Angel Boy by Bernard Ashley Page A

slipper-bag and pulled the drawstring tight. It was ten o’clock and at this hour the minibuses everyone called
tro-tros
wouldn’t be too full of people going to work. And, not wanting to tell any lies to Nana, he drifted out to the yard as if he was going to play a game – and slipped out through the gate at the side.
    Leonard Boameh was away on his own day trip.

    He walked through the back alleys to Nsawam Road, the best place in Accra to find a tro-tro. They stopped wherever you stood waving atthem, with a driver’s mate hanging out shouting for business and taking the money. Everyone shifted up along the seats to let new people in, mostly going into the town – but tro-tros went up-country and east and west, too – it all depended which roadside you stood on. They were cheaper than state-run buses, and the railways were hopeless.
    But Leonard had got it wrong. Crowds of people were standing waiting for tro-tros on Nsawam Road. It was a busy day for Makola Market. Women and boys were still walking there, bowls balanced on their heads with fruit and iced water and stacked-up toilet rolls. The sight of the iced water reminded Leonard how hot and sweaty he felt, and wearing shorts suddenly didn’t seem a bad idea at all.
    Head held high, balancing his secret, he walked with the people going to market as far as the Cathedral roundabout and turned right on to Castle Road – where, although the tro-tros were fewer and further between, there were fewerpeople, too. And he didn’t mind where he went, so long as it was away from Cantonment District for a few hours.
    â€˜You want towards Cape Coast, Elmina?’ a tro-tro mate shouted at him, as a dusty minibus swerved into the kerb.
    â€˜How long does it take?’ Leonard asked.
    The mate cracked his fingers as if his arm was a whip. ‘All the way – two hours, about.’
    â€˜How much?’
    â€˜Tell you when we get there. Come on,
abarima
!’ He held the door open, and people moved along. The tro-tro was half-full, with a white backpacking couple as well as local people. Leonard knew that the more people there were in the bus, the cheaper the fare: but time was important, too. He had to get back by tea-time. He was sure he could afford about four hours away, though – so he got in.
    As he settled on the hot seat, he planned his day. He’d be there and back well before the telephone call from his dad that evening. His dadwas up-country until Friday, and although Leonard knew Nana would scold him, he wouldn’t have to see his dad’s disappointed look down the phone. And wouldn’t his teacher approve of him going to Elmina?
    Elmina was one of the places where the Europeans had built their forts for imprisoning slaves before they were shipped off in shackles to be sold in America. Children studied it in school, and if Leonard could say that he had seen with his own eyes ‘the Door of No Return’, then he would definitely get house points for putting his holidays to good use. He could take a quick look at the place while the driver and the mate got their dinner, and come back in the same tro-tro.
    So his adventure would be useful, as well as getting him out of Accra for the day.

    He settled into his seat and enjoyed the breezethrough the open window as the tro-tro picked up speed on the coast road heading west. The other Africans in the tro-tro sounded as if they were going to Elmina to see their families, but the backpackers next to Leonard had a guide book between them. They were holidaymakers, the same as him, so Leonard offered them water from the bottle in his bag.
    And, having made friends with them, Leonard told them a made-up tale about going to Elmina for holiday homework – doing what he hadn’t done to Nana, telling lies… But going off on an adventure called for a little bending of the truth, didn’t it?

Chapter Two

    T he backpackers’ names were Chris and Vicky,