A Fool In The Rain - part two

The driver’s expression is one of panic, and strangely, nausea.
Driver (lurchingly): “WHERE ARE YOU GOING!?!?!”
You (shrieking): “LABADI LABADI!!!! (your neighbourhood) Do you know Jokers?” (a bar near your house.)
Driver: “WHAT? YOU SAY??”
You (sliding into incredibly embarrassing but necessary in desperate-times Ghanaian accent): “Joe-Kahs!”
Driver: “AH!” And together you scream off into the night.

At this point the rain is coming so voluminously that it is obscuring the windows. The windows are steaming. You cannot see out the front dashboard window. It is safe to assume the driver can’t see either. You take this as so when he begins frantically wiping the glass with his sweat-hanky. You pull out your own hanky and join him. You also text your friend Hannah as a sort of last will and testament type thing. Another exchange occurs.

Me: “All The Tro Tros At My Station Left – Empty! I am Now Paying Four Cedis (ridiculous cost for a cab) And May Get Killed As We Can’t See Out Windows. I Love You and Also My Family.”
HannahZ: “Please Don’t Crash!!”

The cab and I are gridlocked. Tro tros honk incessantly at us and merge alongside with such unbridled aggression that I involuntarily clutch at my armrests. For about twelve minutes I am quite sure we will die. I kept asking the driver if he is ok, and he responds “YES YES” as the sweat runs into his eyes and no doubt improves his visibility immensely. Rainwater leaks onto my shoulder from a hole in the roof. I am not sure if the dampness on my face is rain, sweat or tears.

After much terror, two U-turns, and a bizarre assortment of Shaggy songs played in succession on the radio, we arrive at Joker’s. I grab the cabbie’s hand. I feel we have become quite close through our shared encounter.
“God bless,” he says, finally smiling for the first time since I got in.
“You too,” I say, smile back, and step out into the cab – and straight into a five-foot deep open sewer flooded with rainwater.

THE HORROR! CONTINUING!