Motos, Moto Riding and Moto Drivers

At the conclusion of June 2009, I classified my international internship in Shanghai as advantageous, fulfilling and money well spent. I enjoyed the Shanghainese cuisine, the Shanghai Business Review magazine, the people, and the city. After having arrived at Detroit Metropolitan Airport, I had one regret: Neither finding the time, nor having the cojones to ride a moto.

As luck would have it, instead of a lifetime of regret, I only needed to wait two years for satisfaction. Thank you Togo!

Even before PC Togo Introductions in Lomé, it was common knowledge that all-terrain bicycles are given to Volunteers for city/village transport. What didn’t I know? Evidently, grâce à Togolese infrastructure (or lack there of), Togo is one of only a few countries where moto helmets are also provided. Score! During Training, in addition to bike mechanics 101, my fellow Trainees and I got the lowdown on motoing in Togo—oh yeah, motoing is a word—and each Trainee received his or her helmet to decorate and keep throughout service.

So I suppose la question du jour is do I or don’t I enjoy riding motos? I FREAKING ADORE RIDING MOTOS. Just like my personality blossoms in a megalopolis, my body was built for motoing!

Basic moto must-dos:

· Wear your helmet—otherwise you’ll be administratively separated from PC.

· Negotiate fare before mounting moto.

· DO NOT wrap your arms around moto drivers—they aren’t your boyfriends and will probably assume you want a Togolese husband.

· Always mount a moto from the left (like a bicycle)—if not, beware of moto muffler!

· If you decide to wear a skirt or dress, hike it up and wrap a pagne (piece of fabric) around your legs.

· DOUCEMENT: Learn it, Live it, Love it. Doucement, meaning slowly or be careful in Togo, is very useful and comprehensible to all Togolese.

· Make sure the driver isn’t intoxicated—no matter if they are Muslim.

· If you have a monster daypack, hand it to the driver. There’s no extra praise for Volunteers who carry heavy packs on their backs if unnecessary.

It may simply be an adrenaline rush, but I get such a kick out of motoing in Togo. I may even go as far as rating it a highlight to any day in Dapaong. Perhaps it’s a combination of speed, wind blowing threw visor, dodging potholes, dodging other motos with goats and mattresses tied to the back. It’s all very riveting. Frankly, the moto stories are right up there with diarrhea stories on the awesome-o-meter.

A couple of days ago, after several hours of deep cleaning the PCV Work Station in Dapaong, four dog-tired PCVs grabbed some refreshments at Robinet, a local bar. We talked about the Midwest, NYC, California, Americanisms, Togoisms, life in Savannah; we ate spiced tofu; and we did what Togolese do best…reposed. After an hour or so, I had to moto back chez moi to drop off a few items and pick up my bike. On the road, just outside the bar, I saw two guys chilling on motos. Without hesitation, I walked over to one and asked if he knew Bar Escale—a bar close to my house. With a faint voice, he said “Oui” and nodded his head. I replied, “Bon, on peut aller pour 300?” (Good, we can go for 300CFA?) He confirmed and then told me I was going to ride his friend’s moto. I checked out his friend—a slow, up and down scan—and suspected he was more intoxicated than I preferred for a moto driver. I turned back and shook my head no. It didn’t take him long to realize I wasn’t mounting his friend’s moto. So I hopped on his moto and he drove very well. Once I descended the moto in front of Bar Escale, I took off my helmet, smiled and said, “Voila, 300.” My new moto friend replied, “Oh, I’m not a taxi. It’s free.”

Um…What?!?!?! Why didn’t you tell me Dude?

I felt like such a jackass. Sure, it was awesome because I got a free trip home, but sucked because I felt like an idiot. Ah well, he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. Togolese are pretty nice, must admit.