Thursday morning church service

That's right, I went to church this morning. I know, it's Thursday and church is usually on Sunday but this is Africa (or, as Leo would say, TIA). You have to be prepared for anything here, as I learned on my way to work this morning.

This was the very first time I've taken the trotro to work, and I felt a little ridiculuous all dressed up standing on my dirty, dusty road. I even straightened my hair, but realized that uselessness as soon as I stepped outside. I wound up taking a bus to Tetteh Kwashi Interchange, which was a dramatic improvement from the trotro yesterday. I paid my 10 pesuas (about 10 cents) and slid through the thick traffic to the other side of the road.

After a short walk, I found myself in a giant dirt lot filled with empty trotros, just like Auntie Rose from work said I would. I asked a young man with chocolate eyes which one stops at coastal, the stop in front of ABANTU. He smiled a toothy grin and asked why I was going to coastal. I explained in very slow English that I was an intern, and he took a step closer. Obviously, I was feeling a little uncomfortable at this point and just hoping that someone would show me the trotro to coastal. He leaned toward me and asked, rather bluntly, "Are you marriaged?" Ah, yes. The marriage proposal. They warned me that it would happen, but in a dusty trotro stop? I was expecting something a little more specific. I flashed him the fake band I'd strategically placed on my ring finger weeks earlier and he waved me on to a white trotro, its engine already running. I thanked him and climbed aboard the nicest trotro I've been on in Ghana, compared to the pile I rode yesterday.

It's kind of funny here to know that people are talking about you, but to have no idea what they're saying. In Mexico, I could at least pick up a word or two but here, it's totally a lost cause. I can only tell by their slight smiles and quick glances my way that they're probably making fun of me, but I feel quite proud of myself for braving the trotro when most obronis opt for the significantly more expensive taxi services.

Anyway, it is in this white trotro that my Thursday morning church service ensues. After paying my 30 pesuas, I feel a tap on my shoulder. A young woman with tiny twisty braids in her hair holds out her hand. I shake my head and insist that I've already paid. "No, we pray now," she explains in a smooth voice like butter. So I take her hand and turn around to face our preacher, a tall, skinny man with leathery skin and a scar on his cheeck, indicative of his northern heritage. He speaks of God's divine power in bringing us together, and asks for His assistance in whatever our days might bring us. At the risk of sounding cheesy, holding hands and praying in a trotro made me feel a bit warm and fuzzy. I feel grateful to be welcomed into their circle and say a resounding 'Amen' in unison when it's all said and done. The maid opens the door for me and I step out into the humid, hot air refreshed and ready for another day of work--wish me luck!