Two wheels or four?

As many of you know, we packed along two motorcycle helmets in our luggage. We planned on purchasing a motorcycle to zip around town on. When required, the thought was D could use it when off on assignment as well. Small, cheap, blend in with the crowd, good on gas, easy to fix -- what could be wrong with that?

But our plans have since changed. We are now looking for a car -- here's why:

While vacationing in Benin, we got caught in a sudden torrential downpour. (Trees across the roads-wind pushing the rain sideways-roads turning into rivers-can't see five feet in front of my face rain.) Thankfully we were in a vehicle. Watching motorcyclists scramble like drowning rats for any semblance of shelter planted the first notion that perhaps a motorcycle might limit our travels.

About a week later, we had some shopping to do in downtown Lomé, so we hailed a cab here in 'la Caisse' (literally, 'the cashbox' -- an affectionate nickname for our neighbourhood.) Within two minutes we had veered into oncoming traffic a few times, nearly side-swiped some very expensive SUV's and almost taken off a few motorcyclists' legs.

Turns out our taxi driver was not only drunk out of his gourd, but one of his front wheels was about to fall off. We calmly asked him to pull over at the earliest opportunity. As we tried in vain to hail another cab, two thoughts crept into our minds. Firstly, not all taxi drivers (or their cabs) are reliable. Secondly, I wouldn't want to be a motorcyclist when that cabbie is still on the loose.

Eventually we made it to the Grande Marche, finished our shopping and caught a cab back to 'la Caisse.' The drive was uneventful, until we came up to the entrance to the neighbourhood. A car had struck several motorcyclists -- injured people laying on the ground, motorcycle bits strewn across the roadway, etc.

Before that horrifying scene had a chance to sink in, a clap of thunder and a smattering of rain reminded us to hurry the last block home.

We didn't make it. Just as in Benin, the rain which we thought was at least 15 minutes away was upon us in a flash. Crazy downpour. Again. Now we were the absolutely soaked rats.

As we stood on the flooded street, trying not to think of all the goodies mixed in the rain water swirling at our ankles and over D's nice Josef Siebel sandals, the last nail struck Mr. Motorcycle's coffin.

And now, the search for a car begins...



The street after the five minutes of rain that changed our mind.