And They Call It Home

Accra is an acquired taste.

At first glance, all you are likely to notice is the dirt, the poverty, and the ubiquitous discontent that festers beneath the surface. All the tourist books will tell you ‘akwaaba’, welcome to this land of hospitality. But don’t believe it. You will be identified as a foreigner, tagged ‘obroni’, and people will try to make you pay more than you should at every point of exchange.

But this quaint African city never pretended to offer the comforts of home. Its greatest beauty cannot be found in the high-rise apartment buildings. Its most fascinating paths won’t be discovered in an air-conditioned car. No, its attractions lie in the less lofty, in the mundane. And so, your chief mode of transportation should be the most popular. Dubbed ‘trotros’ by the locals for a reason long forgotten, these buses may appear decrepit, but don’t underestimate their staying power. Without wipers, seatbelts, or unnecessary frills like trafficators and brake lights common in private cars, these omnipresent vehicles can get you anywhere.

Of course, an advantage of using a trotro is that you get to actually meet the people. Though most will be conversing with the musical intonations of the most popular dialect, Twi, many will attempt English when they realize that you are not from here. Even if they ignore you, you will have a front-row seat to true community. Twenty strangers will interact as family, sharing laughs and comments during the journey. Passengers, you see, understand that they are equally responsible for the ambience in the bus, a responsibility that is not taken lightly. Should there be a disagreement, they will rally swiftly behind the victim, and shame the culprit to apology.

One place you must visit before you leave is the market. The definition of success is coming home with only the item you set out to buy, and this is harder than it seems, because both buyer and sellers are equally intent on having their way. Whatever you buy, though, you must know that the initial price mentioned is likely to be outrageously excessive. Everybody knows this, and you are expected – no, duty-bound – to bargain. When the seller pegs the price at 70, the rule of thumb is to slash that in two and round off to the lower whole number, 30; at the very least, you should leave with something extra, ‘ntosoo’, tossed in.

And no matter what, by departure, you should have made a new friend. Because this IS the land of outstanding hospitality. Akwaaba.