An Unbelievable Bus Ride, Part III – No More Believers

12:30 We sit again—driverless, engine idling—looking out the window at the shops and umbrella-sales men asleep on stools beside their carts of cell phone accessories. Moments later the driver climbs back in to pilot us a little further down the road. Bob read that this bus trip can take twelve hours and we can see why. At a steady clip, it should take six and Eric made it in a hair-raising five and a half hours when he drove us from Kumasi a week ago.

The women in their bright wraps chuckle and chat happily. The young men in the aisles hang onto a seat back as they balance on their cracked plastic stools. I eat a few pieces of boiled potato and drink a can of fruit juice we picked up at the mid way stop. Inexplicably, the driver did not call for another bus or a mechanic at that stop, choosing to tinker with the engine himself. If our luck improves we will reach home in another three hours.

1:00 The sweet smell of cashew trees outside Kintampo. We are whizzing along, sweating in our seats, hoping for the best.

1:05 Stopped again. The driver pulled over onto the shoulder and got out. After five minutes, passengers began to also leave the bus.

1:35 – Moving again. The women are all worked up. The bus driver explains he is doing his best. Some left the bus while the driver worked on it, caught a passing cab and made their way out of this mess. Bob offered a tro tro two hundred cedis to take us to Techiman and was turned down. Techiman is now our beacon of hope. It is where we can get another bus as long as we reach before the last bus leaves town at sundown.

The man with the blue rosary is saying we need to relax. Amy wonders if she should pull out her Kava tincture and offer it to the passengers.

And then, we are broken down again, this time for the last time. The bus is no longer ‘spoiled’, it is ‘finished.’ It has finally become clear that we all need to make other arrangements. Just like the other times, the driver pulled over and got out without saying a word. After five minutes or so we begin peering out the windows and eventually get off to see what the story is. The story ripples through the crowd of displaced passengers. It’s over and the driver is going to refund our fares. The rest is up to us.

We are at a desolate crossroads where a woman sells cold water sachets from a blue cooler. A man crosses the street towards us with some intent. He is cradling a large log in his arms and seems agitated. It becomes apparent he is speaking to us. Amid the gibberish I hear him say he wants to rid the planet of the white people who have made a mess of this world. We notice the chain attached to the log and see the other end around his ankle. “I’m going to kill you” he says, menacingly. And then, “I have a gun.”  I pulled back and disappeared into the crowd of women.

By now the passengers are boarding tro tros and leaving the scene. The log man has retreated to the other side of the road and lays on the ground, eyeing us angrily. He gets up and begins writing anti-obruni sentiments with chalk on the mud wall of a house. I try to make myself invisible. Bob and Jeremy tell me not to worry, that they can take this guy.

Another tro pulls up, fills with passengers and speeds away towards Techiman. Finally, a taxi stops and agrees to take us. The bus driver refunds us 20 cedis towards the 80 cedis we paid him for this ride to no where. We stuff the blue duffle bag into the trunk of the cab and leave the mad log man behind.

2:45 We are loaded and flying south in a cushy tro with the name Mogya Biakasa. This is my first ever ride in a tro. There are fourteen passengers and a driver. It only cost us 5.50 cedis (US$2.82) each. We buy ice cream before setting off. The tro careens around corners, missing sheep and people. Bob says this driver would give Eric a run for his money.

In two or three hours we will reach Kumasi where we can find a taxi to Adiebeba. Life is good. My belief in our good fortune renewed.

Originally published in Once Upon An Expat – An Anthology.