Crunch crunch crunch crunch, tennis shoes on gravel. Leap across the gutter. Crunch crunch crunch crunch. In Legon the departing sunlight is more like a snuffed-out candle than anything- it doesn’t linger here. So opt for the track instead of the paths around campus. A warm gust of air in my face, streaming through my hair. Do I stop to cool off or keep running to capture the breeze? Don’t slow down. Every circuit of the track brings me closer to the cafeteria, where loud brass instruments jam to the rhythms of a drum set. And then away again. The volume oscillates as I go and come, go and come, mekɔaba. I catch up with my friends. What is that? Jazz? Big band? Mariachi? And then it fades away again as we loop west. On the way back home, mosquitoes can’t catch us!
Tonight I went jogging at dusk with two friends in Ghana, to the sounds of live music and bullfrogs.