Times in Transit

Travelling the roads of Ghana; sometimes it can be exhausting. Sometimes it is a fun cultural experience. But always, it comes with a story. As society has yet to master the science of teleportation, I can be thankful for my times in transit.

Tro-tros. Derived from the local Ga language word “tro” meaning three-pence, a tro-tro is the primary means of public transportation in Ghana. This informal yet seemingly codified system is the artery of Accra. It’s usually crowded and confining, yet generally furnished with comity. I once had the pleasure of sitting next to a gentleman who was travelling with his poultry. Slightly humored and mildly terrified, I tried to ignore the feathered squawks coming from below my bum. I fought to block the background bowwow, but eventually found the situation escalating. With great haste, I jumped out of my seat, feeling the chicken attacking my ankles. Causing quite a disturbance, all eyes turned to the loco hombre. I soon realized the farm foul was still safely secured. Turns out it was just my shoelaces. Who’s the chicken now, Brian?

Motored-canoe. The most efficient way to get to Ada Foah is to take the motored-canoe. The motored-canoe is 60 minutes faster than travelling by foot, and about 5,000 ore strokes faster than travelling by traditional canoe. The only flaw in water-travel is that too many people sink the ship. If you are travelling in a large-enough party, someone is given bucket bailer duty. Well, on a recent trip, the captain asked me to come navigate. I’m not sure if he wanted a short nap, or if he just thought it would be funny to have an obruni as his skipper. Either way, I was responsible for steering, speed-changing, and stopping. When we disembarked, I told the captain that perhaps I shouldn’t pay for my fare and that he should pay me for my services instead. He disagreed.

Taxis. As is true of many urban locales, taking a taxi can be as terrifying as sky diving. But sometimes this trill is stretched to the extreme and I’m fearfully waiting for the parachute to deploy. Such was the scenario one evening when my colleagues and I piled into a taxi to head across town. Unbeknownst to me at the time, the driver, let’s call him Charlie, was in the middle of a high speed get-away. As soon as we pulled the taxi door shut, our jockey, Charlie, was off like Citation at the Belmont Stakes. Like most of the world, Ghana uses a similar traffic light pattern; green for go, red for stop. Not for this cab. Red light. Be my guest. By the time we sped through the second highway intersection without regard to the cross-traffic, I was fast-forwarding through the highlights of my life. Thank Beelzebub that the Ghanaian police force found this reckless. We were pulled over and instructed to find safety in another driver. Our taxi-jockey was soon united with that Citation he deserved.