Cotonou is a lively, bustling metropolis. It has paved roads and unpaved roads, roundabouts and all manner of alleys, cul-de-sacs and more. It is a little skimpy on sidewalks, though.

Half of each narrow walkway consists of stone blocks straddling a public sewer. About one of every twenty blocks is cracked or missing, so you must step carefully to avoid falling into the muck and twisting your ankle. The other half of the sidewalk is commandeered by merchants hawking pineapples, fried plantains, gasoline, soap powder, grilled meat, beignets (a Cotonou specialty) — most anything you can imagine (including coffins!) in a cacophonous jumble. 

All of which is to say that my primary means of urban discovery has been difficult to practice. Suzanne has definitely tried to get me out. We’ve walked around her neighborhood enough that I could find my way there and back. We’ve trekked to the beach (less than three miles from her house) and made the much shorter trip to church and various markets.

But these are not ruminative rambles. They’re more like panicked scrambles as I try to avoid the zems, which may decide to use the sidewalk, too, and the unwanted attention of school children, who chant “yovo” (foreigner) and are not afraid to pull your hair.

So imagine my delight at being parked here in Haie Vive, a quiet neighborhood of wider walks, calmer traffic, cafes, markets, even a bakery.  I can look around as I stroll, instead of watching every step. I can snap photos of streetscapes and hidden balconies. I can imagine what it would be like to live in this place.