It’s past the Total and then just follow the road around. I drop this to the taxi driver and he pulls out of the junction. We’re headed up in to the hills of Accra, it’s late and I’m cross faded having just come back from the Center and a beach party that had more than its share of tree floating around by the end of the night.

That seemed to be the way here, and no one said anything when my host sparked up. She came and sat next to me, took her hits and passed the spliff over my way. The waves and music hit the air. I laid back and enjoyed the moment.

Only a few minutes from the spot and a bed and an even later night. The hills of Accra are filled with half-finished McMansions. They sit empty, concrete shells. It looks like the suburbs of Los Angeles are going up in the outskirts of Ghana’s capital city. We roll in to ours and hit the gate. The lights flood the courtyard. I follow her around back and she opens up the back door. Except for us two. There is the offer of mangoes but really it’s just her excuse to get me in to her room and close the door to the empty house.

The taxi driver slowed and flipped on the car lights. Checkpoints. Par for the course at this time of night and on the way in to my hood. He says some stuff in Twi to the driver. Our driver laughs and the cop waves us on.