February 26, 2016, Elmina, Ghana

Hurtling down the road,


With our eyes closed,


And our hands clutched,


The taxi dodges pot holes,


Speed bumps, pedestrians


And other vehicles;


All at high speed.


Our young driver has his arm


On the open window.


His attention is on his cell phone.


It is a relief when we have to 


Stop at the frequent police checks


And pay the bribes.


We pass by other wrecked vehicles


That have been left where they crashed.


Every time our taxi swerves,


My adrenalin flows.


Every muscle in my body is screaming.


Jim reassures me that


It has been a good life.


When we enter a grid lock of traffic


In Asenboso,


I can finally lift my head and look around.


Boom boxes advertise, proselytize,


Or blare strong rock beats.


We inch by coffin makers,


And all of the hawkers.


Regrettably, soon we are through town,


And we are back at top speed,


Weaving, honking,


Passing on blind crests,


Or anywhere.


A black Honda SUV pulls in front of us


Forcing us to stop.


Men jump out and berate our driver 


For being crazy and dangerous.


They politely tell Jim and I 


To make our taxi
Drive more safely.


Now I am totally petrified.