Travelling from Tamale to Bolga, I had arrived at the tro tro station when there was only one seat left. This had obvious advantages - as soon as I was boarded, the bus was ready to leave. However, it also meant that before we left, I hadn't had time to dash round buying water and provisions for the journey. After an hour and a half in the hot, dusty bus I was beginning to regret this, and had been looking out for any opportunity to buy from the roadside. As we approached a toll booth, therefore, I saw my chance. I could see that there were a number of vendors lining up our bus, and I was ready with my money.
Predictably, the tro tro was mobbed as it slowed down. Immediately we were within touching distance, a number of hands thrust themselves through the window, clutching hard boiled eggs, bananas, tissues and, thankfully, sachets of chilled water. But this wasn't a scheduled stop - once the driver had paid the ticket, we would be gone, and the trade therefore had to executed swiftly. There was no time here for protracted greetings, pleasantries, or even price negotiations. Without thinking, I snatched a sachet of water from one of the hands, and was surprised as I offered payment to see the hand disappearing from view. Undeterred, I held a 20 pesewa coin out of the window, and saw a hand, presumably owned by my water seller, reach up and snatch the coin. The hand then quickly came back through the window, holding a 10 pesewa coin - my change, which I snatched in return.
The whole thing was concluded in a couple of seconds, in true City of London fashion, clinically and anonymously. Almost. I had no idea which of the sea of faces outside the window I had bought from, but my counterparty - guided perhaps by the colour of the mysterious hand - had identified me, and as the van pulled away I saw a teenage girl with a huge pallet of water sachets on her head waving and beaming sweetly at me through the window.
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