Bat Party Peep Show

9am
I had a dream that the phone was ringing - but that the caller couldn't speak English and if I let the call go and wait for the second one, the call would be translated for me...

The phone rang 10 minutes later and I got out of bed.
"Yes."
"Drumming?" It was my friend from the states.
Groggily, I agreed and found the closest pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

We drove down to the grand marche and picked up another couple of guys and a trunk full of djembes and headed to the beach.

11am
After a morning of drumming and dancing in the sand, we dropped off our compadres and the drums and made our way down the coastal highway to another beach bar for lunch - a mandatory 30 minute wait - then a dive into the West African ocean. I decided that the 30 minute rule is a myth parents made up so they wouldn't have to watch their kids swimming, but instead have a chance to take a quick nap. The waves here are wicked strong and the riptide will grab your arse and send you down the beach quicker than one might imagine. That being said, the viscosity of the water is such that if you just let go - if you can only just let go - you'll easily float to the top.

2pm
Text messages indicate there are peace corps volunteers in town, plastic chairs and salt water boiled peanuts down the road at another beach bar near the Ghanaian border. Soaking wet, we run into a couple of American Marines and chat for a moment before our voyage to the place where sitting is the only requirement and relaxation is the byproduct.

5pm
With the PCVs in tow, we decide to go to the Peace Corps Bureau to get some things. The mission: watch the bats. At the Bureau we find another three PCVs kicking around. "Hey," someone suggested, "want to come to the Bat Party Peep Show?"
Sure.
Seven of us pile into the Mitsubishi and head to ma maison for refreshments, air conditioning, pizza, popcorn, internet, music and bats.

7:00pm
Standing on the balcony, we watch as a jumbo jet flies into the dark. "Va" (come), a friend calls to the plane. "Don't worry," I say, "you'll be on one of those soon enough." Then, suddenly, another plane appears heading in a strange direction.

Wait... it's looks like it's falling. It looks like it's burning! Is it a plane? What the (expletive) is it? We run to the roof pointing and someone notices the full moon.
Must be Ju Ju. Full moon. Strong currents. An inexplicable, enormous, object falling from the heavens on fire that seems to burn out before it hits. There's some serious Gre Gre going on in West Africa tonight.

We go back inside for some pizza and google "What the hell fell out of the sky in West Africa?" To our dismay, the google search yields no pertinent results.

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.