although I am young, I seem to understand his country and will not be naïve. Don’t forget it, he says. He also advises me to start small, be experimental and allez un peu et un peu (like everything else in Togo.) For durability and success, as well as to protect myself.

Lastly, we talk about collaboration. He is very open, and asks what ideas I have. I say that I’d love to have him as a consultant, as his knowledge of policies, application, and other ins and outs of solar IN TOGO will be invaluable to us. I have actually included this in the budget now (we did not discuss compensation at the time though, as I did not think it prudent) because I think it will be essential and important. It will also be creating sustainability and capacity among Togolese, for Togolese, by Togolese. Lare agreed to help with training, as he has done tons of research and presentations in this regard (I have a copy of the recent one he gave at the UNESCO conference,) any questions about materials or system design and also offered some of his team for labor, if we have work for them to do.

Before we know it it is past noon. We look at the clock and at each other, laughing at the fact that we just talked nonstop for almost 3 hours, and decide to go and get something to eat.

We take motos to a place that he knows. The cafeteria we go to is obviously frequented by the privileged type, which is I’m sure why he brought me there. Lare says that he likes it because it is a “natural” environment, which means that the entire place is shaded by a huge mango tree. He appreciates nature, he says, not just renewable energy but all things about the environment. This is true, as later in the day he lets me know about some of his previous work experience with environmental protection NGOS, forestation initiatives, water sanitation, etc.

The environment inside the cafeteria is hushed, a stark contrast to the noise of the street outside. The ground is covered with thick sand, which sticks in between my sweaty toes as I amble towards a table draped in the typical, self-adhesive, white and yellow ‘Flag Bière’ tablecloth. The place is filled with men in suits, eating fufu with knives and forks. Quel comedie.

Everyone stares at me and flashes their best smile, wink and Western mannerisms. I try not to be grossed out and remember where I come from in Kpalimé. At the table next to us, a partner of FECECAV’s, a man who works for the bank BRS Togo, is sitting. This man, Takougnadi, repeatedly asked me to marry him when I was last here in Togo, although he has a wife already and is one of the sleaziest I have met here. He is a classic case – a man of ostentatious presentation, overcompensating for a culture he no longer understands because he has rejected it so shamefully. Every time I have seen him he has been in a suit and tie, his large belly protruding, flashing imposter designer watches and leering at me with ravenous eyes. Seeing him cutting his fufu with a knife and bringing it delicately to his open mouth with a fork was almost enough to make me turn around and leave the place.

I try to ignore him, but he buys Lare and I a round of drinks. Lare appears somewhat embarrassed, as it was he who brought me to lunch (in this culture, that makes sense.) I feel badly and tell Lare that while I appreciated the gesture (although I didn’t at all) I would have preferred him to buy it for me. He seems satisfied and we continue chatting while we order our fufu. He starts telling me about the difference between the North, where he is from, and the South. He says that development has all but stalled here in South, while in the North, it is just beginning. The number of NGOs are in the thousands in any given village, while here in the South, the ancient NGOs aren’t as numerous and don’t do anything anymore – they used to, but now they’ve plateau-ed. Interesting, and I see it. I have decided that my next mission in Togo is to visit and get to know the North of the country, it is something that I have been missing.

When our food comes, I ask to wash my hands. Lare is pleased that I prefer to eat with my hands, and the BRS man is, I think, caught in between being put off and charmed. I hope it is the former, and I wouldn’t be surprised. I can’t imagine eating fufu with a fork, that is utterly ridiculous…

Finally, Takougnadi leaves and Lare and I finish our meal and discussion in peace. When we go to pay, we discover that Takougnadi has paid for our entire meal. I am furious, but Lare shrugs it off and announces that we are going to go into the field, to look at an installation he has completed in Lomé. It is almost 25km away, he says, so we will take a taxi. Lomé is incredibly spread out, so it doesn’t surprise me. The drive is fascinating. I see a part of Lomé I have never before experienced – La Zone Industrielle.

We drive past the Port of Lomé, quite impressive looking, and I admire it in the wake of what Laré has told me about it. The air gets thicker and we are soon in the midst of huge camions, none older than 1989 I can guarantee you. They are ancient and powerful trucks, their rusted hoods strapped on with bungee cords, filthy laborers perched on top of bags of cement and piping, all lurching along, spewing out dense clouds of black exhaust. They are loud and unruly and, although they wouldn’t pass emissions in any state I can imagine, they get the job done. I wait for one to spontaneously collapse into a pile of black steel and oily gears, instantly killing everything in its wake.

We pass the FanMilk factory – Togo’s most famous and profitable export. It is here, inside the cracking white and blue walls that West Africa’s favorite frozen cocktails are manufactured. We pass CimenTogo, a sprawling and devastating junkyard of dust and gray film, which I imagine coating the inside my lungs. While the factory grounds are huge and impressive, the exterior transport belts and storage facilities are rusted and prehistoric and the grounds are all but deserted…Lare tells me that, despite this semblance of an industrial sector, the state cannot meet the demands of students graduating every year from university. Unemployment is more than 33% (this does not include the majority of the population that subsists on petit commerce, rendering the unemployment rate more in the area of 70-80%.)

The air is so heavy with dust, exhaust and pollution my lungs start to burn. We pass the refinery, where Shell has all but monopolized petrol sales in Togo. We pass the factory where beauty products, such as lotions and hair serums, are manufactured. I assure Lare that there will always be a market for these items.

Bizarrely enough, there are also large fields in the middle of the industrial zone, hooked up to sprinkler systems and tended to by women doubled over in the pounding sun. It looks like a plantation…

As we come out of the cloud of smog, we pass a hotel that has installed a windmill! Lare points it out, or I would have missed it for sure.

Soon, the clanking and bustling ceases to a dull roar and we enter a sandy, quiet neighborhood called Kpogan – Agodeka. It is so quiet after being in the Industrial Zone and I don’t see many people. The houses are enormous and protected by tall walls and in some cases barbed wire. Lare tells me that we are approaching the house where he installed a 4kW PV System, for a Togolese man who lives in France with his family. He lives at this house for a few months out of the year. Lare points out other homes and tells me where their occupants live full-time – Germany, Ghana, the United States. No wonder I don’t see any people…

We approach a beautiful, newly constructed home surrounded by tall, tan walls topped with fuchsia bougainvillea. We greet the woman selling cookies on the street and the team of carpenters making doors and enter the home’s gate, greeted by a friendly caretaker. This home is stunning – it is all light tan, white and brown, with a small, well manicured lawn and garden and a sparkling swimming pool. It is not too large in fact, relatively, and I love it. For the first time, I see a place I could see myself living in Lomé. I want to build a house like this – but then I think, do I want to become a stereotype? The expat who lives in her gorgeous home in a rich quarter of Lomé 3 months out of the year? How could I ever be that person? But there is so much to balance, I could never leave my life and my family and live in Togo full time, but I am more and more beginning to feel that there may be a compromise…

We enter the house, mostly empty with new tile, a new fridge and washing machine and new wooden furniture. The design of the house is open and welcoming, and a nice breeze flows through it, from the ocean which is only a few kilometers away. We go up to the 2nd floor and out onto the large balcony, where there is an outdoor shed with a large black cable running from it to the roof – the conduit from the solar modules to the inverter and batteries.

Lare opens the shed and begins to show me the details of his installation. He has done a fantastic job and I immediately see the difference between his expertise and Aminou’s experiments. Lare explains why he has used each size cable, each component. I won’t bore you with the details, but I am impressed. I furiously write everything down in my notebook, considerations that only he, a solar energy technician several degrees away from the equator, would know.

Soon, we go up a rickety wooden ladder and gingerly climb across the synthetic roofing – designed to deflect heat, sent from France – to see the 200W Schuco modules mounted flatly on aluminum racks. They are neatly installed and Lare wipes the dust off of them so that I can take photos. I am so happy to see such a professional installation.

There are many similarities between Lare and Aminou, despite the gap in experience and expertise (which Lare took a certain pride in pointing out, haha, he is human after all.) Both men feel privileged to have worked with people who have the knowledge and the means to install solar here. Both understand the lack of connaissance and sensibilisation about solar in Togo and agree that it is the largest obstacle to its expansion. Lare has done presentations, tried to sell large businesses on solar with financial arguments comparing the price of a generator and a PV system, but people just aren’t ready to take the leap. I am confident that together we can take them there…

The last note I will make to you about this day, for those of you still reading this blog (Mom, Rhoda,) is that taking a moto ride in Lomé at rush hour is one of the most hilarious, frightening things I have ever done. As I have written before, there are no such things are traffic laws or violations in practice in Lomé –if they exist in theory I don’t know about them, and apparently nor do any taxi drivers. Traffic lights are more often than not ignored, traffic patterns changing as a result of pushy station wagons taking advantage of a lull in the line of traffic coming from the opposite direction (and by a lull, I mean a space of more than 10 feet between one vehicle and the next.) Occasionally a police man will stand in the middle of an intersection, randomly waving a flashlight at the ground in one direction or the other, while talking on his cellphone. I have never seen a police man over about 25-28 years of age. Motos are 3-5 thick across each lane, following within 1 inch of each others’ back tires – this is not an exaggeration. You are so close to the people riding next to you that spontaneous conversation is common and you must hold your belongings close to your chest. The snaking train of motos continuously accelerates, brakes and winds in and around each other and in between cars, cutting each other off, narrowly missing each other and often catching a rearview mirror or protruding elbow.

No one wears helmets or even holds on.