Bonsoir, Pussycat

Kassinou decided I should NOT pay the outrageous prices at the Sheraton, he knew exactly where I should stay and he would show me a Cyber café. I was in no state to deal with the tour of Cotonou I received in his hands, he speeding along on his motorcycle while I did my best to keep up, but he was gracious and eager and true to his word. He even convinced the guardian of this conference center I am staying in to do my laundry. I’m stuck here without clothes until the guardian gets back.

This trip has not evolved as planned: No bandits, no thieves (OK...Fouruzi took my jackknife in Tunisia…$38, plus tax), no tough guys (except for those truckers in the desert and those religious extremists who smashed my headlights in Beni Isguem…no harm and $28), no lions, no tigers, no bears (and no giraffes or elephants either, or snakes or scorpions for that matter). No major tourist attractions. Only the friendliest, most helpful, most supportive, most enthusiastic, most INSPIRING people I have ever met. Not since that little kid yelled "Bonsoir, Pussycat" to me as I chugged into Tozeur have I gotten such an incredible lift from the people I passed. I have seen large and joyous groups of people in these Peule villages actually stand up and cheer a 48 year old white guy with a stupid hat and too much gear, with papayas and peanuts and dates hanging off the back, waving and grinning and yelling “Bonjour” at them. This was a profound lesson for me on the meaning of unmitigated, unselfconscious joy.

Of course, they may have been laughing AT me…

written by  roel krabbendam on February 28, 2007 from Cotonou, Benin
from the travel blog: Harmattan
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