During this time in Ghana, the temperature is 31C. It is satisfying. When I arrive in this country, my favourite part is descending down the stairs from the place and being suffocated by the warm, humid air. I can instantly notice the stark contrast of the cool, dry, recycled air of the aeroplane and the damp sea breeze that can be smelt in Accra.
During the day, I step out of the house into the dusty Harmattan environment. The heat engulfs me like a warm blanket. There is no direct sunlight. The dust has triumphed over the sun: it sits like a haze in the sky. There is nothing to remind me I am on the equator. There is just a hazy heat. A soothing heat. A heat, that if I am not careful, will put me to sleep.
That must be why people more so slowly here. How can you run in an oven? Surely you will collapse.
I bask in the heat. I don’t curse the dust and haze it brings with it. I love slowly roasting as I drift along the road side. I love the “natural AC” that circulates through the cabin of a speeding taxi or trotro. I love the blurred outline of the sun through the dust. I love Harmattan.