Live, love, learn, these are definitely the most important words to live by in Accra. Live, love, learn, for without these you can never truly experience the perfectly imperfect borderline complexity that is Accra. For in Accra every day is a life lesson: An unending quest for survival, a maze of unbelievable stories crafted as if written by a Supreme Being on crack and there is no way we could survive without our friends and family. This is why I love Accra, Ghana. What is a day in Accra without quiet time as a family or hot kooko and koose or maybe even bofrot? And what about waakye? The national treasure. Searing hot, and dished out in leaves and much like the blue pill makes you ready for action. Trust me, you will need the energy to survive the day.
Writing about my day reminds me of the early morning traffic, ugh the traffic. With everyone jostling to get to work, the onslaught of cars from Madina to Shiashie or any major road could cause a delay so long, some say it might make you rethink all your life’s decisions.Then there are the hawkers traversing through the traffic with no fear, not even for their lives, trying to get their daily bread by any means necessary with their various wipers, pure water, bofrot and our beloved egg with pepper. What about the trotros, painted in various colors, with all manner of phrases on them? Their drivers and mates of different body odors shouting all manner of obscenities and perversions just to get ahead of the traffic or beat another trotro to a passenger who is rushing to work.
How could your morning be complete without listening to radio morning shows with Abieku Santana and other pundits discussing truths and untruths reported in the newspapers, or with members of political parties sharing their fifth to first rate opinions on pertinent political issues? Through all this you somehow feel excited to start the day.
Midday comes slowly and Accra would definitely suck without the scorching sun reminding those of us without cars of who we are and how hard we need to work. The introductory tunes of Peace FM’s midday news broadcast remind you of the time you’re waiting for. Lunchtime. At this time, various markets are bustling with activity and the vendors love it, they beckon to customers and scream at the top of their lungs in hopes of enticing customers to patronize whatever they might be selling because “if them no work how them go chop?” Circle and Madina are so congested you would think people were preparing for Armageddon. The break would not be complete without some plantain and beans to fix you up for the day. I am of the opinion that gobe heals all. Everything is less exciting when everyone gets back to business, but it is all in anticipation of the night’s activities, starting at the close of work and is signaled by the ubiquitous traffic.
One might think the day was over, but in Accra the night is young and so are we. Call nightlife whatever you want: odd, precarious and even serene depending on your preference but we cannot do without it. We might have all gone insane were it not for the most underrated stress reliever of our generation. Some decide to spend the night at home with their families narrating the day’s happenings whilst eating dinner and watching television. The younger generation however, prefer to live like literal night owls and come alive to get their groove on by jumping from club to club in search of a vibe that would make a cocaine addict jealous. What is a night in Accra without the partying motto “if we no jaaaaaaaammmm?!” Could you imagine Accra at night without kelewele and tsofi stands? How about kenkey stands or even indomie sellers? Ugh. After everything we go to sleep with hope of a better tomorrow and the prayer that payday comes soon.
I feel like a depiction of Accra would be incomplete without telling you that our weeks start on Monday, which seems to go on forever, dragging its feet as if savoring the pleasures of making every second seem like an hour. Then Friday hits you so quickly you remember you will get some well-deserved rest on the weekend. Ah Friday, the day designated for all “chillings.” A Friday is not a Friday without a night trip to Osu for some enjoyment. And then comes the weekend, the literal example of how time flies when you’re having fun. I wonder who told us that washing clothes could only be done on Saturdays? Or that football could only be enjoyed during the weekend. Church on Sunday is an unspoken must. With all and sundry trooping to their various places of worship in their colorful attires to serve the good Lord. Nothing caps our weekend off like our Holy Grail, served in a pounded mound island of cassava and plantain and an ocean of soup that makes dreams come true. Nothing says family time like Sunday fufu. We end the week with our clothes ironed and a heart full of dreams for the impending week. Welcome to my homeland.
Akwaaba to Ghana.
