I’ve learned something new: If you’re taking three bush taxis in a day, it’s wise to ride shotgun. Luckily, Suzanne already knew this, so she made sure I was sitting up next to the driver in the ancient Peugots.

There were five people crammed in the back seat and three in the far back. In the front, there was just the driver and me until the last leg when Suzanne joined us — and, for the last few miles, also a petite young woman with ceremonial scars on her face who was none too happy to be crammed into our group.

About five miles from our destination the car broke down. Everyone waited patiently for an hour or so, when a replacement car came zooming up to take us away.

We started and finished the day with motorcycle taxis and are now preparing to visit Parc Pendjari, in hopes of seeing elephants and rhinos if not lions and tigers and bears.

But for now, a day to recuperate. Riding shotgun makes it better, but a bush taxi is a bush taxi!

(Luckily, most of our roads were paved.)