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This has been home for the last three months.

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This afternoon there was a fire in the village. Pauline was brewing millet beer in her kitchen, when some sparks from the fire flew up and caught the thatched roof alight. We’re a very long way from the nearest fire station here, so all the neighbours rushed over to help put out the fire. Fortunately there’s a well near the house. It took us about half an hour to put out the fire. They’ve decided that it’s a good opportunity to replace it the thatch with a tin roof.

I’ve always liked the fact that my place is something of a local tourist destination, but we’ve never seen anything like the last couple of days.

Yesterday morning, fifteen people descended on us after mass. Having seen the house from their ground-level village, their curiosity got the better of them, so they climbed the mountain to find out who lives here.

Then in the afternoon, the intrepid ‘Puits de Jacob’ community (who I met in Sokodé last week) became the first people ever to drive a nine-seater bus up the mountain.

And today, 30 teenagers from the ANLP (à nous la planète) club arrived unannounced, but waving a printed program of their Independence Day excursion listing “11h: visit the white man’s house”. They showed off their break-dancing skills on the veranda.

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Pandja, one of the guys who lodges at my place, is on the final day of a malaria treatment. He must be feeling bettter: he caught this black-crowned tchagra with his bare hands this morning. Then came the usual debate about whether or not to give it to the cat… but in the end it escaped of its own accord.

RIP

 

Patience the monkey had an all too short life. A few days ago, the neighborhood dogs surrounded her, mauled her, killed her and ate her.

Chief's enthronement

Chief's enthronement

Chief's enthronement

Chief's enthronement

Chief's enthronement