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