I knew that the walk to the shops would not be uneventful, as it never is. The child screamed, a look of terror on his face as the white man approached. This was not the child at the newspapers stand, this lady was a seamstress. Her small hut on the right hand side of the main road through Haatso (Hatchoo), in the direction away from Accra from where she plied her trade. I wanted an African smock but she could not make one today. Cudjo had offered me a smock, but I had been unwell. The child continued to scream, the mother laughed. She was old enough and wise enough to understand that I posed no threat; but for the child it was different. He may have heard stories at home about the slave traders, maybe when he is naughty he is told that the white man will come and get him. Whatever the reason, he was scared. He screamed, he ran and screamed some more. Then he lay on the floor and screamed again. I smiled and waved at him and said "hello". He screamed.
I buy food and drink from where I know it is safe. The petrol station is a good place, expensive but clean. The attendants mill around near the pumps, six in all. No not pumps, but attendants. You don’t wait for fuel in Haatso. I went to grab a drink from one of the three upright glass door fridges outside of the shop. They were all padlocked. I went inside. The shop attendants as they are labelled on their name badges swung into action. It may be expensive but the service is good. I walk and talk, while one of the attendants loads my basket. I want meat to make a sandwich, they don't have any. I recall the German sausage in brine, they don't have any of them either. I select baked beans. Not Heinz, and not cheap. Shopping at the Petrol Station is expensive. I know that it is going to be tough eating, but Tamara has told me time and time again that I must eat. I grab some bread and some Lucozade.
On my way back, a white car with two men pulls up. They are ahead of me but too close. It may be innocent but now I am scared. I pause and turn and look into the shops. There is a stand off, they seem to be waiting for me to pass, and I am not prepared to do so. I turn and walk in the opposite direction. I pause and look at another shop, they move away. Slowly, far too slowly for the liking of the other drivers, but they move away nevertheless. I turn and start to walk back to the house.
I buy food and drink from where I know it is safe. The petrol station is a good place, expensive but clean. The attendants mill around near the pumps, six in all. No not pumps, but attendants. You don’t wait for fuel in Haatso. I went to grab a drink from one of the three upright glass door fridges outside of the shop. They were all padlocked. I went inside. The shop attendants as they are labelled on their name badges swung into action. It may be expensive but the service is good. I walk and talk, while one of the attendants loads my basket. I want meat to make a sandwich, they don't have any. I recall the German sausage in brine, they don't have any of them either. I select baked beans. Not Heinz, and not cheap. Shopping at the Petrol Station is expensive. I know that it is going to be tough eating, but Tamara has told me time and time again that I must eat. I grab some bread and some Lucozade.
On my way back, a white car with two men pulls up. They are ahead of me but too close. It may be innocent but now I am scared. I pause and turn and look into the shops. There is a stand off, they seem to be waiting for me to pass, and I am not prepared to do so. I turn and walk in the opposite direction. I pause and look at another shop, they move away. Slowly, far too slowly for the liking of the other drivers, but they move away nevertheless. I turn and start to walk back to the house.
