A stunning hot morning and the factor 40 was on before I left Papao 11 Street in the Community of Haatso [pronounced ‘hachoo’ as in a sneeze (achoo)]. I patiently waited at the designated bus stop and I was the fourth one to arrive. You hear horns everywhere in Ghana, especially when a Taxi Driver sees a European. The horn is sounded to get your attention in the hope that you will take his taxi. I have written ‘his’, because there is a predominance of male drivers on the Ghanaian roads. They toot, even when you are stood at a designated bus stop. Fourth in line, but yet 15 fellow passengers beat me to the first few buses. You have to learn quickly in Ghana if you are to survive. Along came another African Bus, the money collector [there are no tickets] hanging out of the side window waving his right arm and shouting; ‘Accra’, ‘Accra’, ‘Accra’. The price was low at around 50p for many, many miles. But 21 of us were in the Minibus and every time someone decided to alight, then I had to get off as well and then climb back on.
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