“I’ll see you at the bus depot,” Abraham said.
As the bus continued its route toward the STC station, Dawson made comparisons with Accra. Unlike his hometown, Takoradi had labeled its streets with clearly marked blue and white signs. Above each, in white letters on a red background, was a DO NOT LITTER warning. Dawson had the impression that people were at least in part taking heed.
In Takoradi, Ghanaian street names like Ako Adjei coexisted with British ones-Ferguson, Hayford, Kitson, and so on-a legacy of the British colonial occupation of Ghana from the nineteenth to the twentieth century. In the Central and Western Regions, the land of the Fante ethnic group, to which Dawson’s father Jacob belonged, surnames of Dutch, Portuguese, German, and British origin were common.
Its air brakes wheezing and puffing, the bus pulled into the wide STC yard and parked. Dawson waited until his ample seatmate had heaved herself out and then alighted to pick up his bag. He looked around for Abraham, realizing he didn’t know what his cousin looked like these days. He watched the crowd milling about.
“Darko!”
Dawson turned and saw someone hurrying in his direction. He was overweight, of average height. “Abraham?”
“Yes!” He shook hands and hugged Dawson. “How are you? It’s good to see you! Welcome to Takoradi.” His round face shone with delight. “Let me take your bag. I’m parked over there.”
“Thank you. How did you recognize me so easily?”
“Have you forgotten your picture was in all the papers last year after you caught that serial killer?”
“Oh, I see,” Dawson said, laughing. “Yes, I had forgotten.”
They got into Abe’s car, a yellow Toyota Corolla. Abraham talked continuously as they made their way through the center of town. He had an easy laugh and was quite funny. He drove aggressively, which surprised Dawson because his nature seemed otherwise easygoing.
“Traffic is heavy,” Abraham commented.
“Not as bad as Accra,” Dawson replied. He looked around at the vehicles parked in marked spaces along the curb. Good luck persuading drivers to do that in the capital. White, yellow, green, and pink buildings with square facades evenly lined the pavement. The canopied first floors were businesses while the second and third floors were residences with decorative balconies.
“So the oil business has really made a difference here,” Dawson said.
“Oh, yes, both in town and out. New hotels, new houses, and new vehicles. Advertisements on the radio talk about offices being oil industry ready. We’ve become the Oil City.”
