Nearly three weeks have passed since I arrived in Accra, Ghana and my experience has gotten better with each passing day. The ebb and flow of life in Accra can seem chaotic at first, but as you come to understand the remarkable ways in which people are making the best of an imperfect system, the beauty is revealed in the chaos. I’ve had time to let my curiosity dispel many of the myths and mischaracterizations that are inevitable when traveling to a country so different from my own. There are still some things I may never understand, like how the hell it’s possible to carry 30 pounds of books stacked 3 feet high on top of one’s head, but I can offer you some insight into one part of my experience that may help you become more quickly acquainted should you ever find yourself in Ghana: The tro tro ride.
Tro tro – The cheapest and most common form of transportation for the working class in Accra. Though privately owned, these minibus share-taxis function like public transportation, traveling fixed routes and picking up commuters along the way for a small fee. You can get anywhere in Accra for 1 to 5 cedi (less than $1 U.S.) on the tro tro.
The thought of taking the tro tro intimidated me in my first week in Accra. My sense of direction, which I normally would pride myself on, seemed to escape me as I struggled to navigate even the shortest of distances. Perhaps this had to do with being so close to the equator in a country with a south-facing coastline. Maybe it was the lack of conventional city blocks, no obvious rhyme or reason to the way the streets seemed to snake throughout the city.
I remember thinking there was no way I could get on one of these small crowded buses near my internship and end up anywhere close to the house where we were staying, but I went for it on the first day of my internship. To my surprise, it worked out remarkably well. I asked a coworker where the nearest stop would be and what to listen for to make sure I got on the right bus.
I walked to the main intersection on Oxford street that my coworker had directed me to and was relieved when I heard a man step off of the very first tro tro yelling “Madina Madina Madina!” This is what I was told to listen for. I hopped in and took a spot by the window on the surprisingly empty bus. It was shortly after 5:00 pm. The tro tro quickly filled with well-dressed commuters fresh off their days’ work.
Once the tro tro was half full, it took off down the main road stopping periodically to accommodate more commuters. By the time we reached the roundabout at the end of the street, the tro tro was full, perhaps even above capacity. It was hot and I began to sweat through my shirt. The women behind me bought me a strawberry Fan Ice, a popular frozen yogurt treat sold in a pouch, from a vendor out the window. It cost 1 cedi. I tried to reimburse them but they politely refused. Throughout the trip, the two women helped to educate me on tro tro etiquette: don’t take up too much space, keep your bag on your lap, when you pay the mate let him know your destination, remind them of your destination as you get closer to the stop.
When the mate makes his rounds collecting money for the trip I give him 5 cedis and tell him “Okponglo Junction.” He seems in no rush to collect the money, nor do the passengers seem in a rush to receive their change. I wasn’t expecting to get change. 5 cedi seemed like a great price for such a long trip, but a few minutes later the mate handed 2 cedis back to me.
My internship is quite far from the neighborhood where we’re staying. In peak traffic, it takes an hour and a half to get home. I spend much of the trip studying the scene outside my window as we lurch through the busy streets. Around dusk, we pass a row of massive trees from which hundreds of bats depart to begin their evening hunt for food. This is my favorite part of the journey home. We pass some sort of military compound, where defunct tanks and airplanes sit like trophies on a mantle, relics of Ghana’s military past.
Each time traffic brings our tro tro to a halt we are approached by vendors selling their respective wares from atop their heads. In Accra, you can buy just about anything out the window of a car while sitting in traffic. I often go for the donut balls – 1 cedi – I believe they’re called bofrot. Despite how precarious it may look having a box of donuts or other goods perched atop one’s head while walking through dense and unpredictable traffic, I’ve yet to see anyone drop anything or even stumble in the slightest. There are the common vendors you will see multiple times a night: women with giant bowls of peanuts, adinkra pastries, men adorned with phone chargers and other cords, a person selling phone refill cards. Then there are the ones you may see only on occasion: someone selling giant maps of Ghana, the man with a bag of balls from whom I bought a basketball more closely resembling the shape of a football, someone carrying exercise gear that looks like it was ripped straight out of a 1980’s infomercial. Yes, you can buy anything out the window of a tro tro.
As we approach the University of Ghana, and the unfinished exterior of the giant football stadium becomes visible, I remind the mate that this is my stop. Okponglo junction. He quickly and quietly says something to the driver that I can’t make out and we pull off to the side of the road where other tro tros are gathered picking up and dropping off. It takes some shuffling of passengers for me to get out, but I step out and stretch my legs, the cool night breeze a welcome relief on my sweaty back. I make the short walk home surprised at just how easy, cheap, and fun the ride had been.
I’ve since ridden the tro tro home from work every day. Some days I strike up a conversation with the person sitting next to me. This is probably where I’ve met and exchanged numbers with Ghanaians the most. My friend Vitus, whom I met on one of my first days on the tro tro, regularly texts me to grab lunch together, as he works across the street from me. Some days I take a window seat, put headphones in, and lose myself in the fascinating scenes of daily life in Accra. It costs me 1/10th the price of what an Uber would be to get home in the evenings, and is always more interesting. Despite my initial apprehensions, it has become the thing I look forward to the most at the end of a workday. So please, if you find yourself in Ghana, don’t be afraid to ride the tro tro. Your confidence will be rewarded with endearing hospitality that you’d be hard-pressed to find anywhere else in the world.
