The Mighty Victory

Bizarre name for a hotel but it's got qa bed and a shower even though the light in the ceiling is a bit stark.

I went to a place called the Castle for supper on Monday night. Took the grilled snapper with chips. Sadly it was too dark to see the waves crashing against the rocks. The walk back to the hotel was a bit unusual. I went past people trying to sell salted eggs and other bits of paraphenalia. Some were sleeping by their stalls. I saw two small children wrapped in cloths on the floor snoozing away. And why not. In this heat it makes sense to sleep outside if you don't have air conditioning.

And the smells. Accra seems so antiseptic by comparison. I'm not sure about the chickens which hang out with the families. All I could think was clucking hell.

A phrase not far from that one came to mind when I was on the coach from Accra.

I started to prepare for my passage to the next world when a porter boarded the coach and began to put suitcases by the side exit door.

No-one seemed to think that this might be contravening basic public carriage safety. So why should I come over all sophisticated European.

I realised a few minutes later that my mouth was still open when a fly nearly got in.

When the driver introduced himself to the passengers I thought that's real chummy.

He said that if anyone wanted to to stop they should tell him and he'd stop as soon as he could.

Dressed in a long blue jacket, he seemed more like an avuncular lab technician.

He paused, raised his head skywards and boomed: "Almighty God - guide us to our destination."

There was a unanimous "Amen" from the passengers.

The fly nearly got in again.

I turned to the bloke sitting next to me and asked if this sort of thing happened regularly.

"Depends on the driver," said Joseph as he put the earphone of the MP3 player back in.

Mighty Victory was indeed the appropriate place to stay.