Ask the student struggling with fees.
Ask the worker who spends his meager salary even before it reflects in their accounts.
Ask that single mother who sleeps only to think of waking up so she could buy school bag for her child.
And if you are that man who has an invisible ‘a man should be the head of the home’ hanging loosely around your neck.
Then you will bear me witness that trotro isn’t just a living bread but one with melting blue band margarine in between.
If your thoughts are not in the affirmative then you probably have a personal vendetta with life.
Nevertheless I still say trotro is a Ghanaian delicacy; to say otherwise is to practically say dumsor is good.
“Trotro dier 3y3….”trotro is good but do not misconstrue my toward likeness as a rather passionate one.
Being in a trotro isn’t exactly the nicest and most comfortable place in the world to be, especially on a rainy or sunny day.
Close the windows and the heat that emerges can easily melt cheese; open it and welcome you to a dust storm.
It is no Range Rover ride with air-condition making love to your senses, trust me!
It baffles me how unkempt these vehicles can be though.Tell me what this earth has that you cannot find in them and let me have you a car number.
Yoghurt sachets; groundnut shells; fried yam; banana peels; plantain chips; pk wrappers; with pure water sachets crowning it all, personally I think the place is where it bulks’ its purchase.
The only time I sung “Jesus takes the wheel” was when I felt my feet touching the naked road on one of many rides.
I wouldn’t blame any soul who says trotro is bad news.
It is either your Christmas dress gets torn; the mate makes you up with insults; be forced to pay for a familiar face or hit orgasm with the odor coming from the mate’s armpit.
No wonder it travels that fast; don’t they always say bad news’ travels fast?
Nonetheless the average Ghanaian each and every morning joins a queue so long that one could hardly see the last leg to await the arrival of this life saving vehicle.
The impatience and anxiety coupled with the wrestling and “stampede” is actually a beautiful sight; and the manner they strain their ears and crane their necks to hear the names of the places being mentioned highlights the relevance of this vehicle.
Ghanaians depend on it like the yellow corn they depended on during the 1983 famine.
And if you think you are smart, enroll in the University of Trotro, Ghana campus and see how you have lagged behind as a person in pursuance of academia.
The market women will make you feel they form part of parliament; the kantamanto guys become the economists and the driver himself takes up religion.
The preachers that leave a little lot to be desired; the authors making sales; the de wormer seller “pharmacy’s” his drugs makes the trotro a supermarket of a sort if you know what I mean.
Trotro is Omnipresent, it is everywhere you go anytime, any day.
Trotro is national theatre where people put up all sorts of stage art, the drama that goes into receiving fares narrowed down to battle of foul language.
Trotro is labadi beach where people talk so loud on their phones that you feel you are at sea.
Trotro is Freddie’s corner; it welcomes you to a world of phones and gadgets.
Trotro is Auntie Muni waakye; it is Ghanaian jollof; it is the classic man; it is the new legon; it is power bank; like trotro is the bae.
I swear trotro is ‘nkwa bodoo’ and I do not stand to be corrected.
Let ye who disagree buy a Bentley.