Backseat

Cotonou and Ganvié, Benin

After 3.5 hours of waiting in Lomé for a taxi to fill up, I was finally en route to Cotonou. Never mind the fact that I was the first passenger in the car because the taxi driver pretended to be a passenger for an hour before he revealed himself as the driver. Never mind the excruciatingly upbeat and… morally questionable, non-sequitur Christian music he played for at least an hour ad nauseum — something along the lines of “You are stressed from work or exams? In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I command you to be free!” *canned cheering* “You are gay or suffering from sexual immorality? In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I command you to be free!” *canned cheering* (How do you go from exams to that?!) Never mind the chaotic border crossing, the bad and very dusty roads, and the fact that it took another 3.5 hours to get there. None of that was the problem. (At least this taxi wasn’t overfilled. It was comfortable, for once.)

The problem was one I knew would happen, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it anyway.
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