After a good week in Togo I decided to head into Benin. My parting views on Togo were good, the people were really nice and people seemed to have more respect for keeping their towns clean and looking nice (Ghana take note).
The journey into Togo was pretty easy, a couple of cramped Taxis, including one off road section crossing the border, the driver was doing his best to impersonate Colin McCray. We didnt have to go through any border formalities so no passport stamps, hopefully that wont come back to affect me later.
The people in Benin are certainly a bit more tribal, theres allot more facial scaring, facial tatoos and dark eye make-up going on (both sexes). To say they have been a bit rude so far would be wrong, but definately a bit edgier.
I had possibly my worse dining experience to date, as normal I wandered down the street peering at the food stalls, the only light is generally a small candle so its difficult to tell what they have. Eventually you have to take the plunge and just ask them what they have. This particularly delightful lady had Fufu (pounded yam) but it wasnt ready yet. She ordered me to sit down and wait, which I did like a naughty schoolboy.
<!–adsensestart–>
When the pounding was complete, ‘how much do you want?’ she orders, now this is the tricky part, because the amount is measured on a monetary scale and not actual size. Going from my experiences in Togo I said ‘100?’, ‘that is nothing!’ she barks back at me, so I ty two hundred, which is acceptable. Next comes the sauce ‘how much sauce?’, I ask ‘what sauce is it? chicken? fish?’, she looks at me angrier than before ‘HOW MUCH SAUCE!?’. I risk two hundred which luckily is an acceptable amount.
At the dark table with my food, I try and make out what the sauce is - no idea. Its from some kind of small boned animal so not beef or goat, but not a chicken or fish either as their is too much fat. I angle my bowl up to the light to try and see more, SH*T!! I spill boiling hot oily sauce down my leg, SH*T it hurts, Ouch!! SH*T!, no-one has seen, I do my best to not scream out. When I have the opportunity I poor some cold water onto my leg, aahh relief.
I eat my fufu quickly, leaving the meat. I pay, she does the normal ‘I have no change trick’ the one they love so much in Benin. Normally I would argue, but on this occasion I make a hasty exit, lest I get ordered back to finish by dinner.
