No, honestly speaking I died.

I played hide and seek with the angel of Death, who just seemed to stand at one place and stare, sipping on some freshly mixed glass of Sprite and lemon.

Don’t overthink this whole Diaspora titling- I do consider this area to be some sort of diaspora lol. So yeah, I died..

In Ashaiman; my diaspora. I know many of you are going to laugh or probably roll your eyes but this event is one really dear to my chest (not heart, chest!).

Ashaiman is a place I go to every single time I’m in need of public transport. It’s a beautifully congested area I assure you;

• A place where your feet take you farther than a trosky can.

•A place where ‘yam’ phones are sold in traffic just like Adinkra pastries.

•A place where beauty doesn’t lie in the eyes of the beholder, but rather in the eyes of all traders said beholder encounters.

Now, to how I died.

I, Tsetsewa Yawson, had closed from my driving school session and decided to go see Clark Kent because well..

I did have his phone cable

•He knew once I had it, I’ll come see him. Smh

So I picked my very first trosky*-to the Ashaiman station. This trosky was rickety, sputtering smoke every second and lopsided, manoeuvred by an old man who hardly knew Ashaiman and a mate who actually wasn’t a mate. This trip was made complete with passengers insulting this poor mate non-mate on how badly he did his job, how slow the old man was for adhering to traffic regulations and how late they were to wherever they were going. Fast forward and I had to walk about 10 minutes to the Ashaiman station simply because the ‘traffic was too much for the car to take’ (*face palms*)

So I get to the station and I find a trosky moving to Circle. Now I search for a seat, give a teethy ‘good afternoon’ to anyone who’s willing to listen before easing into it. I sat beside someone who was asleep. He felt rather warm to touch and I wondered if perhaps he wasn’t feeling all too good. As though he could read my thoughts he woke up and moved his body just a few centimetres.

I froze.

His warmth wasn’t just warmth, it was sweat warmth. OMG! I gulped. I felt as though something had been slashed right under my nose. I felt dazed; it stung like hell. I made to move only to realize that the trosky was now full. I wanted to cry. With incessant whispers of prayer and continuous shifting I fought back my tears, only for someone behind to call the driver and ask for a polythene bag. Why? You’d ask.

Because the guy directly behind me wanted to throw up.

C’est impossible!

I. Was. Confused. In every sense of the word. I had just twisted my hair! I had perfume on, with my favourite denim shirt! In a split second I could see myself in a parallel universe, another version of me, with vomit in my hair and terrible body odour being sacked from the trosky. I knew I was not going to make it out of this trip alive.

With every pothole we went through I felt as though I shared a body with my sitting mate. I felt as though I could see what he’d been through, all the work he’d done hitherto this trosky ride, even if it was just waking up and refusing to bath. I smelled grease, I smelled sweat, I smelled everything!

Every time I felt his warmth I wanted to cry. I could see the scent particles transferring themselves voluntarily from his skin to mine, all in my mind’s eye. My nose kept weeping as I squirmed, all the while keeping my face totally unaffected. I kept glancing back to see when Mr Throw Up would most probably strike. I looked discretely (yes, he could vomit in my hair but I didn’t have to be visibly rude about it😒). The entire journey wore me out entirely; from my nose to my neck. I should’ve just stayed at home!

We’re almost where CK is and Mr Driver starts to turn. Who sent you to turn?!

Now I get confused. I alight at a place that will help me find my bearing, but even that’s still too far! I feel cheated big time; I paid 5 cedis, just like everyone else, to be dropped off 10 minutes away from where I’m supposed to be? The mate smiles shyly, as though he knows what I’m thinking. I avert my eyes and I start walking, to nowhere in particular actually. I just continue walking, feeling totally lost until I suddenly realise;

•I have a smartphone.

•I have mobile data.

In my bid to ‘save’ battery power, I was being so illiterate (barely weeks after graduating mind you). I continue my trek with my map and battery on standby when I hear a man say, ‘You! You’ve taken my Über before!’ I turn to be entirely certain I’m the one this guy is referring to. I am! I then smile-my usual 32-, and thank God for Google and Über. My prodigal driver then takes me to my destination sans the app and charges me practically nothing! NOTHING!

P.S.- Use Über people! And rate them like you’re crazy😂.

-Tsetsewaa.

Fast fast forward and I finally get to give CK’s cable to him, even though he didn’t want to hug me😟. I also get to take photos of the One Airport Square (which is magnificent on the inside BTW), whilst drinking an extra huge glass of orange juice with a chocolate glazed doughnut from my new found loves- Vida e Caffe. Thank God for ATM’s!!

Kukie💙

Thanks for musing with me lol!

Trosky*- minibus (public transport)

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8 thoughts on “Murdered In the Diaspora

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