Poled across Lake Togo, and carried the last few metres

The best hour we had in Togo involved no engine at all.

Togoville sits on the far shore of Lake Togo, and the way across is a wooden boat
with a man standing in the back of it holding a long pole. There is no motor, and not
because nobody can afford one. The lake is under two metres deep more or less all the
way over, so a pole works, and a pole is quieter and does not break.

It is slow in the way that reorganises your afternoon. You sit low with the water
right there beside the gunwale, the pole goes in and comes out, and the far shore
arrives when it arrives. Nobody on board seemed to consider this a problem.

Then the landing, which I was not expecting. The shallows run a long way out and the
boat stops short of dry ground, so men wade out, turn around, and carry you in on
their backs. You are set down on the bank without wet feet. It happens quickly and
matter-of-factly, and by the time I had worked out how I felt about being carried I
was already standing on the shore.

The village itself is quiet, and its story is a papal visit. The pope came here, a
church was built, sermons were held, and a lot of people converted afterwards. They
still talk about it. It sits alongside the traditional religion rather than having
replaced it, which is true of a good deal of this coast.

Two hours from a capital full of motorbikes and diesel, you cross a lake at the speed
of a man walking. It is the thing I would send anyone to Togo for.