My World By Phillip Martin

Mural 63 in 27 Countries, Lomé, Togo

4/17/2023

The day started off a little rough. The Public Affairs Officer asked if I could go to the Ambassador’s Residence in order to show the people who were going to put up an awning the exact location. I rushed there immediately! But, I learned something. It isn’t a good thing to go to the Ambassador’s Residence without your identification. The guards didn’t know who I was and certainly didn’t trust me. I simply wanted to show them the mural location on an exterior wall, but it required two guards, their supervisor, and finally the Diplomatic Security Special Agent to get the job done.

Then, I came back to the hotel to get cleaned up for a day of sweating in the African blistering sun. And, it was an amazing day.

Painting under the blistering African sun with that wonderful awning!

Koumy, my Togolese coworker, has four trained apprentice artists. The work goes so much faster with so many artists on board. I showed them how I work with a grid to create my murals. They had never seen a chalk line before and were simply amazed at what is available in other parts of the world. I use a graphite pencil to draw my murals while Koumy used soft chalk. I may switch to that just because it’s easier to paint over. He really liked my pencil, but the chalk appeared the better choice.

Part of the non-diva experience is allowing students ownership. One student wanted to draw the hands. I showed him how I use the grid to draw them. He preferred free-hand work. So, I told him that this was a skill that helped me. But, if he wanted to go with free-hand art, it was his call. I was fine with his drawing, but when he mixed paint for skin coloring, pink was not acceptable. I may have been fried a little in the sun, but I couldn’t live with the pink he created. (If you look closely, you can see the original pink on the hand on the left side as well as the improved beige coloring.)

Peace Corps Volunteers -- Kate, Lizzie and Miguel

There was no shortage of volunteers to paint. About fifteen teenagers from three local schools showed up. They painted on the previous mural project, and they were delighted to be back. Then, three so very welcomed Peace Corps Volunteers ... well, volunteered. I couldn’t have been more thrilled. So, there were more than enough willing hands to grab brushes. So much fun!

The design was a bit of a secret. It is four very fat letters that spell out “TOGO”. Koumy had not been informed about it. He was as surprised as everyone else. And, I love that bit of secrecy for the artists. Most people who look at the art will never spot it.

The letter T has a map of West Africa and the red lion of Togo. Across the O and the G is a handshake, two women’s hands for International Women’s Month. Also, in the G, my contribution is the flags of the USA and Togo. Any other free space, as well as the final O, was for the Koumyism expression.

The Peace Corps Volunteers watched Koumy outline the mural on their second day of painting. He uses a brush about twice as thick as I do and about five times as fast. Do you want broad, thick strokes that flow freely or do you want my usual careful precision? You know what to do while in Rome or Togo. The Volunteers had half of the mural outlined at the end of their final day of painting. On my own, it usually takes me two entire days to outline.

When the mural was completed, the ambassador came for a viewing. She was thrilled, and according to everyone I’ve spoken to, they are thrilled with her. I had about two undivided minutes of her time, which is huge on an ambassador’s schedule, and explained the letters of TOGO for her. And, the final secret was hidden in the red sleeve that she loved so much. If you look closely, you should find the letter 63 in the shadows, for my sixty-third mural.

You have to know about the key to actually see the letters TOGO and the number 63. Now you know.

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The House of the Slaves

4/15/2023

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Just a little stroll into country 103, Ghana

I have a small list of things to do when I travel. If I accomplish that small list, then everything else is extra dessert. And, I love myself plenty of desserts. I knew that when I came to Togo, I wanted to see the House of the Slaves, La Maison des Esclaves, in Agbodrafo – somewhere not so far from the capital city.

I scheduled the day with my regular chauffeur, Francis. And, right away, he started out with some dessert. I didn’t realize that Lomé, Togo, was right next to the border of Ghana until my driver took me there. I was kind of hoping to get one foot over the border line. Yep, just one foot. That would make Ghana country number 103, a number that even impressed people working at the State Department.

When we arrived at the border, did I have a visa to enter the country?

No.

Did I think to bring my vaccination card that proved I was protected from typhoid, yellow fever, and meningitis?

Another no.

Was there a snowball’s chance in the tropical heat of West Africa that I’d get across the border?

Surprisingly, yes!

Of course, I first had to go to a back room of the Immigrations Office, but there I found a very friendly officer named Wilberforce. He warmed up as soon as I mentioned that I worked with the United States Embassy. He asked how long I planned to be in Ghana. I said, “About fifteen minutes.” That worked for my new buddy.

Francis and I walked into the border town. Instantly, it was easy to see the difference between the two countries. There were not so many cars in Togo’s capital city. There were a lot more motorcycles than cars. But, traffic multiplied greatly on the other side of the international border.

The town in Ghana offered nothing for tourists, but I really doubt if many tourists walked across the border. We walked past the Don’t Mind Your Wife bar and then turned around. A very nice young man asked if he could have a selfie and then a video with me. That’s pretty much my highlights of Ghana, until I got back to the border station.

Wilberforce again greeted me warmly in the back office. Among other things, I asked him what I should eat in Ghana. Everyone, including my Immigration officer, always recommended fufu. I don’t do that. I don't do anything made from the cassava root. But, it’s the national dish of Togo, probably Ghana as well. If you imagine tapioca pudding mixed with instant mashed potato flakes, you sort of have fufu. You pinch a glob, swirl it in a soup with your fingers, and then swallow it whole. I just sits in your stomach for a while, if you don’t throw it up immediately!

Exterior wall art depictions, the living room trapdoor, and the slave routes to the New World

Another Immigration officer suggested jollof rice. Now, I love me some of that! Wilberforce insisted that rice was a Western food. However, his friend said that “jollof” made it very African. I must agree. Jollof rice is kind of like jambalaya and just so very delicious!

Then, someone else mentioned food in the Ivory Coast. And, I was asked if I’d tried it. I always love to tell people about the very worst food in the world. It’s akpani, and I was once served it in the Ivory Coast. Okay, there may be some competition here for the very worst food on the planet, but akpani is a very high contender. It was whole, deep-fried, bat complete with head, fangs, wings, and feet. It was served with nothing else. I just had two bats on my plate. Everyone in Immigrations was stunned by this. They’d never heard of akpani. None of them were willing to eat it either!

Before I left, I had to ask Wilberforce if he knew about his name in history. When you’re named after the man who ended slavery in the British Empire, you need to know that much history. Fortunately, my new friend knew that. He might not have known that Wilberforce campaigned against the slave trade for twenty years to get the Slave Trade Act passed in 1807, but he knew why he had a good name.

He escorted me out of Ghana and into Togo without any problems. And then, it only made perfect sense that I was on my way to the House of the Slaves.

If you look back two paragraphs, you see that slavery "ended" in the British Empire in 1807, but the House of Slaves was built by a Scottish slave merchant, John Henry Wood, in 1835. You may be asking yourself, what’s up with that? Well, slavery officially ended in 1807 for the Brits, but if you had no morals or scruples, it was still a lucrative business. The slaves from Nigeria, Niger, Burkina Faso, Benin, Ghana, and Togo, of course, made no money. But, it was very lucrative for the local ruler, Chief Assiakoley of the Adjigo clan, and the slave ship merchants that he worked with. Assiakoley had no intention of giving up on the income. Slave ships continued to come to this home until it was officially closed down in 1857.

The slave house was less than a mile from the beach, but well hidden by lush trees at the time. It was one of the last clandestine slave houses in operation after the official abolishment of slavery. The main floor of the house had a living room and six bedrooms. I’m not sure, however, how anyone managed to sleep in it. In the center of the living room was a trap door to the cellar below, an area not tall enough to stand in. The slaves were forced to squat, sit, or lie in the damp and dark squalor for weeks or months at a time. With hundreds of slaves forced into the space about 20 by 10 yards long, nobody could possibly be comfortable. And, just so you know, none of the slaves entered from the living room area. They had to crawl into the cellar from windows outside of the building. (If you look closely at the photo on the top of the page, you can see the entrance.)

Man’s inhumanity to man is hard to fathom. I climbed into the cellar (from the living room). I experienced how shallow it was. But, I still cannot possibly imagine the anguish, the stench, and the horror of the people who were forced into that hole in the ground.

Of course, the horror didn’t end when the slaves finally left the House of Slaves for the New World. From 1526 to 1867, approximately twelve and a half million captured men, women, and children were put on slave ships to the New World. It was no trip on the Love Boat. More than a million slaves died along the journey. The majority of the slaves on these ships came from West and Central Africa. And, once they arrived in the New World, they were still slaves.

I believe the purpose of history is to teach us about the past, so we don’t repeat the mistakes. The slave trade existed in Togo from the last quarter of the 17th century until the late 19th century. It is so important to see these historic places from the past, learn from them, and share the experience. The House of Slaves has been registered on the UNESCO World Heritage List since 2002. Everyone who comes to Togo should make the pilgrimage to Agbodrafo.

Ackee fruit -- a little bit of nature's beauty to brighten an otherwise dismal location.

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Second Thoughts, a Little Too Late

4/13/2023

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A picture is worth a thousand words, but these photos leave me speechless.

I spent a part of one afternoon with my private tour guide, Francis. This driver spoke English, making him worth his weight in gold in a country where most people speak French. I love to go to market places, so Frances took me to an African arts market filled with colorful woven and batik fabrics and wooden carvings. I wanted a few pieces of carved wood. The salesman said, “11,000 CFA.” (The currency throughout what was once French West Africa is the CFA, the Communauté Financière Africaine Franc or the West African Franc.) Francis told me I was expected to bargain. So, I asked for the last price. The guy said, “11,500”.

“What?” I exclaimed. “Price number one was 11,000 CFA and price number two was 11,500? Do you know how to bargain? What is price number three?” When I heard “10,000”, we had ourselves a sale. (For those who just have to know, 6,000 CFA is about ten dollars.)

Afterwards, we headed off to a fetish market. I’m not sure what I expected at this market. For certain, I absolutely didn’t think there would be a guided tour. I was hosted by none other than Elvis at the fetish market. Of course, he knew all about Elvis Presley. I exclaimed, “I never knew that Elvis had a son in Africa!” It was only the first of my sense of humor that took the young man by surprise.

Elvis showed me a whole lot of dead birds, baboon skulls, necklaces made from snake vertebrae, animal skins, crocodile parts, warthog teeth, porcupine quills, dried lizards, cow tales attached to wooden handles, shriveled starfish, assorted jawbones, lots of animal heads, and so very much more. Items were frequently boiled or burned to make potions, lotions, bath salts, and ashes. You could get cures for whatever ailed you. Not to mention, if needed, you could be made invisible to someone else or become bulletproof. Yes, it was all for sale. I don’t know if any of it was reasonably priced. I wasn’t about to bring any of that into my home.

Elvis showed me several statues around the market. One was of the founder of the place. He died a long time ago. I said, “His potions didn’t work so well for him. He had a couple of necklaces on, but I guess they weren’t strong enough.” It’s my guess that nobody ever made that comment before. I continued to surprise Elvis.

If I had it to do all over again, I never would have walked into a building in the back of the market. It was where the witch doctor was. I’m sure if I wanted to interact more, I could have had a much longer conversation. I didn’t. The witch doctor asked to pray for me and blessed some token that I could take home. I declined the token. And, Francis had a good laugh once we were in the car, because he noticed I didn’t give the guy my real name. There was no way I wanted a witch doctor praying for me!

I left the market almost immediately after that experience. I’d been to places like this market before but never had a guide, nothing was ever explained to me, and I never saw a witch doctor. A little knowledge is usually a good thing. This time, I don’t think I can say that.

Anyone interested in a new wreath for your front door?

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People Along My Path -- Jean Koumy

4/11/2023

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Jean Koumy with US Ambassador Elizabeth Fitzsimmons in the Koumy courtyard. (photo from Koumy's Facebook page)

My host from the embassy took me to meet Jean Koumy, the Togolese artist I shared joint ownership with on this mural project. Right away, I discovered my African brother from another mother. His style of art, that he calls Koumyism, is loud, bold, and colorful – kind of like African fabric patterns. And, it appears that Koumyism is loved in Togo. His art can be seen inside and outside the International Airport, at the entrance to the port, at the U.S. Ambassador’s home, and at twenty other locations in the city. You can’t get much more prestigious than that in Lomé.

So, how did all this success come to a self-trained artist? While living abroad, Koumy was a restaurant chef. He fixed African food with enough of a European twist that the local diners loved it. And, they also loved his art. He was encouraged to sell it in his restaurant and the success grew from there.

Now when he returned to Togo, some important person in the government heard about him and visited his home. The official liked what she saw and asked if he could make a mosaic at the airport. Who could say no to that? And so, Togo was introduced to one of her more creative sons. And, the word spread quickly.

I knew Koumy’s colors and my style would work well together. I learned that by exploring him on the internet. However, it’s an entirely different experience to go to his home. Part of the place was an entrance area where tables can be installed for workshops. Straight ahead was his home. To the left was his gallery. To the right was his worship area where he paints, forms pottery, creates mosaics, and molds cement statues with steel support. Koumyism is on overload display everywhere. Sculptures, arches, wall mosaics, paintings. You name it and it has been Koumyed. Sofas, tables, walls, ceilings, floors and even the refrigerator and microwave! His home is the Koumy Museum.

One of his paintings had a hint of Jackson Pollock. That prompted me to tell him about my apartment in Antwerp where Pollock once had a meal. It sealed the deal for my rental.

“You lived in Antwerp? I lived in Ghent!”

Dansou, Tony, Koumy, Godfrey, and Hiler -- the artist with those four lucky young men

As it turned out, we both lived in Belgium at the same time, an hour away from each other. He was already well-established there, painting murals at local schools and making trips back and forth to Togo.

Koumy remained in Togo during the reign of a certain nasty little virus. He could have easily lived in Belgium, but he was a man with a plan. He wanted to teach others his skills. He has taken four young men under his leadership. They help him with local workshops for children and assist in his murals. He’s teaching them Koumyism as they work on developing their skills. I believe they are about the four luckiest young men in Togo.

These four artists participated with Koumy on the earlier mural at the US Ambassador’s residence. Now, you cannot be an art diva and paint community murals. But, Koumy is even less of a diva than me. He made a general design, but he let other people create additional images. I’ve never done that! HOWEVER, when we went to the mural site to prepare the immaculate wall of the ambassador’s residence, we saw that the wall was divided into sections. The four letters of TOGO almost filled three of the sections. There were about two or three feet left over on the left side. I said, “That could be an area for some free designing.” Koumy was so pleased. I said, “I think that Koumyism is rubbing off on me!”

As I knew from before we met, our colorful mural styles blended together just fine. It was meant to be.