"I don't think you're going to convert me in this tro-tro..."

That's what I heard my erstwhile travel companion say from the row behind me in the very crowded and chatty tro-tro we had boarded. "I don't recall you telling me your religion," the man replied to her...I think. It was actually difficult to hear, because one row up, an old man was standing in the middle of the tro-tro (in retrospect, it's difficult to understand how this was possible, but he was indeed doing it) preaching to the entire vehicle in Twi about the importance of accepting good old Yesu and the Bible. Those were, of course, the only two words I understood, but they were being repeated frequently. "Mmmm...Not my bible," I thought, in synch with the conversation behind me, which came into focus again: "Actually, I think religion is a very personal thing and I don't really feel like talking with you about my beliefs." Then, the zinger reply: "Well, maybe you can give me your phone number..." BAM! Because even if it starts holy, it always ends with a phone number request. The old man up front just kept going. Those of us in the blessedly non-fire-breathing middle row -- including the tro-tro's mate -- sort of exchanged smiling heads-down glances. Certainly no one was going to tell the old man to stick a sock in it (the profound respect for elders here is actually beautiful), but we in the middle seemed to agree that something about this proselytizing--from both front and back, in two languages at once, and absolutely unrelenting--was over the top.

The over-the-topness of the evening's transportation certainly didn't stop there. This particular jalopy stopped at Madina market, and we needed to continue further north, to Adenta junction. No problem: cross street, listen for the "ADENTADENTADENTADENTA" banshee wail of the mate, board appropriate van. But things were busy; it had been market day, and a throng of women with their wares stood awaiting the next tro-tro, looking to head north as well. Their big silver bowls--usually piled to three times their capacity with all manner of goodies and situated (surprisingly stably!) on their heads--suddenly needed to fit on laps, and they were gearing up for their giant volumetric puzzle. Mayhem ensued the minute the tro-tro arrived. The women wanted to get their seats, but it took them time to get their things into the van. Meantime, though they hadn't been waiting as long, some opportunistic men tried to shove by and board. Bad move. Lots of yelling in both Twi and English, pushing, spilling. We were standing back a bit and suddenly we noticed that the front seat was empty--the big silver bowls don't fit there. BINGO! We slid around the masses, someone asked where we were headed, we muttered "Adenta"...the door opened and we were inside while everything got sorted out behind us. But then, there was someone hanging on the front passenger window. Turned out the guy who opened the door was not the mate, and he wanted a pittance for "ensuring that we got the front seat." Before I could figure out how to answer this absurdity, a "You have GOT to be kidding me" and a double-death-ray glare shot out the window from beside me. Mission accomplished. This tro-tro full of women is something like Tetris meets Grand Theft Auto, but we were packed and moving.

When we arrived at Adenta junction, we had to catch a final van to our friends' neighborhood. We wandered through the tro-tro park, looking for the right area...we were headed towards "Housing Down" so this of course means listening for a "DONDONDONDONDON"...we heard it, but as we headed towards the sound of freedom, we were accosted by other drivers and mates in the park who wanted to "help" us...by sitting us in an empty tro-tro. This ensures that theirs will be the next to leave, but an undetermined wait for the rest of it to fill is about the last thing we want at this point in our journey. Again, before I could even process, I heard my partner in crime: "Are you CRAZY?!? It's completely EMPTY. What do you think we ARE?" And I'm being pulled through the annoying empty tro-tros and onto a full--and pleasantly quiet--one that promptly departs.

We had a wonderful evening among friends, but the lesson of the night is clear: when navigating Ghanaian transportation, it's best to be in the company of someone who takes care of business!