If you were to send back only one photograph from your trip to Benin, it would be of Ganvié. A lacustrian stilt village of fishermen, floating markets, and long, wooden canoes, Ganvié is in many ways, amazing. "The Venice of Africa" the pamphlets say, home to 20,000 who make their living by fishing and trading, and a lively market daily on board the graceful wooden pirogues that provide transport from the mainland.

The Harmattan descends upon Benin in a pale, chilling mist, obscuring the horizon, blotting out the buildings in other neighborhoods, and filling the air with choking dust. No other season I’ve experienced, from the monsoons of Southeast Asia to the 6 month Central American drought, is as oppressive. It’s hard not to be impressed by just how powerful the Harmattan really is, and in Benin, the Harmattan is not just a wind, it’s a season.

"It’s your fuel injectors," the mechanic confirmed, while children came to look at us, studying us from sideways glances and little smiles, one finger tucked in the corner of their mouths. Some were dressed in khaki school uniforms, others in underpants that didn’t necessarily correspond to their gender; at least one little boy was wearing nothing at all. No one asked us for anything; no one held out an outstretched hand; no one tried to reach into our vehicle. They were just interested in watching us. We stayed there for four hours in the hot afternoon sun, watching the shadows lengthen and the market close up operations and the women go home. And the mechanic and his friends got to work on our car. Their tools consisted of one misshapen flathead screwdriver, a cheap steel socket for removing spark plugs, a loose gilette razor blade, and a couple of tubes of crazy glue from the market. But it was enough.

The little village lie not far from the highway by Djougou, and we had enough fuel and enough daylight to make the little side trip worth our while, so we turned west off the highway and bumped our away up into a little valley of the Atakora Mountains to see the Tanéka people, where we negotiated with a pair of young boys to lead us through a Tanéka village, one of Benin’s more remarkable and more traditional communities.