I entered the Media Law class later than usual. It was no news. I always get to class not more than 30minutes before the lecturer says; “See you next week”.
“No! You won’t see us next week” I’ll think to myself and raise my hand to ask questions just to delay the class for another 10minutes. The class hated it but it was my deliberate attempt to annoy them every Wednesday and it worked. But today wasn’t going to be one of those days. I had an assignment to complete, not a school assignment. I had coins to count. That’s the most coins I’ve had in my life after the days in primary school I used to open my “Susu Box” during OUR DAY. I needed a drink before the next class but Ekua was so curious about the coins I had to tell her how I got them.
Trotro. We’ll eventually get down to how and why these public buses have these names. It sounds like a Ga word…no one can convince me otherwise.
I’ve been at the bus stop for 23minutes now, waiting for a Trotro from Achimota to 37. That’s my usual route whenever I had to go to school and back to work. I wasn’t waiting after all these minutes because I had had no Trotro heading my direction, but I just hadn’t seen the Trotro of my choice. No! I didn’t have a specific one I was waiting on, I just was waiting for one my instincts will convince me to board. I love drama. And my instincts were always right to draw me to the Trotro with most drama.
I stretched my hand towards this Trotro and moved my index finger to my destination. It was coded, I know all the Trotro languages. The bus pulled over and I saw the inscription at the back of the car ‘NYA AS3M HW3’. I loved the driver or the owner or whosever’s decision it was for that blunt inscription. I’ll tell you about the ‘NYA AS3M HW3’ community on Twitter soon…not today.
The bus was full but the mate sold his seat to me and clung to the side of the car like magnet. He later stood above me stretching his hand over me taking money with his butt crack to my face exposing his Manchester United boxer shorts.
Bad timing. This preacher got off at the next bus stop. I love trotro preachers
“Yes front. One thirty. Mo mma me nkitiwa wai” the mate sang as he tossed coins in his hands.
This morning didn’t look like a dramatic one as everyone was busily minding their business…I was already bored without my earpiece around so I just looked out the bus observing cars and taking notes of all the ones I wish to buy. Everything was calm like the civilized community it should be until one woman in the middle started talking about a new filling station we just passed by. She blamed Mahama and all NDC politicians as she swore on her death and grave that the filling station belonged to an NDC politician. I love this woman. You needed no one to tell you this obese woman was Ga. She spoke very good English until the argument got heated and she took to Ga intermittently. A man at the other side didn’t understand why the woman had to blame the NDC for her poverty. Yes. He did say poverty. In less than a minute everyone but me was so engrossed in this argument. This is Ghana; obviously respect again…the argument was shifted from the Filling Station, Mahama and NDC politician to respect. Now everyone lashed out the young man for being disrespectful though logically he was right with everything he said. The cause of the argument was fast forgotten and all the older women recall stories of how disrespectful the youth are.
The argument died out immediately I pressed the voice memo on my phone to record the rage. I was late. The woman who started the argument gave the mate 50cedis for the journey and he didn’t have change for her. The mate complained about her money which nearly started another argument of how disrespectful this generation is. The driver told the mate he could change when they got to the police on the N1 road.
The driver slowed down and the mate asked one police “Abain, me nya 50cedis change?”
The police shook his head and said; “anopa wei de3 emu ny3 ooo”
The driver drove on and the mate shouted at the police “wo one one cedi bribe aaaa wo gye no nti wo ni 50cedis change”.
The police heard him and sat on his motorcycle and followed the Trotro. The police caught up with us in traffic and ordered the driver to park the car and the mate to come down. He greeted the mate with two slaps on the face and asked him to repeat what he said;
“Ow boss, I no talk anything”
“You talk anything. You talk anything. You young people don’t respect anyone” one woman at the back said out loud.
The police took all the money from the mate and gave it to the driver and asked him to drive on. Now the driver needed a mate; I needed money. I was closest to the mate so I stood in the car and said out loud;
“Ekyireh) fuor no mo nny3 no baako mma me wai”
I didn’t find this story funny but Ekua laughed so loud as she sipped her drink while we walked to the next class…It wasn’t a funny joke but Chale all jokes on the Driver. I’m sure he’s still looking for me for his money but #AccraWeDey…man must survive until then; NYA AS3M HW3.