I am meeting a gentleman from the Lands Commission to map and measure the exact area of land I’m registering with them. He has agreed to meet me at five on a Sunday morning in Madina to drive to the land in Aburi South because he says, he needs to be back and in church by 7:30 am at the latest. I find this church admission quite laughable, to be honest with you. Not least of all because I know that given Ghanaian traffic, even on a Sunday, and the location of the land, we’ll never make it back in time. And indeed, when we meet with the Madina morning still under a cloak of darkness–he’s already visibly upset that I’m running fifteen minutes late.
Traffic Wardens are by far some of the most hated people in Britain according to recent reports. But have you ever wondered what it takes to be one? Meet the ‘bleached blonde black babe’ who patrols the streets of West London’s Notting Hill Gate.
Underneath Portobello Roads flyover lingers the stench of years of damp posters plastered on walls despite the signs proclaiming bill posters will be prosecuted. Excrements from homeless drunks, boxes to keep them warm overnight and empty beer cans are normally the only remains around 8 am on a rainy Friday morning. The traffic is heavy and nobody pays much attention to the drunk still sitting beneath the bridge watching the world drive by. His appearance is dirty and his hair hangs wild. He tries to hide his grimy face with a pair of dark sunglasses that have an eyepiece missing.