Most people in Benin speak a couple of languages, but whether they’re saying farewell in Bariba or Fon or French they usually add an Americanism at the end. “Bye-bye!” they say, with a funny little vocal uptick at the end.

I started this post a couple of days ago, but the Internet key wasn’t working and for a while I wasn’t working very well either (the country requires an iron stomach!) and then … it was time to go.

But not without a final adventure. The zem drivers that took Suzanne and me to the airport decided to take a dirt road. Yes, a dirt road, in the city, to the airport. They were bumping and skidding and sliding so much that I gave up saying “doucement” and started exclaiming “Oh, my God!”

“What if we’d had an accident my last few hours in the country?” I said to Suzanne as we dismounted the bikes and took off our helmets.

“People here say that Benin doesn’t want to let you go,” she explained, only partially in jest. And yes, I could see that. It is a place of magic and chaos and unruly good cheer.

But I did leave — boarded the big silver bird, flew back to this clean, orderly place, where there are cars and hot showers and flush toilets.  

I won’t stop thinking about Benin, of course, and I”ll write about it plenty. But for today, for now, it’s bye-bye, Benin.