Af-riikka

So far I have managed to participate in the festivities of all the three main religions in Benin: Christianity, Islam and Voodoo (several different spellings for the last one, I’m using the Hollywood version here). As for the title here, religion is closely linked to traffic, just as any other specters of life. The Ramadan ended on Sunday, and on Monday evening we had a dinner at our nightwatch Abdoullai’s house, after which we continued to the local Fulani people’s party, a few kilometers from Grand-Popo. I was quite surprised to see a Fulani version of bling-bling rappers’ clothing…I wish I had taken some photos of those guys, they were absolutely amazing. The contrast was even bigger as all the women were dressed very conservatively and didn’t dance too much, neither. I felt myself very naked with an African top which exposed my shoulders, not to mention my uncovered head...! But well, we had some pastis (I don’t think I’ve ever drank as much pastis as I’ve done here), took a lot of

My quota for tomato-onion-chili sauce with fish has been full during the last week. It somehow feels like a good idea to have a bit of a break from fish after that toxic-waste-incident in Ivory Coast ( http://www.irinnews.org/report.asp?ReportID=55612&SelectRegion=West_Africa&SelectCountry=COTE_D_IVOIRE ). It shouldn't do any harm to the vast Atlantic, but still: someone had seen dead fish on the beach here, too, and another person spoke about a dead whale… Luckily, my omelette quota has still space! Now that I have begun sports again (running at the beach this morning and private dance lessons – no smart grins there, I finally found someone who knows contemporary African dance well) I must begin eating properly. Omelettes, peanuts and fruits do not quite fill all the sections of the food pyramid. I just had the weirdest lunch: earlier during the day fried bananas, later on an omelette with bread, an orange, some olives and chocolate. Of course I had also Moka, my absolutel

I’ve been reading quite a few travel books lately – both actual guides and more literary works about people’s experiences. One that I haven’t finished yet is called “Chicken Soup for the Travelers’ Soul”, a collection of dozens little stories by different writers. It might be that I’m just having an emotional time right now, but those stories have awaken me a bit. I have remembered what travelling is all about. Travelling at its best means meeting people in the strangest places, having connection with someone even without a common language, deviations and detours. And at its worst it’s even more memorable – another unfinished book is called “Worst Journeys: The Picador Book of Travel” (1991). The author of Viceroy of Ouidah (which I didn’t manage to read before leaving, but I saw the movie by Werner Herzog, Cobra Verde – can’t really recommend to watch that one), Bruce Chatwin describes his experiences in Cotonou during a coup in 1972. He was captured by the police, suspected of being