As dusk turns into night the street outside my window quiets down. The woman selling drinks, snacks and Cd’s turns off her PA system and the music stops.
The leather trader picks up his wares from the clothes laid on the ground. The drum and bead trader packs his wares and pushes his wooden shelves against Vic Baboo’s back wall. The chatter between the tourists and shopkeepers ends.
A preteen girl wearing jeans and a t-shirt is carrying pure water sachets on her head. Her last cries of “Puuuurrrrree waaaataaah” echo down the almost empty street.
The boy pushing the white Fan Milk cart rings his bicycle bell looking for one more sale before he goes home to dinner.
It’s dark now and in my hotel room I am watching the evening news. On the street a couple are arguing in Twi. Even though I don’t understand the words, I understand the tone of people close to each other disagreeing. Later a big truck rattles down the short street outside my window and stops around the corner to make an evening delivery. On the main road, a couple of blocks away, a siren screeches past.
Music drifts from Vic Baboo’s restaurant. The door slams frequently with customers entering and leaving. Happy chatter rises up to my windows.
Just before I fall asleep three or four young men are speaking loudly -fighting or joking. I drift off to sleep thinking if they are fighting, it doesn’t sound serious.