Sometimes, sitting up here in watch the clouds roll lazily by and the insects swarm like a biblical plague; I worry that the rest of the world is passing me by, that I'm missing out on the trends and fashions.
Recently at a Peace Corps group reading, the topics of web logs came up, and it was suggested that I should post a Blog, despite the fact that I rarely have anything interesting to say or possess any sort of unique narrative voice, these clearly being no barrier to internet posts. However, up here in my mountain hermitage there isn't anything resembling a decent computer, much less an internet connection; the usual pre-requisites for successful blogging. Thankfully the indomitable M Ernest Kwan, ICT savant extraordinaire came to the rescue and not only post this Blog on his internet connection, but also serve as its editor/webmaster/Accra restaurant critic. All I have to do is deliver a hard copy to my friendly neighborhood 'Foridua Tro driver, who will transmit it to the indefatigable M. Ernest Kwan, and from there on the eager world-wide public. I suppose a bit of an introduction is in order. Not of me, because if you're reading this you probably already know me (else you are likely some sort of internet voyeur in which case I am probably justifiably leery about revealing too much personal information), no I need to introduce the Tro. For those of you poor unfortunate souls who have not had the pleasure of the Tro-Tro experience (also known as bush taxi). Imagine, if you will, a typical delivery van, aged to perfection 10 to 20 years. Now remove the cargo and add 3 to 4 to 17 rows of hand crafted welded metal framed benches with jump seats, engineered to the highest standards to allow for maximum ergonomic discomfort. Carefully load twice as many people as the van was designed for plus an equal quantity (by mass not volume, of course) of baggage and assorted goods. Throw in a few goats and chickens, drive at speed over roads, that if they have been paved are often more pot-hole than pavement. Season liberally with diesel fumes and equatorial sun and you may be able to visualize the quintessence of the experience (still preferable to U.S. domestic air-travel).
I would like to take this opportunity to amend the definition of Tro-Tro to include the STC busses, a quasi-governmental intercity transport service. That is suppose to be more modern and convenient. The afore mentioned irrepressible M. Ernest Kwan, the honorable B.A. Taylor and myself were going to use this service to travel to the Northern capital of Tamale for a meeting. We were going to catch the bus at a station a few hours north of Accra near the right honorable B.A. Taylor's house. We purchased the tickets four days in advance from the main office in Accra making it abundantly clear where were would join the bus, and received similarly abundant assurance that it was no problem. We arrived at the station at nine, told the agent there of our plan, and were again assured everything was fine and the bus would be there "from 10 going." Well 10 going came, and went as did 11 going, 12 going, and 1 going. At 2:30 going the bus arrived, of course completely full, having sold our seats. After a serious road-side multi-party conference we were offered the choice (non0choice) to stand on the bus to Kumasi where we were abundantly assured there would be open seats. By pure chance three people exactly got off and we managed seats.. We arrived in Tamale at 2:55am. To add injury to further injury, we had paid for seats on an air-conditioned "luxury" bus, but it broke down and we stood on a regular bus. Everyone else sitting on the bus received a refund for the difference in price, except us because we weren't in Accra. Clearly, as we were told several times, we "cheated ourselves" by not being in Accra to board the bus. Nor could we get our refund at the office in Kumasi, because despite being a main office of the same organization whose purpose is to travel between cities STC Kumasi "has nothing to do with" STC in Accra and they could do nothing. Though they did promise to talk to the general manager, who promptly drove off in his private car (it being 6:00pm going). Which is why I move that STC be declared the world's largest Tro.
Well, I'm off for now, hope all is well down off the mountains on the world wide web and remember it's not the destination that matters, it's the journey.
