The roads of Benin vary from once-good-but-now-potholed to dirt tracks, so the going is slow. We often stop in villages, either just to walk about and talk with villagers or to set up our picnic lunch. There are always children running about, some scared by our white faces, others keen to shake a hand or wave. One lady has her tiny twin girls laid on a mat in the shade of her mud hut. She gave birth in her hut, helped by some of the older women. There is, effectively, no medical care for the villagers but mother and twins seem to be doing well. Most houses are just round, thatched mud huts. All the villages are poor but they welcome us into their midst without seeking money or other reward. Around every village, they grow
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