A rapid waltz out of the languid urban safari into this five-minute haven. Beaming attendants wish wonderful weather on your way, and, sometimes, ask if you’d like your windscreen laved. Pointing to the digital counter with a good grace, they give the trigger a gentle squeeze, and the limp, hanging hose suddenly springs up into a stiff throbbing force.
Not a few drivers in the City of Accra carry the cathedral conviction that half of the tedious tugging and cha-cha chugging only ejaculates thin air into your petrol tank; that frenzied coming is all in vain :-))
You cough up your children’s future college fees for the rarefied air you dearly didn’t design to invest in, and unknowingly urge your still-hungry hybridised car forward into the gasoline-guzzling traffic again.