What is it about Taxis and conversations? I’m not sure whether I’m a magnet to taxi-men and conversations, or it’s just coincidence. Then again, as Fox Mulder, of the X-Files yore, said in season 1 or 2, “why do coincidences feel so contrived?”.
There has to be Someone Watching Over Me.
I am convinced.
This week, I was seriously hard-up, and I don’t doubt next week I will be either;-)
But somehow, somewhere, I have managed to get to work and home with the barest minimum. In other words, I have paid considerably less to go home and to work than I normally would have.
This morning, I got a lift from my neighbour, and when I was dropped off to make my way as she was going towards Tetteh-Quarshie circle, I got a taxi—driven by a most personable and good-natured guy—who charged me—wouldja believe 8 effing thousand cedis!!
That’s EIGHT effing thousand from the tunnel to Miklin Hotel!
This says less about taxi-men’s habits than the coincidence this week of getting the most inexpensive ride—ranging from 8 to 10,000 cedis.
To say nothing of the conversation this man, this morning, had with me. Actually, it was less of a conversation and more of him talking.
It was as if God was talking to me. Not that I think I have done anything bad that merits being talked to—if you see what I mean…
But, hey, it was very insightful. The essence of his homily as we juggled along that untarred road behind East Legon that turns into (past OIC school) Miklin Hotel, was that “do good and be humble”. He related a tale of how he went to Tamale. He had insufficient money, so he asked taxi to accompany him to x whilst he waited to get his money. Hardly had he set out, when a woman said that she had an extra fare, so he could have it! So he ended up using that money, in his words, to “eat yoghurt” (it would have to be Fanice, or Tampico:-) ) and keep the rest on him.
We both exclaimed “Ay!”
Though I have to admit mine was a bit camp, or affected;-( Wanted to let him feel good I was listening—which I was.
Couldn’t quite understand whether he was drunk and felt I was a good conversationalist – despite my heavy blue cotton shirt, black tie, with blue-leaves; black Viscose trousers – or I was just a casual-looking doode anyway *in spite of* the tie, thus rendering me with an affable physiognomy?
In my dreams! Since when has sporting slanted Gucci (yes, fake I must admit!) sunglasses made anyone’s physiognomy look affable?!
But that’s another story…
Point is: this week, I’ve been spared of dishing out some serious money—and it has to be none other than Some Doode Up there Watching Over Me and listening to my remonstrations about my impecunious current state.
Two days ago—that’s Tuesday—I walked on that same untarred road from Miklin Hotel—just for exercise, and I had beads of sweat dripping down my face, but it was good! I enjoyed the walk, which enabled me see a different part of East Legon. It took circa twenty minutes, and I enjoyed it thoroughly!! I managed to walk under the tunnel from East Legon to Spintex, and there I caught a cab.
The guy was equally affable. He just blasted me with the ongoing saga at the Ghana Football Association, which I have been following only marginally, as it were. In other words, I have ZERO interest. Who cares about football?
Not a safe question to ask in a country as mad about football as they are about their kenke…
Safety behind the screen:-)
Alisa Hotel (located at North Ridge), which, according to trusted sources was “Sunrise Hotel”, formerly was interesting. I’m talking about the meeting we had for work. But the food?
Oh, the food! Ok, I exaggerate, but it honestly could have been better. The so-called fried rice was just that : so-called. The chicken was imported, and the fish I guess was home-grown, as it were, but nothing to write home about.
Unlike my tales of taxis and conversations!