Dichotomy

This is my father. He begrudgingly still lives in upstate New York. Here's a little song he created to express his feelings on this matter:

The the tune of "Oh where oh where has my little dog gone?"

Oh why, oh why do I still live up North?

Oh how, oh how can it be?

We were sposed to move when MJ retired,

But our house wouldn't sell if twas free

Oh why, oh why do I still live up North?

Winter's hell, I'm sure you'll agree,

But we're stuck up here, no place to go,

Because of the e-co-no-my!!

Here's a picture of me, taken the same day, out front of my house. This is the cold season. I don't have a song, but my face says enough. (Don't worry, I'm eating well...)

So the December weather is indeed the coolest that Benin has to offer. It's called the Harmattan, a word invoking images of twirling dust clouds and Beninese dressed in hats, gloves, parkas, and yes, even scarves. The West African trade winds blow south from the Sahara to the Gulf of Guinea, where I am. Yes, visibility is severely impaired. Yes, even your toothbrush will be covered with a thin layer of dust between uses. Yes, it does actually get cold enough that some mornings you don't want to shower. Wait, scratch that, you don't feel an overwhelming urge to take a shower to remove the sweat. You do want to shower... and you do shower. It's just not compulsory.

Here is our guard, Pedro, in the later hours of the morning. Meaning some key elements of the Harmattan getup have been discarded.

In short, I want to wish everyone a happy December. Us, we're listening to Merle Haggard and rigging up the lights just like the rest of y'all on the other side of the sea. So, on behalf of the men of Parakou, I'd like to wish the happiest of holiday seasons to you and yours.