Transportation in Accra: Riding the Tro-Tro

The tro-tro is one of Accra's most common forms of transportation. It's what South Africans call a mini-bus taxi, and in Ghana is termed a "joining" transportation as it picks people up from various places and drops them off along the route. Today I decided to ride the tro-tro for the first time. I was filled with trepidation. Nerves had me wonder, will my accent confuse people? Will I arrive at the wrong destination? Also, I figured it would be unpleasant as the drivers add as many people as possible into the mini-vans. The frames of the mini-vans look unreliable, they all have dents, some paint rust, and sometimes the locks are broken, so the doors are tried shut with string. Inside, the cushions are cracked, the extra chairs wobble, and of course, there is no air conditioning. Ghana is hot enough that everyone outside develops a film of sweat, and cramming in the tro-tro adds a textural element of sticky arms rubbing against sticky arms. Due to this physical closeness and, for some unpleasantness, a new friend of mine has lived in Ghana for ten years and never rides the tro-tro.

So why did I ride it? Simple: it's cheap and safe. Accra is surprisingly expensive, but the tro-tro was 45 pesewas (cents) for each leg of my ride. In the end, my journey took four legs (having to change tro-tros at the "station"), so I spent about $1.60 to go to the mall and back today. Compare this to a taxi ride which I might have been able to bargain to around 7 to 5 cidis per ride, and perhaps totaling $10 to $8, it was definitely the better choice. Added to this, I got to see more of how Accra works, I talked to the mother of two year old, and when the radio announced Ghana scored a goal against Latvia at the pre-World Cup games, I felt the rush of energy, and as my fellow travelers celebrated by yelling and waving their arms. 

I left the tro-tro, doing a mental 180. By the end of the trip, I thought about what a privilege it is to have such safe, convenient, and cheap transportation. Comparing the tro-tro to forms of transportation available in the places I have lived and traveled to in the past three years since college, I consider it to be one of the best options. In Parker, Colorado, there are NO buses; in both Ann Arbor and the Twin Cities, the buses arrive every 30 minutes; and, in Philly, the public transit is so bad I prefer to walk 40 minutes in the light rain shower rather than taking the subway.

 The greatest difference in transportation modes I've experienced was between Accra, Ghana, and any of the places I lived and worked in South Africa. In South Africa, mini-bus taxis are considered some of the most dangerous places, especially for a white person. Taxi wars are notorious in Cape Town, where the relationship between taxi owners is similar to rival gang warfare in the United States. Even when I worked in Phutaditjhaba, the safest place I have ever visited in South Africa, my employers wouldn't let me take the mini-bus taxis for fear I would be taken hostage, leaving them responsible for an international issue. The freedom to travel with everyone else is wonderful and makes me excited to be interning here for the summer.

The food at this simple restaurant is splendid. Fresh tilapia, marinated, slowly grilled for 30 minutes, and served with fresh vegetables and banku. All is eaten with the right hand, fingers actively skin and debone the fish, all of it then wrapped in the banku (a fermented starch) and the veggies. 

The game itself was the most suspenseful I have ever watched. Ghana and Uruguay were evenly matched for most of the first half. In the last minute before the half time, Ghana scored. The restaurant erupted. The waitresses, waiters, our table neighbors, and the people watching from the staircase ran all around, screaming, waving anything with Ghana colors. 

People ran up to strangers and hugged each other in shared jubilation. Well, from here, you must know the rest. Uruguay scored in the second half. In the last minute of overtime, Ghana's winning goal was blocked by the hand of a defender, not the goalie. So with less than a minute to go, Ghana was awarded a penalty kick. Gyan against the goalie, it seemed we must win. We held our breath, leaned toward the screen,  and watched the ball hit the pole and bounce out. Ghana missed its penalty goal, and the 30 minutes of overtime were over. In the penalty shots, where five strikers from each team get to shoot towards the goal, we lost. Uruguay missed once, Ghana twice. 

The silence was deafening. Sadness, disbelief, and rage smothered the air. Its pressing weight seemed to squeeze out the oxygen. Walking home, heads were bent, and occasional swear words, another calling out, "don't be sad, It's okay ." The whole weekend was surprisingly quiet in Accra.

Over the next few days, some people criticized the Ghanaian player, others Fifa, and Uruguay for citing the hand block by a non-goalie as the source of ghana's failure. My favorite response came from a Ghanaian I met on Saturday. He said those who criticize are not grateful. Ghana played well, and we can be proud. There was no one mistake; every shot or chance we missed was a mistake. It was a game, and we played well. We should be proud. In the next world cup, watch Ghana. We will play and advance farther next time. 

On those words of wisdom, I will leave you. Below are some pictures of Friday night. Sorry I didn't get a picture of oxford street! I was worried about pickpockets. 

Ready for the Game!: Ghanaian Trader Woman (Left), Roommate Suzanne & Me (Center)