taxis and tro-tros, oh my

So it is POURING again today. Or, rather, let me clarify: It's semi-dry now, but was dumping buckets during my morning commute. Great timing, no? I was startled awake by booming thunderclaps early this morning that shook my insides; for the first time, I understand why my dog hides during big storms. With a groan, I went back to sleep, because there's something about realizing that you're going to be wet all day that just doesn't motivate a person to get out of bed.

Finally, I was up and out the door. I skipped a (long-overdue) shower this morning, because why would I bother when it's already raining outside? And indeed, I got a thorough rinsing. In the two minutes it takes to walk from our door to the tro-tro stop, I was soaked. My lavender shirt was so saturated that it took on a deeper, richer purple color. Dirt had already turned into a thuck mud, and my shoes stuck with each step. Thankfully, my tro-tro arrived quickly, and I hopped on. When I sat down, all the Ghanaians stared at me. They, of course, were dry, with not an ounce of moisture marring their perfectly put-together appearances. I, of course, looked like a wet dog. One guy who came aboard on the next stop actually did a double-take, because not only is it surprising to see an obruni on the tro, but seeing a wet disaster-of-an-obruni is even more rare. By the time I reached my stop, I figured the worst was behind me, and proceeded to take my usual stroll the last half a mile to work, rather than splurge for a taxi. By the time I reached GSMF, I was the image of a haggard, walking mermaid. After the receptionist both laughed and expressed her condolences for my sad state, I walked immediately into the bathroom and stood under the hand dryer for about five minutes. My clothes are actually all pretty dry by now, but I think I'll feel chilled all day (for the first time EVER in Africa) because my skin is still damp and, despite the weather, the AC in here is still cranked up to high.

Anyway, all the mess and fuss regarding my commute today inspired me to enlighten you on a topic that, in the States, would be boring as dirt, but provides endless entertainment in Ghana: public transportation. We take taxis and tro-tros to get around Accra. If taxis are in a league all their own, compared to the American model, tro-tros are a whole new ballgame. I can't think of anything analogous. Essentially, a tro-tro is a retrofitted van that's been completely gutted. They strip out the seats, a lot of the interior paneling (a lot like my Dad does on some of his racecars) and anything else deemed to be taking up excessive space. Then, they smush as many rows of small, uncomfortable benches into the van's empty belly as possible. Voila, you have a tro-tro. The tro is then operated by two parties: a driver, whose job is self-explanatory, and the mate, who hangs out the side door shouting the tro's destination in their nasal, slurred speech (my route, La Paz, turns into LAPA-LAPA-LAPA-LAPAAZZZ), stops the tro to pick up passengers and collects money. The whole concept here is that the more people you pack into your tro, the more money you have at the end of the day, and that's how drivers and mates run their operations. So it's crowded, claustrophobia-inducing and rarely comfortable (and you can get rained on waiting for one like nobody's business), but it's cheap, and that makes it worthwhile in the end. On average, I spend about 50 pesewa a day on transportation to work. Taxis are the "expensive" alternative. Taxis here don't work on the meter system; they work on the bargain system. You tell the driver where you want to go, and how much you're willing to pay to get there. I don't think anyone in our group has ever paid more than seven or eight cedis for a ride anywhere. But prices are all relative, and compared to the tro-tro, seven or eight cedis is an exorbitant amount. So, tros are our transport of choice.

Here's my daily routine: I pick up the tro-tro from the intersection that lies a block from our house. I'm incredibly fortunate that my route is the least popular with morning commuters, and I haven't yet had to wait more than five minutes to catch my ride. I take the tro-tro towards La Paz, but I get off before the end of the line (which is good, considering I have no interest in going to Bolivia). I "alight," as the Ghanaians so adorably say, in front of the Fiesta Royale Hotel, and then cross a ridiculously busy street, sometimes snag a newspaper from the stand on the corner, and start a 10-15 minute walk to the GSMF building. There are always many empty taxis driving up and down the roads I walk on, and they honk incessantly at pedestrians, trying to find some business. It's so vastly different than the taxi-catching climate in a city like New York, where you can stand on a curb and wave your arm for half an hour before someone pulls over to pick you up. At the end of the day, I repeat in reverse.

Of course, there's the whole "safety" issue. That word could not ever be passably assigned to either taxis or tro-tros. The combination of insane drivers and treacherous traffic entirely guarantees this. I've only ever had one "I might die right now" moment in Ghana; of course, it's transportation-related. One night when Michelle, Scot and I were our way to a bar in the Osu district, our taxi driver pulled into a gas station to fill up ... and left his engine running! I was taught from a very early age that if anything in the car was turned on while you were pumping gas, even the radio, you'd blow up. So, for a very tense half a minute, clutching Michelle in panic, I was positive that we were all going to explode. Obviously, that didn't happen; still, there you have another reason why I prefer to ride the tro. However, when you look at the grand scheme of things, I'm glad that public transportation is the biggest problem in Ghana, rather than something like civil war, terrorism or the bubonic plague. Yeah, I'll take crazy taxis and tro-tros any day.