Day 2

If this is the rainy season, then the dry season must be very dry. It hasn't rained since I've been here, even though the forecast from weather.com predicted scattered thunder-storms with a 60% chance of rain both yesterday and today. On closer inspection, one notices that scattered thunderstorms and a 60% chance of rain is the forecast for everyday this week and next. In fact, I seem to remember this same prediction every time I checked the weather these past few weeks as I was preparing for this big adventure. I wonder if they actually even bother to have meteorologists looking at satellite reports or if they just have two, seasonally changing forecasts they post. Not that I'm complaining that it's not raining. It rained enough in New Hampshire and Copenhagen to keep me satisfied for the moment. But I could use a good thunder-storm. And I hear they are good here.

Last night, T's colleague took us for a drive to the beach. We actually live very close to the beach; I think one could probably walk there if one wasn't in a hurry, but the stretch closest to us isn't very nice and not the safest either. So we continued along the coast about 20 or 25 minutes down the road to a nicer/safer area. Now when I say that we drove for nearly half an hour to get to the "real" beach it might sound a long distance away. Not at all. It's just that the chickens in the road, the goats in the road, and - most of all - the potholes in the road mean that while the dirt path may be straight, you certainly aren't travelling in a straight line.

But I didn't mind. When there is so much to see along the way, it's not so bad to take one's time. I decided not to take any pictures during these first few journeys, as I'm not yet sure where it is and isn't a good idea to be flashing around one's new, shiny, expensive, and probably impossible-to-get-in-Benin digital camera. So please be patient with me. Photos will come. Eventually. And they'll be worth it.

The dirt road that runs parallel to the beach is lined with homes along each side. Small bars and dense, wide patches of cacti pop up here and there. A few large, grey, and probably once grandiose buildings loom a little further inland, behind the row of homes. This may be beach-front property, but the Big Bad Wolf wouldn't even have to huff 'n puff to blow these houses down. At best, the "homes" are made of crudely layed cement blocks. Many are mainly sheets of rippled metal and woven reeds. Some seem to be entirely constructed of reeds. Voodoo charms are nailed over the doors. Some are painted like shop windows with pictures of people holding dangling snakes and other charms; I'm guessing these are the home of voodoo priests. Our own talisman hangs from the rear-view mirror of our Peugeot- a little extra safety, courtesy of our driver.

Lizards cling to the side of buildings. Naked children chase each other in circles. Women walk along the road's edge with large baskets balanced on their heads. Young men sit under the shade of a lean-to, taking a break from the battle between their motorbikes and the potholes. People stare into our car as we pass and I wonder how tinted the windows are. Not really tinted at all, and it shows on their ever so slightly interested faces. I wonder what they think of us, white expats who drive straight through their lives to the nicest spot of beach. I am embarrassed. I wish I was walking like so many others. But I know that me walking would not make us any more alike. I think I am being silly and force the feeling to pass.

The sun is going down and we still have to pick up some food from the largest grocery store in Cotonou and see "the club" at Marina Hotel, so we never make it out of the car. On our way back I notice a dog lying curled up on the side of the road in front of what looks like a shop. It's a sandy-coloured reddish-brown and with long wiry hairs on the back of its neck. Fuzzy, teddy-bear ears poke up from a short, square face. Hyena? Some kind of cross? No idea.