when it rains in ghana, the roads turn to mud, stranding you and any aspirations you might have for the day. structure and any order the city might aspire to melts. trotro's break down or get stuck in place, or simply refuse to take passengers. traffic quagulates and walking becomes the most pragmatic, albeit filthy with the overflowing sewer water, mode of transportation.
when it rains in ghana, the chaos in the streets becomes amplified, but so does the peace in the home. steam streams from the windows as my mud hut sighs in relief from the heat. the tin roof streaches out while the rain drums african dance beats on its back. the yams are hot, the air is cool, and the company is quiet yet content.
when it rains in ghana, the chaos in the streets becomes amplified, but so does the peace in the home. steam streams from the windows as my mud hut sighs in relief from the heat. the tin roof streaches out while the rain drums african dance beats on its back. the yams are hot, the air is cool, and the company is quiet yet content.
the view from my front door
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