To where? For how long? How many people are coming? Before I could ask any of these questions, I was in Uncle Francis's car with Ma, Daddy, Kofi, Atta, and our guest. We drove down the long, familiar road out of Boko, covering our noses with wet handkercheifs. Atta and I squeezed on top of each other and laughed all the way into town. The situation was by far the oddest one I've ever been in.
It stunk, so bad breathing was difficult, all the way to the city limit. Inside, I was praying for all my neighbors who couldn't get out.
When the car pulled up to depot junction (right by my school), my siblings and I got out and got in a drop taxi.
"Where exactly are we going?" I asked at long last.
"Dad's brother's place." I had met our paternal uncle on several occasions, so all my nerves left.
I spent the day and one night at his place. It was a large house full of people, and I enjoyed my time there.
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