On my return to Togo yesterday I learned that a severely mentally handicapped beggar, about 17, was burned alive in Kara a few weeks ago by unknown assailants for unknown motives.

I’ve known him since he was about eight years old. He used to flag my car down in the market. If I didn’t stop, I’d catch him in my rear view mirror, flinging himself onto the ground and beating his head on the tarmac in frustration. I soon got the message, and would usually pull over to give him 100 cfa (13p).

And that’s how we got to know each other. He couldn’t speak, so I never learned his name. But he could grunt, smile and make everyone laugh.
Paix à son âme.