The Great Beninese Gas Crisis [UPDATE]

The Great Beninese Gas Crisis of 2012 is over--mostly.  In the face of protests that nearly shut down the country, the government of Nigeria decided to partially reinstate its gas subsidies, which ended the general strike and resumed illegal gas exports to Benin.

Gas stations are back to empty, and roadside gas stands are back up.  Rather than up to 1,400cfa (about $3!) a liter, gas is back down to a more manageable 475cfa per liter, though still more than the 300-350cfa per liter that gas was going for before the crisis.

Zem prices are still slightly inflated, but we have found that if we travel in packs and gang up on zem drivers we can get a better price, though taxi prices are still quite inflated.  To wit: the price from Bohicon to Cotonou used to cost 1500-1800cfa, but now costs a minimum of 2500cfa each person, each way.  We do not travel much between town and we generally ride our bikes within our city so this has not impacted us too much, but it was quite a shock to pay so much to get down to Cotonou last week to take the FSOT!

Heather has her Nutritional Recuperation project going on this week and I am getting started on creating a Beninese-friendly Excel training course for budding entrepreneurs who already have some computer knowledge (I am not reinventing the wheel, mind).

It is still hot.  Harmattan is about over, which means that chaleur is about here.  Mango season is almost upon us.  Rainy season will commence in a few months, and we are anxiously waiting the relief that it brings.

Cheers.

A Perfect Storm?

June 8th...

Chaleur is over. No more sleeping with the fan on full blast. No more sweating through the day and night. No more trudging through the heat down the street to our local bar to sit out on the breezy second story with an ice cold drink (though that’s still a good idea any time, regardless of the weather). La saison, they say, est fini. It has been replaced, though, with la saison des pluies. The rainy season. And it came with a vengeance.


We have actually been saying for weeks now that the long, hot, dry season was coming to a close. The days have cooled off and become a little more humid. Clouds have been dotting the skies. Some rain has come down here and there. But not like today.


We were fortunate and blessed to come here from San Diego, which sees more than 300 days of sunshine each year. Rain was always an enigma to me. Sometimes when it rained in San Diego, I would just curl up on the couch and watch out the window as the rain would be illuminated as it came down through the glow of the streetlight. For part of our honeymoon in Miami we were entranced as South Beach flooded so massively that patio furniture outside the hotel began floating down the street. A lone biker slowly made his way down the street, his feet submerged completely under the water as he cranked the pedal downwards. That was me today.


I went to my girls’ soccer practice at 4pm at our local school, and saw some dark, ominous clouds on the horizon and coming my way, but didn’t think anything of them, even though they brought with them thunder and lightning. In my naivety, I thought it would pass. It didn’t. I decided to call an early end to practice, and as we were on our way out of the school, Heather called.


“Craig, are you coming home soon?”


“Yeah, we’re finishing up and on our way out.”


“It’s going to pour!”


As soon as she hung up, it started pouring at our house, about a mile away to the east. Less than a minute after that it would get to me and I had to ride into the storm. I was just at the front of the school when I was smacked in the face by a blinding, sideways rain. I literally could not see more than 20 yards ahead of me. The dirt road I was riding down was a river a few inches deep and I was pedaling against it. For some strange reason, some people were still outside! I pedaled past men pushing rickshaws full of wood as well as quite a few children whose parents had sent them outside to get water, balancing the full bassines on their heads while waiting for someone to open the door to their concession so they could enter. Our concession was under a few inches of water when I arrived. Our welcome mat was not, in fact, welcoming. Electricity was out (though it came on soon thereafter). Heather was taking a video of our concession as I tramped in, soaking wet.


I watched the video later. I looked like a wet dog. My hair was matted and my clothes stuck to me as I trudged through the concession, high-stepping through a few inches of water with my bike in tow, trying to keep my sandals from sliding off of my feet.


The storm kept up for a solid two hours. By nightfall the storm was on its way out. Over the next few days, we discovered that some trees in a rare pretty shaded area had fallen over, their exposed, gnarled trunks shredded from the high winds; roofs had been ripped off houses; some dirt roads will need to be re-graded from the rivers that ran down them just a few days before.


The rainy season is here, and I learned an important lesson this time: Whenever I go out, in addition to bringing a book, always pack a poncho. At least until chaleur rears its ugly head again.

Dog Days of Chaleur

We are in the long, hot dry season, and it is turning out to be everything that we were promised: hot, steamy, humid, and hot. When we sit in our concrete house with tin roof we feel like we are sitting in an oven (with electricity and running water). It feels like South Florida without the ocean breeze.

I try to do my important stuff in the morning before it gets too hot. After riding the 5-7 km to work or into town in the middle of the day makes me sweat so much that my fingers pucker up like I just spent too much time in the bathtub (if I had one). We try to run a few times a week but if we sleep too late (every time), we have to wait until it’s almost dark and the heat is down to bearable levels.

Beninese people do not sweat. Maybe it’s just because I’m new in town, but my hyperactive sweat glands were never much of a problem until I moved here to the near-tropics. Fortunately we have a bar a stone’s throw away from our house with a breezy second story, plenty of music, and cold drinks. Beers are only a dollar!

Other than the oppressive heat and humidity, things are going well. I’m starting to work on a website for my park, and Heather has been running around like mad applying for grants and organizing a girl’s camp for this summer and our marathon team for September. Our mamá down the road sells ice and cold bisap (a sweet, sugary, dark-purple hibiscus drink; think: Kool-Aid).

Thank you all for the care packages, love, prayers, and support. It’s almost rainy season again! Yay!

Cheers.