The Bats of Lomè

Nice. Slow. Easy. One cant be jumpy - or impatient - and maintain. The sun sets at 5:30. 5-6pm finds us sitting on the roof with our shades and a drink watching the sun set over the dusty city, waiting for the bats of Lomè to make their nightly soujourn into the blueish-orqnge skies. A light kicks on here and there and before long the nightly sirens (much like the friday afternoon tornado warnings) indicate to the population that the time has come once again to pack it in for the evening.

Elections went well. Rather peaceful, that is. And the hum of the city has relaxed. The dancing crowds of whistle blowing, drum beating, face painting democratic paraders have filtered back into the grooves. Ramadan is over, too. No longer are nightly prayers blasted from the mosques through speakers that have seen better days... days probably spent somewhere else. And while the pace rapidly slows in the streets -dusk is forever visited by the bats of Lomé.