The more I thought about it, the hotter the sun grew. It wasn’t even ten in the morning. I was on leave and had to make a quick dash into town before settling for a relaxing week in bed. Tema Station was buzzing with activity. A salesman clutching a battery-operated stereo sang along to a tape he was playing. Does anyone still buy audio cassettes? After him, a drug peddler had his turn. I was more intrigued by the sales pitch than by the wonders of his product.
The disadvantage of being first into a trotro is that you have a long wait for it to get full. The advantage is in getting to choose your seat. So I plopped myself in the front.
One woman came carrying a heavy load of foodstuffs. The mate convinced her to pay double and lay her burdens on the next seat. She also had a worn black fertilizer bag filled with bagged gari that she placed in the space in front of the mate’s seat. Slowly, the trotro filled up. A heavyset woman walked leisurely to us as the mate shouted his lungs out, “Bawaleshie, America House, last one!” On her head, she balanced a black fertilizer bag containing three tubers of yam. “We’ve been waited for you a long time,” the playful mate chipped before he went screaming for his master, who was probably playing cards or draughts with the other station dwellers.