A DAY BETWEEN TWO

You are travelling from one place to another, say from Accra City to Paradise City, and you are only a few steps away from reaching your final destination. Then suddenly, you begin to daydream – and it’s very vivid in your mind’s eye, this thing you’re experiencing. Let’s say for example, that if it’s at Point C you daydreamed, in your mind’s eye, you saw yourself standing at Point B; and if it’s at Point B you daydreamed, you saw yourself to be standing now at Point A, in your mind’s eye.

Having daydreamed about reaching my destination already, it was at Point A I found myself. Yet whilst at this place, I envisioned having risen stairways up the notes of the Solfege, landing me at Point D, where I found myself now, telling you this story – at Point D.

In this state however, I found most surprising this fact, that even with my head now in the clouds, D still remained the fourth letter of the English alphabet, and standing from Point A where I used to be, D was only first from the bottom.

‘CHAIR!’ I howled. I often said this instead of the ‘F’ word or, ‘TABLE!’ instead of the ‘S’ word.

‘So I’m not first after all’ I mumbled this to myself in desolation, ‘I have always thought I was.’

Overcome by extreme tiredness and panting very heavily, I asked in bewilderment, ‘what has happened to the ‘D’ in dreaming? What happened to Dreaming where I am standing now?’

My soaked singlet and drenched face left droplets of quartz-clear sweat ticking, and they nodded onto the tarmac.

Down on all fours, and my breath strokes now slowing, I resolved ‘Never mind, ‘TABLE’ happens!’ consoling myself.

Well, that’s where it all happened – Point D was where it all occurred.

By no means do I imply by this, that I arrived safely where I daydreamed to have already reached – Point A, - the final destination, - Paradise City.

Like I already said, this story is told you from Point D, the fourth letter of the English alphabets, and that remained yet a fact that had still not changed.

Rather, I speak regards the table, you may want to term it the ‘Shit’, or term it however you will, but those ruined remains of wood, was what I tripped upon, closing in to my final destination, and sprained my shoulder, painfully denying me the sight of Paradise.

‘Charlie…Charlie!’ he yelled, ‘Teeshi…Teeshie, we catch where you for get down!’

‘TABLE!’ I yelled, and flung off my seat with a jolt, hitting the crown of my head against the ceiling of the low-roof Nissan Urvan mini bus.

I wore an exaggerated grimace on my face, as if all that was from the pain of the collision.

Not at all! If you used the Tro-Tro as often as I did, you would know of the antics passengers played to conceal the shame of letting themselves slide to a siesta inside a Tro-Tro.

Nothing like a ‘Tro-Tro Code of Conduct’ has ever been written, and I had never in my lifetime read any such thing. However on one very memorable occasion, that was especially agonizing to my status, after my head in a snooze attack, had bounced-off severally on the shoulder of the other passenger, almost performing a lobotomy on my brains when the lorry hit a pothole, I finally found the wisdom to at least observe certain regulars at the lorry station who had gained notoriety at honoring the ‘Tro-Tro Code of Conduct’.

One of such patrons, whom I took particular liking to for his unflinching devotion at abiding by the rules of conduct, was a young man who always looked exquisitely dressed, and whose head, all the time kept riveted to his mobile phone handset while he waited. Somehow, he was always the one in front of the long line of commuters waiting to board. The other day, I eavesdropped on two guys discussing, and saying that he always managed to appear at the lorry station several minutes ahead of other 9 to 5 workers. And when the long awaited bus finally arrived, this suave of a lad would collect his footsteps as if the pair of designer shoes he donned made his Swag weigh 15 Kilos more.

This obviously enticed the fury of the huffing-and-puffing commuters waiting impatiently behind him in the procession. Yet for someone who took all the time in the world to lift his own feet, you can imagine how little he cared about useless insults that scarcely could have bought him his next pair of designer shoes.

I sensed the silent throb of a pain, in one of my arms. I quickly carried out a cursory inspection to find out which one it was.

‘How very aching it felt, the hefty smacking that awoke me in the bus?’ I thought to myself as the inspection somehow worsened the pain sensation.

My eyesight instantly caught on to the unruly gestures coming from the Mate, who positioned himself beneath the doorway outside the rickety mini bus and told me off. It appeared he and his Massa were hurrying to go another round of what they call ‘Dumping’ –  picking up and dispatching frantic commuters from one point to another to make as much in profit as possible.

The unpleasant countenance on their faces sent a clear warning to me that I was in the way of their prosperity. The first thing they would have me do is to simply, ‘Clear Off!’  And the Mate in particular, appeared to suggest that to me in a manner so precise that a resident of Accra would not miss, ‘Kw3!’ a lingual gesture dramatized in Ga.   

My instinctive reaction at first was to run him down with my mouth for the clouting of my right shoulder. Just that and I would at least have earned my notoriety for complying with the ‘Tro-Tro Code of Conduct’.

Nonetheless, I thought it befitting for the harm done my shoulder, to settle more scores with the Mate. And a jaw-jaw was not going to be how I did it, in view of the danger that was already looming. The infuriated masses after being tired of tarrying had started to charge up like a herd of ram, hoping to skid me off their way. I had to be very swift with a more feasible retaliatory plan if I so badly yearned for one. 

‘Why not just let it go?’ a thought raced in.

‘A full-grown young adult like you with hair growing everywhere on him better put this issue straight at all cost’ another thought crossed over, making me even more unwavering in my malevolent pursuit.

Then instantaneously a plan hatched itself in my mind.

To the utmost shock of the poor guy, I hurled the entire weight of my body from a tacit position inside the mini bus, all the way through the unfastened doorway, and landed the hard soles of my shoes onto his overhanging toes. Then while he bent down to attend to his injured foot, squealing in agony, I shoved his whole body onto the ground and absconded.