We've arrived in Lomé! Brian checks his papers.

Our plane to Africa had many more children. Children who wailed when the pressure change hurt their ears. The 8 hour flight seemed to go faster; I think traveling in daylight eases fatigue.
    We landed first in Abidjan, Ivory Coast. When the door opened, the bright syrupy air oozed into the airplane. The plane sat for 30 minutes, waiting for new passengers. We could barely contain ourselves — only 1 more hour to Lomé, Togo!
    We took off again and soon the plane descended out of the night sky into Lomé. I was struck by how few lights there were in the city. I wondered, "Is this a blackout or is this normal?"
    Exiting the plane, I instantly smelled the thick air, lightly salted by the Gulf of Guinea. We walked across the tarmac to the terminal. A huge, Mao-sized photo of President Eyedeyma greeted us outside the airport.
    Welcome to [name of country]. Our beloved [dictator name] welcomes you!
    It took a while to get our passports stamped. The Togolese aren't much for queueing and we stood in line like fools. Our bags came out together on the conveyor belt and we sailed through customs. On the other side of the gate, a wave of a hand. It was Charlie and James! They looked happy and well. They teased us about our timidity in the visa line.
    Exiting the airport, we were besieged by taxis and their drivers. The Copes haggled vigorously about fares with the taxi brokers. "C'est quartre cents! Vous êtes trops cher!" (It's four hundred! You're too expensive!!)
    The taxi ride was harrowing. I live in Chicago but I've never seen pitch black streets clogged with taxis, mopeds, cyclists, and pedestrians all jostling for space! James sat shotgun and had his elbow sticking out the window. He brought his elbow in to avoid jabbing a zemidjan (moped taxi). It's all a sport for the cab drivers. They like to see how close they can get to cyclists.
    James and Charlotta live in Le Residence du Bénin (unofficially known as La Caisse, or "The Cashbox"). My heart sank at the sight of the 2 armed soldiers guarding the neighborhood's entrance. The soldiers are there only there at night. James identified himself with a singsongy "Bonsoir" and the taxi glided past the guards.
    Waiting at the house's gate door was Toure, the Copes' guard. He gently greeted us as we went into the house. After presenting our hosts with gifts, we drank and drank and drank. Thrilled to finally be here, Brian and I fell into bed and slept deeply after travelling for 21 hours. •