As soon as we entered Parc W, our driver pulled over and everyone (except for the driver, of course) climbed up to the top of the Jeep. There is a 6 inch guard rail around the top of Jeep and there are wooden planks to sit on. While climbing up, the guide’s rifle strap got caught on a tree and his rifle waived around being aimed at all of us. Riding around on top of the Jeep was fun and, despite the sun, cool and breezy. The trail around the park was not paved and so the Jeep kicked up a nasty cloud of red dust as we drove along. We stopped two fishermen and the guide demanded that they give him some of the fish they had caught. I think he insinuated that they were above the limit for the number of fish that they could take.

We rode around for several hours and saw lots of birds, monkeys, and antelopes. We may have seen warthogs and lions, but we cannot say for sure.

Finally, we arrived at a camp site called Point Triple. The cabins were barren and smelled dusty, but several of them had electricity from a solar panel. Kim, Ryan, Fauzia, Laurent, and I set ourselves up in one cabin and the guide and the driver set themselves up in another. There is a radio in the cabin the guide is in, but it is broken.

By this point, we were all pretty hungry for some lunch. Kim had packed a cooler full of rations for the trip. Despite having been told that we would not have to provide food for the driver and the guide, the driver and the guide had no food for our two-and-a-half day adventure. Having seven mouths to feed and enough food and water for five people put Kim into a bit of a bad mood; if she had been told to bring food for the driver and the guide this problem could have been avoided. But we ate a hearty lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and some odd variety of BBQ Pringles and then Fauzia and Laurent washed our dishes.

After a restful night on a cot in Kim and Ryan’s living room, I woke up early because we had a taxi arranged to come and pick us up at 7AM. The arrangement had been made several days in advance, but rather than take us to Kandi like we had asked, the taxi driver decided to demonstrate one of the most frustrating aspects of Beninese culture: there is no dependability. Ryan called the taxi dispatcher with whom he had scheduled and the dispatcher told Ryan to go find a taxi. Plans had been made and we woke up early because we wanted to get to our Safari early, but, in Benin, if you have to depend on someone else there is no way to guarantee that something will happen.

Life in Benin goes on. We decided to get another taxi. We wound up riding in the most broken-down excuse for a car I have ever seen, which is in no way an exaggeration. We loaded up this “car” outside of the concession and drove over to Fauzia’s where we picked up Fauzia and Laurent, who lives across the street from her. The ride was uncomfortable, but we were only riding in that jalopy to Kandi (about an hour ride) where we met our driver for the safari. His Jeep 4x4 is the nicest automobile I have ridden in while in Benin. In another 40 minutes or so, we arrived in a small village named Alfa Kouara that sits on the border of Parc W, one of Benin’s Safari parks.

In Alfa Kouara, we picked up our “guide” for our safari, affectionately nick-named “crazy old guy”. We also had tasty egg sandwiches with onion.

Upon arriving in Kim and Ryan’s village, Gogonou, we carried our bags from the main road back to Kim and Ryan’s concession. Following the unfortunate murder of a Peace Corps Volunteer in Benin a year or two ago, all volunteers now live in concessions. A concession is a walled-in group of small buildings. Kim and Ryan’s concession is owned by one of the wealthiest people in Gogonou. It contains Kim and Ryan’s house, two guest rooms, three or four latrines, and several buildings where the rest of the family lives.

The family of the concession includes the papa (rarely around, often in Cotonou conducting business or something), his two wives, four-ish young children of his, and his 19-year-old nephew Amin. Papa is not a terribly popular guy. His first wife, Meriama, left him. His second wife tried (unsuccessfully) to commit suicide when he took his third wife. I did not have the privilege of meeting him. Amin, the man of the house while papa is away, is insanely nice. He helps Kim and Ryan out a lot. Like Amin, the children of the concession help Kim and Ryan as much as possible. Kim and Ryan cannot walk into the concession carrying anything without a flock of children coming over and carrying it to their house for them.

I felt bad letting the kids carry my bags when we arrived at the concession because my bags were heavy and I am strong and capable, but Kim told me to let the kids take the bags. I am not sure if the reason is that the Beninese people want to be helpful or if they just do not think Americans are capable of physical labor.

Over the course of the next hour or so, three of Kim and Ryan’s close friends stopped by. First, Kim’s fellow social-worker in town, Kadisia, stopped by and we sat outside and talked. I was able to follow bits and pieces of her French and was able to offer a French phrase here and there. Before she left, she invited us over her house for dinner that night. Fauzia, a 15-year-old girl, and Laurent, a 16-year-old boy, stopped by soon after. I found that I was better able to communicate with young Beninese people than with older Beninese people in both French and English.

Kim took me to her neighbor’s house where I was measured by a tailor. I placed an order for a boomba made from the “tissue” I bought in Parakou and some dress pants from the tissue I bought in Cotonou. The agreed upon price wound up being something like the equivalent of 15 US dollars.

Fauzia and Laurent eventually left and we hung around Kim and Ryan’s house for a while. I used Kim and Ryan’s latrine for the first time, which was not so bad. I also took a bucket shower, where one uses a bowl to scoop pre-heated water onto oneself from a large bucket. It was probably the most water-efficient shower I have ever taken.

Finally, at around dinner time Ryan headed over to pick up some Coca-Colas while Kim and I zemmed over to Kadisia’s house. She has a nice place on the outskirts of town. We sat in her living room and watched a Spanish soap opera dubbed in French while she and her assistant made yam pillet in the kitchen. Kadisia’s yam pillet came with a sesame and wagasi cheese sauce and fish on the side. Yam pillet is like a large wad of thick, gelatinous mashed potatoes that is usually coated in some sort of sauce featuring a meat or cheese. It tasted pretty good, but I am not very good at getting meat off of the bones of small fish. As Ryan would point out to me on the walk home, Kadisia is worldly enough to recognize that Beninese cuisine is not what I am used to and so she said several times that if I did not like the food, I did not have to eat it and she would not be offended. I did like it, though, and Kadisia was very pleased.