Things only got better from there. We finally convinced the drivers to abide by the original arrangement and loaded into the vans under the agreement that we would head straight for the church in Togo, no stops along the way. Our driver, dressed in a snazzy suit, complete with vest and tie, assured us that he would get us there as soon as possible.
Meaning, of course, that we stopped shortly thereafter at a gas station. Getting fuel in Benin is a lot more high-tech than Liberia, where it's siphoned into your tank from a large glass jar by the side of the road. Here in Cotonou, there are real gas stations, like Total and Shell, with lots of people working at them; the full staff is kind of a hazard in a relational culture, because our driver felt the need to chat with everyone in sight. We finally managed to fill the tank and headed towards Togo. Our next stop was at the office. But, you must be thinking, didn't she specifically say they weren't going to stop there? Good point. But you're probably not reading from West Africa. Things are a little different here.
After a few more conversations, we were properly on our way. If any of you have been reading for a while, you'll know that I don't have the best track record when it comes to driving in cars in West Africa. This being the case, I was more than a little nervous as we wove in and out of traffic, coming dangerously close to the thousands of zemidjahns that swarm the roads like bees. (I'll tell you all about them another time; I've even got pictures.)
We were making good time until we got to the border between Benin and Togo. I knew it might take a while, so I grabbed some cefa to buy plantain chips off a little girl at the side of the road and settled in on a wooden bench in the heat to wait it out. Customs here consists of hand-writing tons of information out of everyone's passport onto wrinkled sheets of paper while the border guard throws questions at you in French. Once you get across the border into the next country, the process is repeated. Since there were around twenty of us, this took a fair amount of time, but we were finally on our way, getting close to Lome where the wedding would take place.
We passed the port where we'll be staying next year, and were getting close to our destination when our driver stopped again, this time at the Togo office. To get directions. Because he had no idea where we were going. One more stop by the side of the road to make a phone call and get something absolutely unessential fixed on the car, as he assured me: Mais, oui! C'est nécessaire.
By this time, I was getting a little antsy. It was getting close to the hour of the wedding, I was the photographer, and we were driving around Lome in circles as our driver refused to admit that he was lost. I know where I'm going, he repeatedly told us, but when pressed, admitted that he wasn't quite sure how to get to that place. After a hair-raising u-turn in the middle of a crowded market and a lot of honking and angry yelling when the second car in our caravan (which contained someone who actually knew the way) took the lead, we arrived at the church campus, safe and sound.
The wedding was absolutely amazing. Esther is Swiss and Israel is Togolese, so it was a sweet mix of African and European, and it went on all afternoon and into the night. The groom walked down the aisle as Jabulani Africa blared from the speakers. They sat in chairs up at the front of the church while a choir and a band, complete with African drums and a trumpet, played worship music and ladies in lappas every color of the rainbow left their seats to dance at the front of the church. There was clapping and cheering and ululation, and when it was all over, a radiant Esther walked slowly out of the church on the arm of her new husband.The first part of the reception took place under an open pavilion. Esther and Israel snuggled on a couch and shared bottles of Fanta while we all sat around them and ate sandwiches and drank our own sodas from cool, glass bottles. There were speeches and prayers and a cake with chocolate and vanilla icing on the different layers. The night fell as we laughed and listened to words being translated from German to English to French and back again.
After a little break, we headed to another part of the campus, to another open-air room that was decorated like a fairy land. Candles glowed on the tables, and balloons and flower petals added colour to the concrete room. We enjoyed traditional Swiss bread and a delicious meal of rice and turkey and vegetables, while Esther and Israel sat at the head table, so much in love it made my heart sing. There were more speeches and skits and songs, and then Esther and Israel made their way around the room, serving cake to their friends and family.It was beautiful, and I was so honored to be a part of it. The rest of the photos are here.
Jenn