A Birthday in Benin
We were on the road to Toura when the phone went dead — not literally, of course, but in our
conversation. Suzanne was telling me about the dust and the mud and the red
soil — and I was walking there with her.
She had warned me her phone was low on charge and not to worry if it went dead. We ought to have stopped talking then. But instead we chatted
minutes longer, then suddenly she was gone — and the great yawning space
between us opened even wider and I willed myself into her small African
village, along the red and rutted road, into her walled concession, past the
guinea fowl that live there too, through her humble door and into her life.
minutes longer, then suddenly she was gone — and the great yawning space
between us opened even wider and I willed myself into her small African
village, along the red and rutted road, into her walled concession, past the
guinea fowl that live there too, through her humble door and into her life.
I couldn’t do any of that in real life, of course, but how I wish I could — especially today, her birthday.
Suzanne’s present came four months ago when she landed in Africa. My gift is knowing how very happy she is.
Photo by Suzanne Capehart
