Banji Ojewale
It’s a Sunday morning in May 2024 in downtown Accra, capital of Ghana. I’m in a Church auditorium. Strangely for an African Pentecostal assembly, there are subdued acoustics. The preacher’s message is electronically transmitted. But it is solemnly controlled to stay indoors.
Later, I find myself in the city’s busy streets. I’m challenged by very long, snaky metallic lines glistening under the sun. Motorists appear horn-shy. I can only hear creaking bursts of engines responding to traffic lights. There are even no flights of tempers or accidents to scuttle the scorching silence everywhere.
Would dusk make a difference?
It doesn’t, as I learn on Monday night. It’s eerie evening at Daakuman and Bubuashi, swarming city settlements. For a metropolis known over the generations for its boisterous akpeteshi (ogogoro) joints and beer parlours, there’s an uncommon harrowing hush in the air. I look around. There are customers,…
Source: Thisday Newspaper
