I struggled whether to give this piece its present title or whether to title it “The struggle is real…but it will all come together soon”.
I drive a Toyota Echo which I bought in 2009, a year after completing my undergraduate degree and a year into my first job (sometimes I think it was a bad decision to buy a car at that point; other times I think it was not, since it facilitated my movement between the British Council and the University of Ghana Business school where I was studying for my Master of Philosophy in Finance Degree).
Anyway, a little over two weeks ago, the car broke down on me. I took it to a garage. The Works Manager, or so he was being referred to, estimated that the car would be ready in two weeks from the date 80% of the repair cost is paid! This garage came highly recommended. I therefore turned a blind eye to what I thought was a rather long delivery date.
For the first week, I was fine. I was riding to and from work with a colleague who lives in the same apartment building as me. My friend-colleague travelled to the UK to visit his family. I was thus compelled to step out of my “ivory” tower, if ever I was in one. I started to use public transport, trotro, I mean.
Since Monday this week, I was in training. I therefore had the privilege of being driven in a Toyota Prado, each day, to and from the training venue. At the close of the training day, I would negotiate with the company driver to drop me off at Shiashie so I could board a trotro home.
Thank heavens for the relatively new pedestrian bridge constructed at the Shiashie junction. I enjoyed walking over the bridge and feeling the breeze on my skin. On this occasion, I took the opportunity to have a discussion with my landlord while leaning on the banisters of the bridge and mindlessly looking at the passersby.
Eventually, I got to the bus stop and was welcomed by the familiar calling out of the bus conductors. I was grateful to find two available buses headed to my neighbourhood. I mentally examined each bus conductor and decided to board the bus whose conductor I thought more affable.
Sitting in the bus, I was absorbed in my thoughts; completely oblivious to the thick clouds until a co-trotro passenger commented on how heavy it would pour if it does rain.
The driver started the car and off we went. At a point, the driver was forcing his way to change lanes. Typical of me, I was quick to chide the driver. I said something to the effect of trotro drivers being in the habit of forcing their way through traffic and that all it took was a polite signalling. Some passengers around me nodded in agreement. The driver and his conductor made a joke about trotro drivers being stubborn. Some of us laughed. To this point, I was enjoying my evening. But it was to change in a twinkling of an eye.
They say when it rains, it pours. Boy, did it pour in Accra on September 7th!
Soon before I got to my stop, it started to rain heavily. Hmm…what was I going to do? There was no proper bus station where I could seek refuge from the rain.
Well, the bus driver came to a stop. I took off my wrist watch and put it my cross body or messenger bag, as it is called. Then I remembered I had a laptop in my bag. I then took off my black jacket, wrapped it around my bag, to protect the laptop, and crossed the bag over my shoulders. I alighted and stepped into the rain. But I could not go very far, the rain was simply too heavy, I frantically ran my eyes around for a shelter and found a drinking spot. I took it.
I waited for close to thirty minutes in the crowded drinking spot. As the rain subsided, I folded my jacket covered messenger bag under my armpit and started to jog through the rain. The flood waters on the semi-tarred road splashing against me as I jogged my way home. Truth be told, I was livid!
But thank God for the whispering of the Holy Spirit. On reaching home, I got out of my drenched work clothes and took out my laptop to type this article. In that moment, I was reminded of my many blessings and decided to keep things in perspective. I started to cast my mind to the good days and good things in my life and sung, in my mind, “Count your Blessings”. I was too angry to sing it out, I suppose.
My thoughts turned to the many, many other Ghanaians for whom this rare experience of mine is a frequent occurrence, especially during the rainy season. I thought of the people whose sleeping places will be flooded or who will have to sleep out in the cold on such a rainy night.
So, instead of making this article about me and titling it “The struggle is real…but it will all come together soon”, I decided, instead, to give it its present title, to make this article about the many, many, many Ghanaians for whom this rare experience of mine is a frequent struggle.
If we could all get out of our “ivory” towers every now and then; the experiences we are likely to have would most likely keep us humble and kind and remind us not to forget to help the next one in line when we get where we are going (paraphrasing Tim McGraw in my second most favourite country song – Humble and Kind; second only to Dolly Parton’s “Coat of Many Colors”). By helping others achieve their dreams, by helping them improve their lives and standard of living, hopefully, day by day, each one of us will help make this kind of experience less frequent for many, many more Ghanaians.
Trust me, with all the positivity in the world, going through this experience frequently could easily make one so angry at and bitter towards society, which in the end is not good for any of us. Just think of what a constantly angry and bitter person could do.
This week, or next, or the week after next, hopefully you will step out of your “ivory” tower. Or perhaps, like me, situations will compel you to.
Here is a selfie of me taking refuge at the entrance of the drinking spot (yes I remembered to take a selfie).