My second day in Accra, we went bouncing down the road in our Land Rover to the market. There appear to be no traffic laws, except for 'drive on the right' and 'yield to the fastest'. Until 11 PM, that is, when roadblocks are set up and cops with machine guns shine the light in your face, just to let you know not to be making with the funny stuff. There certainly aren't many stop signs or traffic lights. However, I haven't seen any accidents (or the results thereof), at least not in the city. My theory is that accidents are caused by complacency and assumption, and driving in Accra, one must always be on one's toes.

There are people everywhere. Hawkers stroll alongside the road, pointing to the huge loads on their heads, and selling their goods to the slow-moving traffic. We think we've got convenience at the GigaMegaMart, how about being able to do all of your grocery shopping in your car, without even coming to a full stop?

Behind the hawkers are the stands of goods, mostly made of wood with a few classy establishments made out of short shipping containers. The only time I've been in a store as we think of it is at the gas station. In fact, American corporations seem to be having trouble getting a grip here, except for Coca-Cola, Mobil, and Nestle. I don't see any franchises beyond those. That's not to say that every possible inch isn't devoted to commerce. It's just a little more personal, as the woman you hand your money to is probably the wife of the dude sitting behind the counter manufacturing whatever it is you're buying. There are also people walking, people standing around, people hanging out. The Chicago Loop is a ghost town compared to this place, especially in the smell and sound departments.

After shopping, Osei had to take care of some errands, so whenever he'd run into a place, I'd begin to practice my Twi with Kwaku, our driver. English is the language on all the signage but it's not what you hear. I've made arrangements to get myself a tutor.

That evening, we went by the home of the Minister of the Interior. It looked exactly as you'd expect: Sprawling estate, walled and guarded, servants, elephant-tusk decor and real leopard-skin rugs. Pictures on the wall of the Minister with Clinton, Castro, Kofi, Mandela, and the Pope. We met with his wife, who was very down-to-earth and sharp as a tack. She recognized immediately the value of what we were planning. A very powerful woman herself, she's interested in improving the situation of women in her country, which is one of the central themes of the Telecenter. Osei gave her a presentation on his laptop, and I explained the benefits and disadvantages of each design. Little did I know he'd slipped a few Rat Patrol pictures into the mix to show the lighter side. So, in one of my life's increasingly common surreal moments, I find myself sitting in the living room of a man who has met with some of the most powerful people of the last century and I am trying to explain to his wife why one would build the Chicken Chopper.

Then we went to the airport, where Osei got us in through the 'VVIP' lounge (I had to take off my hat) and we searched for my lost luggage. So many angry BA patrons (they must have lost hundreds of bags) that the rep gave up trying to spin, ran into his office, and posted a guard. The office did give me 500,000 cedis, though. To give you an idea, there are about 9100 cedis to the dollar and a Coke costs 2000 if you give the bottle back. Unsuccessful, we left through the VVIP lounge... looks like the upper crust doesn't have to to suffer the indignity of customs.

Later on, we saw a business called 'Johnny's Garments'. I can only assume they were selling the contents of my lost luggage ;)

The next day, having given up on the luggage, we headed off to Patriensa. This involved a four-hour drive on roads that closely resembled Ohio's country highways, which is to say paved but not very wide and not limited-access like the freeway. The trip could have been made in an hour and a half on I-75, but then I wouldn't have been able to taste the tasty treats that each village specialized in. When the hawkers see someone express interest (say, with a casual glance in their general direction, or any kind of acknowledgement of their existence including honking to get them out of the way), they flock to the car and shove their TP and fried turkey tails and cell phone chargers in your face. The trick seems to be to get you to touch it, so they can let go and not take it back. I bought some tiger nuts (which tasted like chocolate coconut), some kenkey (fermented corn that's been sweetened and wrapped in leaves) and some toasted yams (the first food I've had in this country that I didn't like).

Vehicles seem to be divided into four classes: Small cars (which are mostly taxis, and mostly Izuzu I-marks), Land Rover types (the private vehicle of choice, and given the condition of the roads I can tell why), tro-tros (which are jeepneys, decorated and modified to the hilt, usually with messages about Jesus and/or condom use, packed with passengers and- I'm not joking here- a herd of goats on the roof, seemingly unfazed by their teenwolfian situation even at high speeds), and huuuuuuge trucks (I'm talking four FRONT wheels in tandem, then eight on the back of the rig, then twelve on the trailer). Then there are the omnipresent scooters, including enough vintage Vespas to make a hipster show emotion. And, of course, always people walking and biking alongside the road.

The country is Rat heaven, with everything being made out of everything else. No recycling, just reuse. Everyone is laid back and noone ever, ever hurries. I suspect that hurrying is something that people in cold regions do to stay warm, while ambling is something that people in warm regions do to stay cool. Everything seems all half-assed- I keep looking at what I think is incomplete construction or an abandoned building and seeing people hanging out in it. The half-assed, cobbled together trucks are constantly breaking down, at which point the driver just lays out a blanket under the trailer and takes a nap while he waits half a day for the repair guy. Because of this (and the lack of lights, and the high speeds), the country roads are dangerous, and if a car is totaled beyond salvage they just leave it there, making for some very unsettling scenery.

I've moved into my new place, but I'll spare descriptions of my new life until I can accompany them with photos. You can always check out www.patriensa.com