‘Pragya’ greetings from Cape Coast

Last year, my friend Rebecca, who lives in the UK and hails from Twifu Hemang in the Central Region, dragged me to her hometown to support a charity she was involved in, named We Were Once Them (WeWOT). 

It was set up by some professional friends of hers as a beacon of hope to share their stories and inspire the next generation of African and Caribbean youth.

This year, I did not have the power to resist another summons when she flew into town.

My assignment was to facilitate a creative writing workshop for some final year students at Twifo Hemang Senior High School. 

It was great fun and very fulfilling. I will definitely be back there next year. 

 Romancing Cape Coast

As a general rule, I never simply pass through Cape Coast whenever the opportunity presents itself, and this occasion was no different.

I simply had to spend a night or two there to unwind ahead of a trip to Kumasi.

Cape Coast, or Oguaa as it is known by the natives, simply exudes a unique, somewhat sedate charm - a decent compromise between the chaotic hustle and bustle of city life and the boring, literally dead nature of village life.

On the day of my departure, I had a rather long, lazy lunch at the Oasis Beach Restaurant, soaking in the gently rolling waves and musing over the little pleasures of life.

The Victoria Park in front of the restaurant, a beehive of activity for teeming crowds during the annual Oguaa Fetu Afahye in September, looked desolate, even miserable.

It was time to dash off to the Ford station at Bakano to meet a friend, and then onward to Tantri station for the bus to Kumasi. 

Desperate move

After about 20 minutes by the roadside, it became quite apparent that taxis were an endangered species, particularly on that stretch.

Not a single one had turned up. Rather, the predominantly yellow tricycles popularly known as ‘Pragya’ seemed to be flying by literally every minute, with their drivers desperately trying to catch my eye. I pointedly refused to look their way. 

You see, for as long as I can remember, I have had ‘pragya-phobia’, swearing to myself that I would rather walk to the end of the earth than be caught in one.

Their drivers often cutting other road users annoyingly and rather recklessly in a way that sets my teeth on edge, and I have always viewed them with dark suspicion.

Particularly with my wide girth, I have believed ardently that I could possibly cause the three-wheeled contraption to lose balance and tip over if I do not strategically position myself. 

Given the speed with which they tend to negotiate curves in the road, I verily believe this phobia to be well-placed.

The sun was burning and my belly was full, so the prospect of the rather long walk simply wilted in my mind.

It was now or never. 

I took a deep breath and made eye contact with the next cab driver who came into view.

After all, ‘if you cannot beat them, you join them’, goes the saying. He screeched to a halt almost immediately and I clambered aboard. 

The cab looked fairly new.

I said a quick ‘Hail Mary’ as it tore down the road, its little engine roaring with all the power it could muster.  

I must say I had quite a smooth and enjoyable ride, albeit with the wind blowing in my face, and that both the cab and I arrived in Bakano in one piece.

I was pleasantly surprised that the trip cost me only GH¢5.

I refused to take any change when I handed him a GH¢10 note. Ato — that was his name — was delighted and most grateful.  

Pragya issues

There is no doubt that this mode of transport, which initially was far more prevalent in rural areas, has become quite ubiquitous and popular in our big cities and towns.

Probably because of their ability to dart in and out of heavy traffic and their relatively cheaper fares, together with the pragmatic reality of being able to easily hop on or off anywhere in traffic, many prefer it as a way of getting around.

The average price for a new one, I am told, is GH¢30,000.00.

Apparently, they are not allowed to operate along national highways, roads that allow a maximum speed limit of 40km/ph or within busy business districts.

But they do so regularly and with impunity anyway, driving like maniacs in a hurry to the pits of hell and breaking literally every traffic rule in the process, with authorities looking on.

I have seen on so many occasions very young people in charge of these vehicles.

Perhaps with high unemployment rates, the authorities understandably prefer not to clamp down hard as many young people, including those who support families, would be driven out of work, thereby exacerbating social problems.

But the fact remains that useful and convenient as these cabs are, especially in the rural areas, the industry needs better regulation to protect the public.

It cannot be rocket science to find a fine balance. 

New convert? No thanks!

Much as I found the experience quite interesting and rather liberating in a way, I am not in quite a hurry to repeat it or make it a habit.

True, as Hearts of Oak Football Club succinctly puts it, ‘never say die until all the bones are rotten’.

But then, on the other hand, I am not in a hurry to join my ancestors, with my bones rotting quietly in a forsaken corner somewhere on God’s beautiful earth. 

One experience is enough, thank you very much.

I am hereby back to default settings. 

Rodney Nkrumah-Boateng.
E-mail: rodboat@yahoo.com