Ghana is a colorful place.  Driving through this country it’s impossible to miss the colorful clothing, the colorful buildings, it’s almost like Ghana itself is full of life.  And no part of Ghana is more colorful than the Tro Tros.  You can’t miss them.  Almost every color is represented by the large vans rumbling around the country, hissing at passersby, trying to get anyone and everyone to hop in for a ride.

Public transportation isn’t a thing here.  There isn’t a train system, there aren’t buses, the main transportation seems to be legs.  People walk everywhere.  I was amazing, driving through the rural parts of Ghana, to see countless people walking from village to village.  Owning a car here is a big deal, I’ve been told.

But with the average Ghanaian making far less than is needed to purchase a car, there needs to be a reliable (I use that word loosely here) way to get from point A to B.  Enter the Tro Tro.

I’ve been trying to locate a history of the Tro Tro, as I’ve been fascinated by them ever since my first ride home from work.  As far as I can gather, Tro Tros were once German bread trucks.  How they got here, nobody seems to really know, but the consensus is that these bread trucks were hastily fashioned into a form of cheap transportation.  Seats were welded in, doors were tied shut, until you have a shoddy minibus that probably would break every safety code in the book in the United States.  They’re one of the most exciting death traps I’ve ever ridden in.

Basically the Tro Tro works with a team of two.  There’s the driver, who primarily focuses on driving the circuit the Tro Tro is on (occasionally yelling out for more passengers).  Then there’s the Mates.  Their job is to hang out the door or window, yelling out the last stop of the Tro Tro.  Imagine the sign that lets you know the last stop of a metro’s route, letting you know that you’re going the correct direction.  But in human form.

“Medina! Medina! Medina! Circ Circ Circleee!”  The mates will yell out.  Hissing and snapping their fingers to get your attention when it’s time to pay your two ceedees.One day, while my coworker and I were walking past a taxi rank at one of the main “bus” stations (now converted to Tro Tro station) Thirty Seven, when one of the taxi driver yelled out to him in Twi (the local dialect in Ghana) that if he’s working with the “whites” he should make them take taxis.  Most Obronis (westerners) don’t take the Tro Tro.  It’s hot, it’s sweaty, it’s packed, and it’s a death trap.  With an Uber generally costing around $4, most foreigners are happy to pay for a private ride to wherever they’re going.  But they’re missing all of the fun.

While on the Tro Tro I’ve gotten to spend time with Ghanaians living their daily lives.  I get to buy Blue Skies from the Hawkers (people who sell drinks and food at traffic lights).  I get to see parts of Accra I wouldn’t see from the back seat of an Uber.  It truly has become one of the highlights of Ghana for me.  Enough so that when I get back to the States I’ve already drawn up a Tro Tro tattoo I want to get.  All that’s left is to decide which stickers to place in the window of my soon-to-be Tro Tro tattoo.