I awoke this morning to hysterical laughter, the sound of rocks hitting concrete and low growling…uh oh…I wrapped myself in my pagne and flung open the door to find Mathilde, Celine and Maria throwing rocks at Anice, one of the house dogs, who was trapped under a bush. I hissed and scolded them, and they hovered somewhere between fear and apathy before dropping the rocks in their grimy hands. While they inherently knew this was bad, Mathilde is too young to know better and Celine just has a stubborn, mean streak.
Maryann shyly apologized to me. She is one of Maman’s students, who is working as their servant during winter break., When Maman is not here I let her lean on me, touch my fingernails and read the tags on my clothes while I read…she has a beautiful smile and a bald patch on the front of her head where she carries silver bowls of water that weigh more than her thin body.
By 10AM we were in Lomé, which is 10 times hotter and dustier than Kpalimé, because there are almost no trees, and far too many people and motos. We had arrived not only to search for my solar panels at the airport and take care of some business the US Embassy, but also to pay a visit my dear friends at the Ministry of Decentralization in search of my Recepissé, which has STILL not been signed. Without this silly piece of paper, for which I have already spent over $400 (including the small favors I have had to pass quietly in envelopes in order to move my folder from one room to the next…) and waited over a year, I cannot import the panels for my project, lest they be stolen and heavily taxed at the port.
It was a frustrating day…
Starting with the US Embassy, an arrogant fortress with high fences, landscaping and by far the most well-functioning air conditioning units in all of Togo, the day just went downhill and for the first (ok, maybe the second) time, I was officially discouraged and furious at this country’s government’s utter incompetence and corruption. As well as US immigration policy.
Of course Visas to the US are difficult to acquire, and with good reason, but the ridiculous hoops one must navigate through to simply gather information and speak to a human being at the US Embassy in Lomé were out of control.
Upon arrival at the embassy – which for a Togolese person living in Kpalimé takes almost 3 hours and costs a week’s wages – we learned that in order to call the “Visa Information Line” we must go to one of 3 locations in Lomé and buy a calling card which costs 8500CFA, more than 3 times what we paid to get to Lomé in the first place. For most Togolese, the game is already over. They cannot afford the calling card, which by the way, gives you 9 minutes with a “Visa Information Officer” who can “answer your questions and schedule an interview.”
Luckily we had friends in Lomé that took us on their motos all day to our various destinations, so after making our 9 minute phone call (which, of course was an affair all in itself, because to call a land line you must use another land line to avoid using up all of your minutes, and the first 2 phone booths we tried were not working) we zig-zagged our way to some fufu near the Ministerie de Decentralisation. I had called my contact in the morning, who told me that it was not ready, but that I could pass by before 4PM.
After an hour of negotiating, that went from polite to furious, following protocol to pleading, and finally to accepting defeat, I had visited nearly everyone except the minister himself and convinced them to help me find my file and put it in front of his face. Another step forward, after several steps back. I have however maintained very cordial relationships with the employees at this ministry, which works in my favor. My rapidly developing Ewe skills also help :) Apparently since my previous departure the Minister has not signed a single Recepissé…so what is he doing up there?!, I told them I will be leaving soon and I WILL have that authorization in my hand –as firmly as my yovo eyes and voice could muster. Since I am oh so intimidating…
Already agitated and frustrated, we went to the airport to collect my panels and go home, as we were so sweaty and dusty all we needed in the world was a shower. We arrived at 4:30PM to learn that the attendant had gone home at 3PM but her replacement was due to arrive any minute since his shift started at 4. We waited, with 3 others, until he sauntered in at 6PM…yes, really. We followed him into his air conditioned office, next to the customs office, on whose door I had already knocked to find a woman sleeping across 3 chairs with a French soap opera shrieking across the room. After a few minutes I told him jokingly (sort of) that he was late…to which he responded calmly, “Oh? You were waiting for me?” It was all I could do after this day not to reach across the counter and smack him.
But it was nothing compared to what happened next.
Finding my panels in the baggage storage closet, their packaging ripped apart but the panels themselves still intact, I started to carry them out of the terminal. I was immediately hissed at with a “Vient-là! Tu dois presenter ca a la douanes!” (Come here! You must bring that through customs!) The tone was rude and angry…I took a deep breath and turned around. I was in no mood…
After conversing with a customs officer who appeared out of nowhere and the same woman I had found asleep not an hour earlier, I was forced to bring my panels into the customs office…if I had been importing them for sale, rather than them being my personal baggage, I would have of course been happy to declare the materials. But it was just not so. I was however convinced, when a police officer, hearing the customs’ officers rising tones, asked me politely to step into the office. So I did…
I tried to be polite, I really did, but after 20 minutes of haggling (seems to be the story of this day) when I was told I would have to pay 200,000CFA (almost $500) to take the panels out of the airport I surpassed my limit. I asked to see their supervisor. I was then insulted in Ewe and asked who I thought I was to speak to them like this, with daggers in their eyes, you stupid yovo. They said that their boss was not in and that he was the only one who knew the “prices” to import baggage.
I surpassed my limit. I demanded to see the paperwork that explained, under the law, how the customs fees are determined from the value of the product. They snarled that the paperwork is only in their boss’s head. I left without my solar panels. But it's definitely not over.
I cried in the taxi on the way home until Inno squeezed his arm out from between the 4 of us smashed into the backseat and put it around me.
So I said Ok, c’est fini.
C’est promis?
Oui.
Je te demande encore de courage ok? Encore un peu de courage.
Ok.
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