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The Weather
I was sleeping on the porch, as normal, and was still hot, as normal, though the porch is many many times cooler than any other place in the house. The breeze can always find me there, so that is where I sleep. When I say hot, I mean that candles don’t hold their upright position, and if I were to sleep inside, I would sweat so much that I would wake up often to drink water and still not have to urinate in the morning. And that’s at night.

I had gone out for a drink in the early evening and had noticed lightening in the distance, as I have been noticing many nights in a row. I thought nothing of it.

“It’s hoooot,” I thought to myself, “the rain will come when it comes. Nothing doing but waiting.”

By 4h30, I was startled out of my sleep by a strange sound. I had seen a snake the day before in my flowers not far from where I was sleeping, so at first I panicked, but then I realized it was rain! Oh happy day! And oh happy cool night!

I quickly tore down camp. I untied my mosquito net, that had also be acting as my snake net, then realized I had left all my project notebooks and chairs-become-desks on the porch as well, so those were the next to go inside. Then, oh yeah, my mattress. I had to untie my puppy too, who has developed a habit of running away at night.

I stood on the porch and listened to the rain fall harder. How beautiful to have the rainwater on my flowers, the cool breeze on my face, and the scent of the dust kicked up by the first raindrops filling my senses.

But I knew I could appreciate the new coolness more profoundly, and standing on the porch was not enough. I stripped down and danced in it.

The Co-habitants
I accidentally killed the frog that was living in my kitchen. He was not bothering me, just hanging out in the drain eating any bugs that wandered by. But the termites that had suddenly created a moving path to and from I-don’t-know-where were bothering me, and were not being eaten by the frog. I heated water to pour on the termites, and woops- boiled froggy in the drain.

On the porch again this evening, with my dogs. These two guardians not only inform me of human invaders, but also large insects that hit the light hard enough to surprise them into barking. I guess I can call them guard dogs; the only beings they bite are flies, and they recognize my regular visitors so well that often, instead of barking, one or the other will come to my feet and “tell” me someone is at the door, or already in the front room depending on how familiar we are.

I can hear the frogs in their cool-water homes of puddles and pits in the currently very low Mono River. Usually some 30-40 meters wide and at most five meters deep, at this moment I could cross the river on foot to Togo. A gecko, the same yellow as my porch railing, just walked by with a cricket in its mouth. A nightjar is making noise in the neem tree, and a mosquito just died by my hand, bwa ha ha. The swallows are already asleep in their nest in the corner.

But enough. My coffee has made me sleepy and I have had a pleasant day. Time to hang the mosquito net and haul out the mattress.

The Friends
Imelda, my neighbor girl, told her grandma she was going to the bathroom in order to slip away and visit me. She does this often. Sometimes Imelda calls me Madame WC. She and I dance together even when we are not in the same house- I just turn my music up loud enough for her to hear and she dances on her porch while I dance on mine. I profit greatly by living next door and being friends with her family not only because they are wonderful neighbors, but also because they often give rather than allow me to pay for the frozen yogurt or ice they sell from their home.

Guillaume, another neighborhood guy and trustworthy caretaker, will come every morning before school to get water from my outdoor spigot. I choose this moment to roll out of bed and greet him, along with the day. We check up on each other:

“Bonjour, bien dormi? Qu’as-tu aujourd’hui?”
Good morning, sleep well? What do you have today?
“Oui, bien dormi. J’ai les cours. Et toi?”
Yup, slept well. I have class. And you?
“Rien hors de normal.”
Nothing out of the ordinary.

Anything I need for the house, dogs, or myself, he is the guy. I call him “chef du quartier,” or chief of the neighborhood, and feed him cinnamon rolls to make him smile. When he needs something, anything, he comes to me. It’s a fair grown older sister/grown younger brother relationship. He’s cool.

Mimino whom I love. Mimino means “mother of Mimi” in the local language. My friend’s true name is Rosine. She has three children and lives on the other side of town from me. I eat la pate at her home often. If I don’t eat there often, she accuses me of never having accepted her hospitality, therefore obliging me to stay in order to prove her wrong. I don’t mind being wrongly accused if it means I get to eat her cooking. Mimino is also a seamstress. She fixed my clothes and refused payment. (How can I keep up with this generosity?) She makes me laugh, and always thanks me for yesterday, the daily greeting in this culture. I bring her things like cookies for her kids and herself, vegetables from the garden or the market, and my clothes to fix. She’s beautiful.

Fallone is Mimino’s second child, an endearing four-year-old monster. She giggles and makes you love her, then refuses anything and everything Beninese style- she makes a wing with her arm and flaps her elbow to her side, yelling, “Mngbé!” which means, “I refuse!”

Zidane is Fallone’s rather small one-year-old brother. He is so closely attached to his mother that he refuses even to take a nap without having some part of her body touching him. He lets me keep him from his mom a bit, but I encourage him with food. He has no butt, but the biggest eyes.

Mathurin is my Mr. Knows-it-all, in a very positive and helpful manner. Anything I do, be it at the schools, in the governing district, or for sports, he has some hand in it, some resource, and the know-how to help me accomplish my work. He is up-to-date, especially in news and politics, and is eager to learn anything and everything. We discuss life in general over beer very often. We call it stress relief. I eat at his home a lot too, but he receives most of the cookies and cake I bake in return, as does his family who does the cooking.

These four form my closest circle of friends. My day can become wonderful or worried because of them, and otherwise stays normal because I know they are there.

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