Travelling and slave trade.
I’ve been reading quite a few travel books lately – both actual guides and more literary works about people’s experiences. One that I haven’t finished yet is called “Chicken Soup for the Travelers’ Soul”, a collection of dozens little stories by different writers. It might be that I’m just having an emotional time right now, but those stories have awaken me a bit. I have remembered what travelling is all about. Travelling at its best means meeting people in the strangest places, having connection with someone even without a common language, deviations and detours. And at its worst it’s even more memorable – another unfinished book is called “Worst Journeys: The Picador Book of Travel” (1991). The author of Viceroy of Ouidah (which I didn’t manage to read before leaving, but I saw the movie by Werner Herzog, Cobra Verde – can’t really recommend to watch that one), Bruce Chatwin describes his experiences in Cotonou during a coup in 1972. He was captured by the police, suspected of being a white mercenary in Benin (or Dahomey, at the time) and put into jail. An extract:
“The corporal snapped to attention and said: “Mercenary, Comrade Colonel!”
“From today”, said the colonel, “there are no more comrades in our country.”
“Yes, comrade Colonel”, the man nodded; but checked himself and added, “Yes,
my Colonel.”
The colonel waved him aside and surveyed me gloomily. He wore an exquisitely pressed pair of
paratrooper fatigues, a red star on his cap, and another red star in his lapel. A roll of fat stood out around the back of his neck; his thick lips drooped at the corners, his eyes were hooded. He looked, I thought, so like a sad hippopotamus. I told myself I mustn’t think he looks like a sad hippopotamus. Whatever happens, he mustn’t think I think he looks like a sad hippopotamus.”
Excuse me, I’ll deviate from my subject of today, because Viceroy of Ouidah reminds me of my looking-for-an-apartment business. It seems that in a few weeks I’ll be moving into a house which is owned by the descendants of de Souza family (http://www.litencyc.com/php/sworks.php?rec=true&UID=8047). It was a bit odd to see a picture of Francisco-Félix de Souza (played by Klaus Kinski in Cobra Verde…), a Brazilian slave trader in the 19th century, on the wall of my future apartment. It’s a pity that someone has nicked the copy of Chatwin’s book from the library of Villa Karo. Maybe someone could send / bring it to me..?
But yes, back to travelling. Little malfortunes can often lead to a surprising outcome. I realized that one reason why I don’t care that much to travel in big groups (three or four persons is quite a maximal limit) is that there is always a strict timetable, but still someone is always late and one mostly experiences only two things: waiting people in an uninteresting place and everything going smoothly, as planned. Seeing only the things you were supposed to see is not what I want from travelling. I enjoyed seeing the old royal palaces in Abomey, the former capital of Dahomey in the 19th century, but even better was when we were waiting for our driver Alphonse in a restaurant while rain was pouring down and watching the people and their cars surviving in the slowly forming red river on the side of road. While it was still raining, an extremely flirtatious young girl showed me how to dance à la style ivoirienne and sold me some handkerchiefs. After the rain we got on the road, but very soon we got a flat tyre (or two, actually). There we were, a group of Finnish tourists (very tourist-like, as well) in the middle of a road waiting for Alphonse to change the tyre. During less than half an hour I saw a stream of people passing by, many with bicycles or mopeds, many walking. I was looking at an aged man hoeing his field at a slow pace: few strikes of a hoe and after that a rest. I watched how two persons from our group were taken by the police because of their video cameras – which they got back only after paying a “fine”. It was life, not some dusty museum (although I enjoy museums!).
This one is dedicated for all those people I’ve met thanks to deviations, although not that many will be reading this. Thank you, my dear fellow voyageurs.
Note a few days after writing this: I just returned from Togo last night, and had a marvelous trip. I really love traveling.
“The corporal snapped to attention and said: “Mercenary, Comrade Colonel!”
“From today”, said the colonel, “there are no more comrades in our country.”
“Yes, comrade Colonel”, the man nodded; but checked himself and added, “Yes,
my Colonel.”
The colonel waved him aside and surveyed me gloomily. He wore an exquisitely pressed pair of
paratrooper fatigues, a red star on his cap, and another red star in his lapel. A roll of fat stood out around the back of his neck; his thick lips drooped at the corners, his eyes were hooded. He looked, I thought, so like a sad hippopotamus. I told myself I mustn’t think he looks like a sad hippopotamus. Whatever happens, he mustn’t think I think he looks like a sad hippopotamus.”
Excuse me, I’ll deviate from my subject of today, because Viceroy of Ouidah reminds me of my looking-for-an-apartment business. It seems that in a few weeks I’ll be moving into a house which is owned by the descendants of de Souza family (http://www.litencyc.com/php/sworks.php?rec=true&UID=8047). It was a bit odd to see a picture of Francisco-Félix de Souza (played by Klaus Kinski in Cobra Verde…), a Brazilian slave trader in the 19th century, on the wall of my future apartment. It’s a pity that someone has nicked the copy of Chatwin’s book from the library of Villa Karo. Maybe someone could send / bring it to me..?
But yes, back to travelling. Little malfortunes can often lead to a surprising outcome. I realized that one reason why I don’t care that much to travel in big groups (three or four persons is quite a maximal limit) is that there is always a strict timetable, but still someone is always late and one mostly experiences only two things: waiting people in an uninteresting place and everything going smoothly, as planned. Seeing only the things you were supposed to see is not what I want from travelling. I enjoyed seeing the old royal palaces in Abomey, the former capital of Dahomey in the 19th century, but even better was when we were waiting for our driver Alphonse in a restaurant while rain was pouring down and watching the people and their cars surviving in the slowly forming red river on the side of road. While it was still raining, an extremely flirtatious young girl showed me how to dance à la style ivoirienne and sold me some handkerchiefs. After the rain we got on the road, but very soon we got a flat tyre (or two, actually). There we were, a group of Finnish tourists (very tourist-like, as well) in the middle of a road waiting for Alphonse to change the tyre. During less than half an hour I saw a stream of people passing by, many with bicycles or mopeds, many walking. I was looking at an aged man hoeing his field at a slow pace: few strikes of a hoe and after that a rest. I watched how two persons from our group were taken by the police because of their video cameras – which they got back only after paying a “fine”. It was life, not some dusty museum (although I enjoy museums!).
This one is dedicated for all those people I’ve met thanks to deviations, although not that many will be reading this. Thank you, my dear fellow voyageurs.
Note a few days after writing this: I just returned from Togo last night, and had a marvelous trip. I really love traveling.
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