Woe

I guess I should describe Woe a bit, since my only descriptions have come through in goats and tro-tro’s.

I know I am close to home when I pass George Forman, welcoming visitors in all his cement glory, with his star-spangled shorts and gloves in the air. The radio stations from Accra and Ho start to cut out. The goat per mile ratio gradually increases. Drivers start the continuous tapping of the horn, whether there are pedestrians to alert or not.