Today, finally fed up with Telecel's abusive behaviour despite my being their allegedly "Cherished customer" and racking up a ton of Red Loyalty Coins - of which I still have no idea of purpose, definition or redemption – does anyone? – I decided to get my MTN eSim transferred to my phone.
Now bear in mind that I already have this eSIM. It’s already registered. Technically, I should’ve been able to transfer it from my old phone to my new phone in the blink of an eye – but not in this country. Despite our "We're digital" and whatnot. Consequently and much to my annoyance, I had to go to an MTN shop with my identification which at some point I had to hold up against my face in order to verify, that it was still me, the person who had done this very same process a few months ago, with the exact same details and exact same data that have been collected by the same system barely 100 days ago.
Fortunately, it turned out that half of accra had also decided that they were equally fed up with Telecel and had decided to pick this exact same day at this exact same time to perform this exact same task. Fun.
Turns out, I’m claustrophobic with a sensitive nose. Therefore, I went and sat outside. No, I’m lying. I went straight back into my car, turned on the AC, gave my phone to well-paid stand-ins who over saw the process until it was time for me to take the above described photo.
While I sat in the car, I caught a glimpse of a taxi that parked next to me. It was random, but I think because he pulled in, backed out, pulled back in and went a little too close for comfort to the scaffolding that was in front of us. it caught my attention. A few minutes later, something else got my attention – the driver.
The driver got out and diligently started to wipe the car down: his red cap the same shade as the duster he was using matched, both glistening in the scorching heat. I've forgotten what the technical term for the cap he was wearing is, but it’s the one in peaky blinders - you know - the one Ghanaians refer to as "cooli high" or whatever.
However, what held my attention was not the cap, but the person underneath it. He was old. That’s the only way to describe him. He wasn’t elderly, as in getting there, this man was old. Aged.
This was not a man that I thought should still be working for a living. I didn’t mind him driving especially because I had been to a Classics car show the day before, so I’d seen lots of his mates pull up in their equally aged vehicles.
But it wasn’t something that I thought he should still be doing for a living. The thing that first attracted me to him really, was the diligence with which he dusted off the car. He went around it slowly, side mirror to bonnet to windshield, carefully lifting the windshield wipers and very slowly, almost feebly, wiping the screen down and then progressing slowly to the next side mirror, which was now on my side where I could get a much better view of him. He was almost hobbling for lack of a better word which is why he was moving slowly. I deeply admired his diligence, but a part of me also felt deeply saddened.
Now almost embarrassingly gazing at him, I watched him proceed slowly, gradually wipe down the roof, the passenger side window and door, the backseat door and window, slowly make his way to the back of the car and repeat same until eventually he was back on the driver side. I watched him slowly open the door and very slowly settle back into the car - almost like he had back pain or something. I really did not think at that point that this man should be driving for a living if that’s what he was doing. Now I must emphasise I don’t know whether that is the case or he just likes to continue doing what he loves doing which nobody can fault him for.
But it left some thoughts in my head, which I will now attempt to force into yours if you choose to keep reading along.
The first thing that actually got my attention was the sheer diligence and care that he devoted to cleaning his car down. While I see other taxi drivers do this, this man's was much more deliberate. Almost reminiscent of his mates I had met the day before. He reminded me of a new car owner. He was so intentional and so deliberate, that his passenger when she got back, had to wait a few minutes until he was done dusting the inside as well, before he was ready to go. It was the sort of diligence, attention to detail and intentionality that men my age practice when there’s a new car in our garage. Or woman.
It was nothing like the brash, swiping actions that a lot of young taxi drivers perform when they do the same ritual. It made me wonder what kind of man he had been in his youth. Had he always been this diligent? or was this diligence a reflection of lessons that had been taught harsh by life? My wandering mind continued its unsolicited wondering.
Whenever my grandma got a new chauffeur, it was always nice to watch them rush to keep her car spice and span or risk a thorough dressing down. Something about this scene seemed strangely akin to that memory. It made me wonder was this car was a new opportunity that had been thrust on him that he was desperate not to squander?
Or, I wondered, had he always been such a diligent man throughout his youth and was this excellence as habit on display? If that was the case, was what I considered an unfortunate predicament not that at all, but a choice that he relished perhaps? Something that kept him young and cheerful?
Alas, as a job hazard, my mind is not content until it draws logical patterns.. and so I formulated another scenario.
Could it be, that despite his diligence and excellence throughout his youth, life perhaps in its regular habit of being consistently, cruelly, unkind, had been unfair to him and compelled him into prolonged servitude?
Was that the case? it seemed like that to me - but I never got to actually find out or finish my thought experiment because, guess who had to go take a picture holding their Ghana card next to their un-altered face? Me. Oui. C'est moi.
But here's my point:
Life, despite what we were taught growing up, is very far from black-and-white. if it was a road, it would be a hilly, winding road with smooth patches, dark spots, potholes and your occasional scenic stretch. Life explains why many of our dads would come home and sit in silence.
I have seen promising young people, ladder climbers of the aspirational kind, the ones with big cars and even bigger cheques, have no peace at night. I’ve seen lives inexplicably cut short at their peak. I’ve seen rich men crave respect in their own homes and security men take a meager paycheck back to an adoring family. I use "men" as a universal term, calm down.
I’ve seen superstars disappear into oblivion, companies lose their top executives in plane crashes and evaporate, people who no one regarded in life become kings in their own right and those who everybody swore was going to be a success crash out of the sky. I've seen diligent people struggle through a regular series of unfortunate events. I've seen the opposite soar through life with an upper hand.
And I guess that’s the point. There's really no formula. Life explains that "success" and "failure" are a factor of many, many things and how each person defines them is as varied as it is subjective. I could’ve tried until tomorrow to dissect this man's story. I felt uncomfortable, maybe even saddened, seeing an old man have to continue to work. But I am evaluating the situation through my own lens, and my lens is a subjective lens shipped by my own perceptions and social conditioning. For all you know, the man could be living his best life, it could be the thing that gets him out of bed every morning, it could be a result of painful lessons of a wasted youth, it could be a hard life until the end, it could be anything. Life can be anything.
Earlier today, I heard that Anthony Joshua was almost killed in a car crash. This is barely a few days after essentially being on top of the world fresh off a new victory, global acclaim and a mouth watering payday. Suddenly none of that matters. That crash and the people he lost in it, have others asking whether he will ever box again. That’s life.
The best we can hope for is to do our best and depend on God for the rest. And if God is not a part of your dictionary, well, I guess you depend on yourself for everything. Godspeed.
2025 will have been an awesome year for some, a terrible year for some, an indifferent year for some. But whatever the case, it gave you a fair dose of life. All this post aims to do as my last piece for the year is, whatever life gave you this year, decide whether or not you want more of it, less of it, or none of it ever again; and let that fuel what you demand from life in 2026.
Carpe Diem.
P.S: Turns out MTN is not any better.
The network was down in the shop I went to. Ahem.
What a time to be alive.