On Roads, Cars and God's Will

It rained quite heavily the night before, and in the morning, on the way to the market town, we saw a huge truck in the ditch – it looked like while it was trying to avoid a fallen tree on the left, it swerved too hard on a dangerous curve. There were no police cars, no flashing lights warning other drivers to be cautious, no ambulances (the only purpose of ambulances here is to transport a dead body from a mortuary to a funeral). When I asked my counterpart if we should tell the police at the barrier about the accident, he just sighed: “They will not do anything.”

While in Bibiani, I saw a big orange truck going the other direction without thinking too much of it. But then couple hours ago when we were going back home, and were on that very dangerous curve, I saw that very orange truck twisted deep into the muddy trench! I became angry and upset. Why wasn’t police there? What was the driver thinking, driving so fast on this curve? Later we found out that the orange truck was trying to pass a motorcyclist thus killing him on the spot…

That day, I became upset at the way Ghanaians accept their fate without a proper fight.

Ghana seduced me with its relaxed way of shrugging things off when they would not go according to the plan: “Oh, well,” the collective conscience here seems to say “life goes on.” Tro breaks down, yam chips are “finished,” electricity is shut down – TIA (“This Is Africa” as I say now all the time)…

At the same time, Ghanaians struck me as very caring people: someone would always help me find my tro-tro stop, or a person I would be looking for; people would always tug my clothes or clean dirt off my face so I would look presentable. The support network in villages is amazing – since everyone is related to each other, people always help each other with chores, businesses or private affairs. Every time I would pass somebody while carrying a heavy bag or a bucket of water on my head, people always tried to help me. And when something was not going according to a plan, people would just shrug and say: “Oh, it is nature,” or “It’s God’s will.” And I would surrender to it too – why waste your nerve cells, as my mom would say?

But this time, this lack of regard for human life and well-being of others unnerved me. Yes, I understand why it is useless to complain to local police – it seems all they want is taking illegal fees from passing cars and being left alone. I imagined how this scene would play out in the US – and immediate 911 response, flashing lights or flares, alerts to other drivers, road signs saying “Slow,” “Caution,” “Keep Right,” accident victims airlifted to the nearby hospital and treated for their injuries. None of this happens here….

Traveling here is generally a pretty traumatic affair. As Peace Corps volunteers, we are not allowed to drive on our own or to ride motorcycles. The only modes of transportation that we are allowed to take are buses, tro-tros and taxis – all of which are in various stage of dilapidation. Lack of spare auto parts, bad roads and constant overloading of cars make them look like they’ve gone through a nuclear blast (plus, the fact that these cars come to Ghana already used doesn’t help). And overloading is no joke -  just imagine squeezing eight people into a sedan which usually holds five, or fitting 30 people, a couple of goats and tons of boxes and bags of plantains into a Suburban van.

Also, most roads are just… bad. There is no other way to say it. They are either dirt roads that make every trip to market feel like a safari (without any exotic animals). Or they are just narrow, two-lane county-like roads – but it doesn’t stop cars from going full speed and passing incoming traffic, sometimes dangerously close. During several trips to Kumasi, Accra and Tamale, I realized why people here pray so much: that is the only way calm yourself down and trust your life into hands of God while a driver tailgates huge trucks or goes around them on  a dangerous curve.

Bad cell phone connection, lack of warning system and a simple indifference of police doesn’t help the situation either. One time I was taking a bus from Tamale. Suddenly we slowed down pretty rapidly, and I soon discovered why. The left side of the highway was full (literally!) of overturned tractor trailers. And it seemed that all they were carrying were tons of cans of tomato paste and tomatoes. Just imagine  boxes and boxes of tomatoes – oh, the massacre…  Did our driver know about this accident? Of course not: he simply drove at full speed until he saw something suspicious on the road. The other time a tire on a bus I was riding blew up, and we skidded dangerously close to the ditch.

What am I trying to say? That Ghana is a dangerous place? That the infrastructure here is falling apart? That people believe that a prayer will save their tro from colliding with a tractor trailer? I myself lived in a country where aggressive driving, roads full of pot-holes and shoddily fixed cars caused numerous deaths. Yes, I did – and I did not like it. So now I have to accept the fact that anything can happen on the road… But I wish my fellow Ghanaians would be more willing and able to change the infrastructure, the police response and driving style instead of surrendering themselves to God’s will every time they go to their market town.