In Dakar, we have the 'taxi-blow dry', where one washes ones hair and then gets in a taxi and has her hair styled for her by the warm woosh of sub-Saharan air through the open taxi window. It is cheap and effective: many times I have commented on a friend's new hair-do only to hear that it was the results of a 'taxi blow-dry'.

In Cotonou today, I experienced the 'zemidjan nail-dry'. Deciding to fight off two-day old achey-body syndrome with a visit to the beauty salon, I emerged two agonising hours later with newly-varnished toe and finger nails, wondering how I was going to get to my hotel through the sandy street without smudging them.

A smiling motorcycle taxi (or zemidjan) chugged slowly along beside me as I walked along what passes in these parts as a pavement, and asked me where I was going. He had such a sweet smile that even though I was only going 200 metres or so, I agreed to get on the back, asking him if the ride was free.

"Of course," he said, laughing, and whisked me away through the hot afternoon air. My toe and finger nails were dry by the time I reached my hotel.