Alive

That's what I feel. Ever so. To be honest, the last 2 years in Benin and Togo have been a challenge for me: different languages, different foods, different markets, different police, different cultures, different sea, even a different sky. Now we're back, and I feel immediately at home again. Sally, Anna and I went for a walk through the local market outside the port - how I had missed the sounds and smells: stinking fish, crabs, shrimp, and chicken all crawling in flies; kids selling rice, maize, flour and sugar from enamelled trays balanced on their heads; yams and potatoes and cassava roots and onions; over-ripe bananas and tomatoes; piles of greens; chilled bags of water and orange drink; trays of groundnuts; bowls of garlic; piles of herbs and spices; and the constant clatter of generators. The people chatted in a language we understood; the police were charming and proudly showed us their tear gas guns and canisters. Shouts of "Mercy Ship" again and again. Everywhere sand, rubble, broken concrete, boarded up windows, walls worn black and shiny by dirty hands, open sewers filled to the brim with stinking garbage, and people trying to make enough money to survive. We are back amongst the poorest of the poor. Just our presence here brings them hope. And demons flee. Olly