Seventh Impressions

  There are always people walking on the side of the road here. Whether it is a major road or the dirt track out to Dogué it seems these people walk endlessly under the sun.  During our usually short wait for a taxi we feel the sun bake into our skin and our eyes hurt from squinting too much. These are little greivences compared to their hours of walking often with 30lbs or more balanced on their heads. We can always tell which town has the market long before we arrive because the number of walkers increases. Every day a different town has the market and people come from far and near to sell their goods.

   Yesterday we took the harrowing journey on the dirt track to Dogué. When we stop at random villages to drop off or pick up parcels children come running and crowd around the vehicle to stare open mouthed at us. It doesn't help that I had my scarf wrapped 4 times around my head to control my dust intake. Often when we reach out to shake a hand the young ones scatter until an older child is brave enough to come. All the attention can be awkward especially when we are with the friends but it still makes me chuckle.
   I have decided that I much prefer swerving around potholes than bouncing over them. Often goods fall out of the trunk or off the roof due to either or.  When we stopped in the middle of nowhere to lift a matress from the dirt back onto the trunk I noticed a boy walking in the distance. We were miles from the last village and even the last hut! A few yards further a man crossed the track leaving wide footprints in the dust. Where are they going? What are they doing? 

  Today the taxi let us off across from a little Catholic church just outside of Sinahou. As he sputtered away we walked down the narrow path through a patch of millet growing high. Our contacts under the mango tree welcomed us again, bringing out wooden chairs for us while they sit on benches. When we're ready to go the children usually come to the road with us to wave down taxis. We followed them to a shady spot and sang Jesus Loves Me and asked questions about Jonah while we waited.
    The 4th taxi was able to take us and Kaarina got the whole front seat to herself and I got the whooole back seat to MYself. That great luxery lasted a delightful 20some minutes until we picked up a few more passengers. There are a number of ways to identify if we've been in a particular taxi before. The pattern of cracks on the windsheild are never the same, whether they have rearview mirrors or not is another way, and we very well notice the cushion kindly placed in the centre console when we share the front seat.

  We had a short break after arriving home from Sinahou before we took off on zemidjhan to study with some friends who don't get out to Wednesday pm study. As we visited a great wind blew dust through the house and the sky turned black. It didn't take us 2 minutes to say our goodbyes and we were off on zem again. Clouds were rolling in as the sun set and we flew across town hoping to miss the rain. Again I covered my face with my scarf as the wind threw billows of roadside dust in the air. At first glance I thought the spedometer was maxed out but rather it was sitting at zero, disabled.
  One charming point about public transport is that your driver takes full responsibility to get you right to your destination. The ride may not be comfortable, safe, or remotely on schedule but you will get there. When the rain was too strong to continue we ducked under a shelter where a number of other people were stranded. We smiled at each other as we looked out from under the metal roof to see lightning flash across the sky. What else can you do?

  For the record we made it home safe. Until next time... Alize

Sixth Impressions

   Days go by in Benin just as fast as they anywhere and I realize my silence has been long. Since the last note a young friend in our field professed. Aniset, the daughter of our friend Ignace, quietly asked us after meeting if she could come visit. As we chatted she told us of her first ever visit to the ocean at convention time this year. The waves endlessly rolling in from the horizon told her "there must be a God" and again at convention she felt another call. Meetings aren't generally tested here. Rather the desire is mentioned in a visit as in the case of Granmama Adjaffon who is finding the strength to get to meetings regularly. So Kaarina and I  went to Aniset's meeting on Sunday to tell them of her choice and started the meeting with her choice, hymn 93 in French.
  Last week we took our second trip to Djougou, this time leaving out the dirt track to Dogué but adding just as many miles in the opposite direction to visit Medard and Serge who are setting up a bach in Natitingou. We had some matresses etc for them and were glad for some worker fellowship. We spent the night in Natitingou, a tourist stopover where everything is located on the main road that runs through town. This made for good yovo (white person) spotting, which has become a game for me. I win if I can get them to smile at me.
  Somehow the next day we happed upon undisputeably the slowest taxi in Benin. As we waited for more passengers the sickning sweet smell of unrefined gas wafted through the car. Gas tapped from lines in Nigeria is smuggled into Benin and sold cheap from glass bottles at haphazard stations that dot the roadsides. If the government were to outlaw this there simply wouldn't be enough gas to go around. We were soon underway only to find that the car wouldn't go more than 50km/h. Almost 2 hrs later than planned we arrived at our destination where two young men welcomed us.
  Unfortunately after our meeting we found the taxi area empty except for the turtle and so we poked along to our next appointment. VERY unfortunately the turtle was just pulling out as we emerged from our second visit and we were stuck with him all the way back to Djougou. Every so often he would take his hand from the wildly vibrating wheel to lift the limp rearview mirror as vehicles approached and whizzed by.
   For the first time since my arrival I heard a particularily talented Imam weaving his way through the call to prayer. A normally offkey, bored chant turned into a proud song that I decided was even more tasteful than the music blaring from the bar down the street. We often see men with teapots washing their face, hands and feet before entering a mosque. As I entered a leanto with a mat on the floor I noticed a teapot at the door and quietly slipped my sandals off  as I had already been chastised once for walking on a prayer mat with my sandals on.
  Our meetings continue to bring interest on Fridays and Sundays. Many who came to the first meetings at our bach haven't come recently but we are glad to have some new contacts filling the benches.

Until next time... Alize