The trotro did not wait.
It never did.
By the time Araba reached the roadside, slightly out of breath and already negotiating with the weight of her overambitious bag, the vehicle was alive with movement—voices calling, coins clinking, and the mate shouting destinations as if volume alone could pull passengers out of thin air.
"Accra! Accra! Last seat! Move fast!"
"Last seat" was clearly a lie. There were at least three people still negotiating space inside.
Araba paused, adjusting her grip on the bag.
"Ei… this thing," she muttered. "If it grows legs, I will not be surprised."
The mate spotted her instantly.
"Sister, you are going or you are watching film?" he called.
"I'm coming!" she shot back, hurrying forward.
Climbing into the trotro was an event in itself. Someone shifted, someone complained, someone made space reluctantly. In the end, Araba found herself squeezed between a woman with a sleeping baby and a man who seemed deeply committed to occupying more space than necessary.
She exhaled slowly.
"Good morning," she said politely.
The woman nodded.
The man grunted.
That was enough.
The engine coughed, then roared to life, and with a sudden jerk, they were moving.
Araba leaned slightly toward the window, gripping the seat in front of her as the trotro bounced over the uneven road. Her bag sat stubbornly on her lap, refusing to cooperate with comfort.
As Abam began to slip away behind them, something shifted inside her.
It was subtle.
But real.
The houses grew smaller. The familiar paths blurred into distance. The sounds of the village faded, replaced gradually by the rhythm of the road.
She watched quietly, her thoughts moving just as fast.
This was it.
No turning back now.
The woman beside her adjusted the baby, who stirred briefly before settling again.
"First time going to Accra?" the woman asked.
Araba smiled. "Not first time, but first time going to stay."
"Ah," the woman nodded knowingly. "Then keep your eyes open. Accra can teach you many things—some you like, some you will not like."
Araba laughed softly. "My mother has already warned me."
"Good," the woman said. "Then listen to her."
The man on her other side shifted again, elbow brushing her arm.
Araba glanced at him. "Please, small space."
He looked at her, then adjusted slightly—though not enough to be considered generous.
She sighed inwardly.
"This journey will build my patience," she thought.
The road stretched ahead, long and unpredictable. Soon, the scenery began to change. Open fields gave way to scattered buildings. Then more buildings. Then clusters of shops, people, movement.
Everything felt faster.
Louder.
Alive.
Araba pressed her forehead lightly against the window, watching it all unfold.
She imagined Mansa again—her smile, her joy.
She imagined the apartment—clean, bright, organized.
She imagined herself moving through it with purpose, helping, supporting, belonging.
For so long, she had simply been the younger one.
Now, she was something more.
Needed.
The thought settled warmly in her chest.
But alongside it came something else.
Uncertainty.
What if she made mistakes?
What if she was not as helpful as she believed?
What if the city truly swallowed people, just as her mother had said?
She straightened slightly.
"No," she whispered under her breath. "I will be fine."
The trotro hit a bump, causing several passengers to shift at once.
"Driver!" someone shouted. "Are we flying or driving?"
Laughter rippled through the vehicle.
Even Araba smiled.
The tension eased, just a little.
Time passed in fragments—snippets of conversation, bursts of laughter, moments of silence.
Then, gradually, the air changed.
Denser.
Warmer.
The signs appeared more frequently now. The roads widened. The traffic thickened.
Accra.
It was close.
Araba's grip tightened slightly on her bag.
Her heart began to beat faster—not from fear, but from anticipation.
This was no longer imagination.
This was arrival.
She took a deep breath and looked ahead, her eyes steady.
Whatever waited for her in that city—whatever challenges, surprises, or changes—she would meet them.
Head-on.
The trotro surged forward, carrying her across the invisible line between who she had been…
…and who she was about to become.