Yesterday, Accra was caught in a scary storm.
I live close to Korle Bu Teaching hospital, and according to Gloria who was at home at the time, the sirens never stopped echoing through our neighborhood for several hours; even after the rains had stopped.
Earlier in the day, I had managed to pull my Malaria-beaten body to teach a photography class with Steven Adusei at the African Regent Hotel. Mawuli, my partner in crime joined me shortly before my session ended and I hopped into his car to finish up a business at Airport Hills. What was planned to be a thirty minutes rendezvous turned into more than three hours.
When there’s a storm or rain or soccer in Accra, everything stops. The problem is, yesterday’s was no small storm. It was as if Wind and Air had gotten into a fight over a girl. It was scary.
Roofing sheets chased people. I witnessed the force of the wind twist the ankle of gigantic billboards till they bowed in total submission or just simply uprooted them like cassava.
I don’t know how many people have died. I don’t know how many homes lost their roofs. I don’t know if any of these hawkers will ever find their wares they lost to the storm.
The prettiest umbrella is still useless in a tropical storm.
If you’re in Accra and it’s about to rain, just stay indoors. It’s the safest, wisest thing to do; unless of course, you’re a photographer or a CocaCola vendor.