Letters from West Africa
Day 1. Cotonou
The flight from Ethiopia landed at noon and as the door opened we entered the hot and humid steam sauna called Benin. By chance, we had planned the same route with Villa Karo’s new intern, later to be responsible for the guidance and communications. As we landed we were welcomed with cheers and drums by groups of celebrating people. It happens that on the day before the national tchoukball team of Benin - the Cheetahs - had won the final of the 7th Edition of the African Championship, beating Cameroon with a score of 60-35. The players were returning home from Kenya and our paths merged as they transferred through the airline hub of Addis Ababa. Sports are not a joke in Benin. If the somewhat humble and unpopular game of tchoukball can move masses to the streets, could you imagine the degree of chaos a championship in soccer would spark?
I slid through the celebrating masses with the idea of walking to the hotel. It is a rare opportunity since usually airports are located at the edges of the cities, but Aéroport Cadjehoun of Cotonou is different. When you exit through its gates, you enter the central parts of Cotonou. In practice, this means getting immediately surrounded by pushy salespeople and opportunistic moped drivers. Here the yovos (whites) are expected to carry a heavy wallet, and if you do end up picking up a ride, you might just find yourself an on-call chauffeur for the whole duration of your stay. I ended up catching a taxi after dragging my greasy body and the suitcase in the mid-day sun for a solid half a kilometre.
The taxi teleported in only a few minutes to a Moroccan-style hotel, La Villa Saint Jean. Despite their Moroccan vibe the restaurant served a real Beninese dinner, fried yams with sautéed onions, after which I crashed to sleep. At night, the city gets pitch black and the sounds of happy youth and the occasional bark of a dog carry to the room through the darkness. Every hour of light is valuable and the hustle of the city begins again as soon as the first rays of sun wake up the roosters. The cuckoo clock of nature called the wakeup early, at 6 AM it was time to get up and continue the journey toward the final destination, Grand Popo. Cheers, Anna
The lobby of the hotel in Cotonou.
Bright colors everywhere, happy seats for happy butts.
The rooms had names.
Moroccan-style room in a Moroccan-style hotel.