head on

There was a dead woman in the road yesterday.

On the road from Kumasi to Manso Nkwanta.

There was already an ambulance there. But no one was really paying much attention to the body.

She was lying in the path of oncoming traffic, her head near the gravel shoulder, her body twisted to hide her face from our approach and leave her sharp knees and her wilted lower legs--exposed now below the wrapped oranges, reds and browns of her clothing--pointing towards us.

As you pass slowly, her face is revealed. A taught face, mostly forehead and cheek and brillowing orange-brown hair from this angle. And an ant-trail of blood, pulled by the tilt of the road down a viscous path onto the shoulder.

I couldn't see whether her eyes were open.

100 feet away, on the opposite shoulder, are the mangled remains of a motorcycle, which boasts a larger crowd than the abandoned body.

and another 100 feet on the near shoulder is a blue Mercedes minibus, which boasts what must be the irregular shape of a motorcycle and unhelmeted rider, pressed into and around it's midline headlight.

And near the minibus passengers stand in the shade of the nearby overgrowth, waiting for any replacement transport that might come along.