Watch out for banana peels

After a rather (unnecessarily) emotional conversation with my parents, I decided to take the plunge and travel to the capital to see the Peace Corps doctor about some recent not serious, but utterly this-is-what-it’s-like-to-live-in-a-developing-nation medical problems. 

The medical office is in the land of turkey sandwiches, ice cream, air conditioning and satellite internet (ie the country office in the capital). The only issue is the seven-hour taxi ride that separates my village from this mythical land. 

“Road” is a generous term for the semi-paved strip that runs between from Bohicon and Cotonou. The last 135 kilometers is one giant game of chicken as taxis, motorcycles, semi-trucks and wandering goats dodge the holes that, in the rainy season, would make a good impression of a swimming pool. 

It occurred to me as I watched a semi snake its way across the road directly toward us and then serve out of the way at the last minute, the last time I saw driving like this, I was a cartoon dinosaur hurtling through Bowser’s Castle.