|Posted by John Powell on March 2, 2011 at 7:35 PM|
The rest of the afternoon was spent walking around the extensive maze of dirt roads that wound irregularly between the thousands of concrete-block workshops and wooden shacks that composed this greatest of Ghana’s industrial assets. Walking was difficult, as the ground underfoot was rendered irregular by pot holes, stony outcrops and half buried vehicle parts. Vehicles in all states of disrepair lurched past in clouds of black smoke and choking red dust. Everywhere was red earth, rusting iron and black oil stains with an occasional stunted tree to remind the stumbling adventurers that they were in the heart of a tropical forest. Through a haze induced by heat, humidity and dust beyond his past experience, the Magazine became for Tom a kaleidoscope of half-focussed images of men hammering, sawing, watching and waiting, accompanied by ringing blows, violet flashes and the roar of tortured engines.
The Colonial Gentleman's Son, Page 112