When the Heart Decides, and the Family Says No

Hello Blogsville,

Happy new year and yes, shame on me for putting up my first blog-post of the year in March. I have no excuse, and can only promise to do better. So without much ado, here goes...

You know how difficult it is to find that person who makes bearing the inherent risks of a committed monogamous relationship seem like peanuts to trade for the joy of being together in all the ways that count? No? Yea, me neither… 

You know how people are always saying a good man or woman is hard to find? Finding such a (wo)man seems to increasingly be a Professor Acheampong designed Calculus II proof question. You know the answer. It’s been given to you in the question. And yet, there are a myriad of wrong tangents you could go off on if one does not exercise utmost caution in one’s approach.

Imagine the exhilarating feeling of accomplishment when you are finally able to prove that when ‘x’ jumps to Mars and comes back, it is still ‘x’. You heave a huge sigh of relief knowing that at least you’re assured full marks for that question.

But wait a minute. You’re not home free yet. You have to ensure that you have not broken any mathematical law, and that you have used every relevant piece of information in the question. It is possible that you have proved that when ‘x’ jumps to Mars and comes back, it is still ‘x’. However, imagine the horror if you come out of the examination room only to realize the question asked you to prove that when ‘x’ jumps to Mars wearing a Speedo suit of 5 pounds mas

That, my friends, is my convoluted (forgive!) attempt at describing the sinking feeling you get when you find the (wo)man of your dreams  and s/he is from a part of the country or globe your parents forbid you to wed from.\

You know how football, the map of Ghana and Wofa Atta’s (bless his soul) funeral seems to suggest that we are one people? That oneness is in no way true when it comes to marriage, make no mistake. When it comes to marriage, all 56 or so ethnic groups are every vocal about what they will and will not accept. And ethnic stereotyping (a canker which unfortunately seems to transcend education, religion and football) rears its very potent, very ugly, timeless head. Almost every family has its list.

I hope I will not be thrown under the proverbial train for being that foolishly courageous one to point out that the chief priest has stained teeth when I say that most Ghanaian families, especially Akan ones, are not particularly enthusiastic about welcoming Voltarians into the family, or ‘sending’ one of their own into a Voltarian family, as the case may be.

 

I recently caught up with an old friend who was dating the sweetest boy I have ever come across, let’s call him Edem. I inquired after Edem, feeling smug for remembering his name only to be told Edem was history. “Mommy must have been crushed”, I said. Edem was in charge of the teen’s chapel in their church and Awo’s mom, having observed his service and dedication as the head of the youth ministry, often joked that she could not have picked better for her daughter if it had been up to her to choose.

Awo quietly disclosed, “That is what I thought too, but she confessed during one of our post break-up mother-comforts-daughter sessions that although she loved Edem, she was never comfortable with where he came from and so perhaps it was all for the best. Imagine that!” I could not imagine…

Apparently, within the Volta region itself, they are not holding hands and singing ‘Kumbaya’ by a fire-place. There appears to be a case of Northern and Central versus Southern going on, or as someone put it less diplomatically, everyone else versus the Anlos. Naturally, my Anlo friends insist ‘they just hatin’. It can however be quite serious. I recently sat down to lunch with a friend from Peki who was telling me about his parents’ stated preference that he NOT bring a southern Voltarian home. He further disclosed how this feeling was so deeply ingrained in the family that an aunt had three unmarried daughters between the ages of 33 and 38 still at home because these poor girls seemed to have acquired a taste for Anlo men.

I expressed the sentiment that one would think as a parent, one’s first priority would be the happiness of your kids. But the thing is, for most parents, they truly believe they are looking out for their kids and saving them from a lifetime of misery with these prohibitions. Many have personally witnessed or experienced things that made their minds up and so we may even say have valid reasons. But this does not ease the pain of star-crossed relationships, nor make it right.

Pardon my idealism but I just fail to see how it’s looking out for your offspring when you refuse to acknowledge your children and grandchildren after eight years of marriage to their ‘undesirable’ spouse (as in the case of my neighbor). I’m unable to see how denying your children and grandchildren your presence and support is in their best interest. A mother disowns her daughter and refuses to go to her bedside as her daughter lies dying of cancer at 35 because she married from a tribe she does not like. And whom does this help? How?

While we’re being idealistic, shouldn’t your ultimate goal be their happiness? Granted, you’ll sleep, and eventually, rest easier knowing they married someone from your village. But should you permit their not doing so to rob both of you of whatever time you have left together? Who knows how much time that is? And are there not more pressing issues in this life?

I know this will probably not change (m)any minds but can we at least think a bit more about it when it gets to our turn? No? Okay, then consider this writing therapy for me *sigh*.

On Forgiveness...

"To forgive is not to condone the offense, to say it made no difference, or to license its repetition. Rather, forgiveness is a decision to no longer hold an offense against another group or person. It's a choice, just like love. Choose wisely!" ~Robin Harford

Forgiveness is something I struggle with ever so often. One of the joys of letting few people close is that those who do, get really close and so have amazing power to hurt you. 

source: jameswoodward.wordpress.com

Another thing that brings me to the forgiveness struggle over and over is my need to understand things to let it go. When I have been hurt or let down, what caused me the most anguish was the 'Why?'.

For this reason, I am convinced that breaking up with someone without telling them exactly why you broke up with them is tantamount to emotional terrorism... but I digress.

So yeah, the forgiveness thing is not my forte and even less so is the forgetting part. And God being the patient teacher, time and again, I have been reminded of things that make nonsense of holding grudges.

1) Nobody can nor will wrong me to the extent that I wrong God. And if He forgives...

2) No matter how badly someone wrongs me, God wont stay mad at them because I haven't let it go. When they repent, He will forgive them. And will not withhold His blessings from them just cos I said so.

3) Whether we understand the actions of others or not, we are solely responsible for how we choose to process and react to them.

While the first one cannot really be debated, or at least elicits very little debate from me, the second and third have struck close to home a couple of times. 

When you seek closure from a past hurt and you realize your past tormentor doesn't remember and has changed and so feels bad and apologizes although they don't remember, you realize how futile holding on to past hurt and grudges are. You're often the only one who suffers... and remembers.

Makes you wonder who you hurt and may not even remember, doesn't it?

When you see a friend's ex who was cheating with like ten different girls become a pastor and marry an amazing minister of God, and go on to have an awesome life while your friend still harbors some resentment, you realize how God isn't waiting for your forgiveness to bless someone.

And even when they don't change but remember and feel no remorse, you see them later on and realize that allowing their decision to be deliberately evil to affect your soul is a complete waste of time and emotional resources.

And you realize how although the starting quote said it was a choice, it's a necessary choice.

source: randomthoughtsonlifeblog.com

How do you handle forgiveness? What makes it easier?

Letter from the Other Woman III

(This is the final part of a three-part story. You can read the first part here , and the second part here ).

In spite of my growing jealousy, I’d panic every time he would mention that you two were having problems because I didn’t want you two to break up.

Then it would mean that I’d have to decide whether I wanted to be with him for real. And I didn’t want to be with him. By now, I was sure.

Whilst I wish I could say it was because I didn’t want to be a home-wrecker, which I didn’t, it was more because his being with me showed his home was wreck-able.

And I didn’t want to become another ‘If he cheated with you, he’ll cheat on you’ statistic. Yes, I’m ashamed to say my ambition had been reduced to not becoming a statistic… when I was already one.

Did the shame make a difference? No. There I was counseling Paul back into your arms whenever he was in a place where it seemed he would break up with you… whilst he was in my arms.

There was I temporarily withdrawing and breaking off communication with him whenever I felt he was getting too attached to me during one of your rough patches, only to run right back when it ended.

Once in a very long while, my near-dead conscience would draw from the last vestiges of its strength and reprimand me. But by now, it was so weak that a roll of my eyes returned it to its comatose state.

It fought valiantly. It just never won. It kicked and screamed when it noticed the time I spent talking with, thinking about, planning for and being with Paul exceeded the time I spent on everything else.

It reminded me that an idol was anything you put before God. I wasn’t even praying much anymore. I listened for a short while, and then gave it a generous dose of Valium.

What is the point of telling you all this now? Forgive my rambling. Poor man’s therapy, they say. But then again, being the psychologist, you know this more than I.

Yesterday, at 19:47 GMT, Paul got down on his knees and asked me to be his wife. He said he had asked you for a divorce and your response had been a resigned “ok”.

He said that your recent miscarriage had made him realize that if a child came into the picture, he would be stuck with you forever and it was me he wanted a forever with.

He said it was the worst acquiescence he had ever obtained and that the loud thud of a broken woman throwing in a towel heavy with her hot tears was not a very pleasant sound.

He said, “The worst part was that I couldn’t even hold her as her frail frame racked with sobs. All I could think was, stop crying so I can go to Gifty”.

He looked at me expectantly and I saw his heart sink from his eyes to the bottom of his stomach when he saw the horrified look on my face.

My comatose conscience miraculously leaped back to life and filled me with remorse deeper than I ever imagined a human could feel. I’d become the woman I said I’d never be; the home-wrecker.

The engagement ring, supposed to be one of the things a girl looks forward to most, slapped me like a glass of ice-cold water poured into one’s face at 4:00am on a cold Harmattan morning.

I sank deeper into the sofa. Good thing I wasn’t standing. Someway, somehow, I found the strength to pick up the ring, put it back in the box, and send him home.

I didn’t see that coming. I guess I should have known when he stopped talking your problems over with me. When he stopped getting angry at things you did.

Or maybe when he told me he loved me and instead of the usual “get away!” I found myself saying “I love you too” and he smiled as if he’d won the biggest ‘try-your-luck’ balloon.

Or perhaps even when he was in that recent car-accident and his siblings and close friends were calling me, not you, to ask how he was doing… but I didn’t.

I had received a transfer letter earlier in the day. I was re-locating to Brussels in three months. I told him I had a surprise when he came over and he said he had one too. His surprise was obviously bigger.

I never thought I’d be the other woman. I read my bible and prayed since I was a little girl. I still blush when a kissing scene comes on and I am not watching the movie alone. I’m no Delilah.

I had the Cinderella dream once upon a time and whilst I realized I’d let go of my happily-ever-after dreams when I turned 17, I never intended to take yours away… and certainly not this way.

I hear Paul never made it home last night. A drunk driver hit him, they said. The one time I decided to do right by you and Paul… and this is how it ends.

So whilst I’m the last person you’d want to hear from, I needed to confess my pending man-slaughter (I may as well have put a gun to his head if he dies) …and to explain the request for divorce …

… and why Paul insists on holding on to an engagement ring as he fights for his life in the ICU.

Gifty

Letter from the Other Woman II

(This is the second part of a story. You can read the first part here ).

I met Paul at a particularly low point in my life. I had just ‘broken up’ with the love of my life who claimed he loved me to bits but wasn’t good enough to date me. (Yeah, right!)

Of course, kind courtesy of ‘He’s just not that into you’, we all know it’s one of the oldest lines in the ‘Douchebaggery for Dummies’ manual.

I wasn’t looking for a relationship and I wasn’t looking for a fling either. I’m not that kind of girl, you see. Yet that first night, drunk on excitement and cheap wine, we kissed.

I apologized the next time we spoke, telling him I had a boyfriend and so we couldn’t go anywhere although I was sure he was a wonderful chap.

He also apologized and told me he also had a girlfriend so we could never go anywhere. This was you, by the way. It should have been the end of our story. Sadly, it wasn’t.

Many a boy/girl dreams of that friendship which defies all latent and overt sexual tension and remains a platonic, life-long friendship. We found we both had that dream.

Of course we could have been using it as an excuse to stay in touch, chasing the thrill of playing with fire and escaping unscathed. I don’t know. I am not the one with a PhD in psychology. You are.

Paul and I had this amazing conversational chemistry that I hardly find with others. Our phone networks definitely benefited from our virtual time together.

We could talk for four hours without a lull in conversation and resume two hours later groggy from sleep with a good morning text and text back and forth all day. O, the folly of youth! (Wistful smile)

And so I kept him around, for the witty conversation and friendship, or so I told myself. The lies we tell ourselves so we can sleep at night!

Every lady knows that the guy who can make you laugh more than anyone else in the world has your heart. I found our senses of humour were 97% compatible. Enough said.

And so the friendship deteriorated into friendship plus casual make-out sessions where you would disappear and all thoughts of the future would disappear too, for we insisted we didn’t want one together.

Time would however betray our lie. For as many who have tried to divorce biology from psychology have found, the heart, head and hormones rarely stay in their boxes when we separate them.

Whilst I convinced myself that I didn’t care that whenever we were together, he’d have to leave if you called, I found myself getting jealous whenever he left to be with you.

I found myself getting annoyed with him and myself whenever he would pick a call and end it with a smile on his face and it wasn’t you he had been talking to.

I guess I had accepted the hierarchy and that you came before me; but refused to share second place with anyone else. The depths to which I had sunk! I was jealously guarding my second-best position. (Stay Tuned) 

Letter from the Other Woman I

Dear Chrysta,

You do not know me but I know you very well. For whilst he cannot talk to you about me because you do not know I exist, I know you do and so he does.

I know when you have a bad day and when you get a promotion or raise. I even know when your PMS causes you to snap at him and throw him out of the house.

No, he does not come to stay with me. He calls but I turn him away. Nature has played this cruel joke on us where our cycles are perfectly synchronized. God has a sense of humor and the joke’s on us (him).

Oh, where did my manners go? There they are! I guess I should introduce myself. In case you haven’t already guessed, I am the other woman in Paul’s life. Or am I one of them? You never know these days.

I am not your average ‘other woman’. I am not trying to steal your husband nor get back at my father. I am neither a sex fiend nor exceptionally good in bed. He says you’re much better.

In fact, many a time, he comes to me complaining how you tired him out in bed, his half-hearted complaints belied by the fact that he is usually grinning like a Cheshire cat. You’re doing it right there.

My name is Gifty and like the name suggests, I am both gifted and a gift. Lead soprano singer in the choir, Sunday school teacher, CFA, and ladies wing vice-president are a few of the titles I can claim.

Over the weekend, I volunteer at a school for special needs children. They love me. Everybody does, including your husband but we will come to that.

If you are shaking your head whilst going through my profile and asking incredulously “…and other woman?” you are right. It does not fit in the picture.

But like I found out from my childhood obsession with picture puzzles lasting well into my teens, sometimes, not every piece fits... (To be continued)

"Guard your heart above all else, for out of it flows the issues of life"

How many times have I heard this verse (Proverbs 4:23) and rolled my eyes? I've heard it so many times that I complete the sentence when it's started and we all know that means I'm not listening or taking that in, I'm just acknowledging it's there.

Today, that verse took on a whole new meaning for me. A friend recounted a story that left a bitter taste in my mouth; her neighbor was murdered by her husband when she asked for a separation after years of abuse.

The man insisted on dropping her off at her mother's because she was going with his children and he wanted to make sure they were safe. He stopped in the middle of nowhere and said the car had a problem and that he needed her help changing something in the back. It was a two hour drive to her mother's place and the children had fallen asleep in the back. When she got out, he knocked her unconscious, tied her up, and placed her on a pile of corn stalks that had been gathered in preparation to be burnt. He then set fire to the pile and left her for dead.

After that, he dropped the children off about a block from his wife's mother's place knowing that the nosiness of village neighbours would ensure they got to their grandma's. The children were still asleep (they were three and five years old).

Long story short, the woman was found when the smoke from the fire alerted neighbours. The corn stalks were not completely dry and so smoked a lot. She died after a week at the hospital. She told her story before dying.

Her children made it to their grandma's and the old lady's search for her daughter led to her finding out about the fire.

The man went to his family and told them he came home from work to find out the woman had run away with the children and that the woman had threatened suicide several times so he was worried and wanted them(his mum and sisters) to go check with his in-laws if his wife had come home.

The police followed his mom and sisters back and arrested him. Sadly, nothing they do to him will bring her back.

Some people make wrong choices about whom to entrust their hearts to and suffer heartache, etc. Some pay with their lives and/or souls.

Whom you decide to love and/or marry is not about who makes your friends the most envious of your good fortune or who can make your toes curl in bed. It's also a choice of how good the rest of your life will be, and sometimes as we've seen, how long that rest of your life will be.

As the New Living Translation puts it, "Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life".

Letter to my Sister (2) :Naomi’s Response...

Dearest Eunice,

You’re right. The most important thing to remember is that it’s for God. I’m proud of you and glad you love God so much. I pray you remain steadfast in Him. About your prayer, the bible says;

‘Ask and it shall be given to you…’ Matthew 7:7a

‘The young lions suffer want and hunger; but those who seek the LORD lack no good thing.’ Psalms 34:10

‘For the eyes of the LORD run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to show Himself strong in the behalf of them whose heart is perfect toward him’ 2 Chronicles 16:9a

‘Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart’ Psalms 37:4

Hence, I do not believe God has a problem with giving you someone special to marry, or with you asking. Just remember that at the end of the day, it is His will not yours that you should seek to be established. So ask away and in the manner of our Lord, say ‘But Your will, not mine, Father.’ And mean it.

Whenever I think how unfair it seems when people wait on God and then end up marrying people who treat them so wrong, I remember that God never took your hand and placed it  in another’s. <We choose and our choices determine the outcomes of our lives and as Christians, it is our duty to learn how to make the right choices> (Mensah Otabil, paraphrase, mine). I pray we both do.

But if it appears God’s will was done and yet there is a mismatch, I remember Hosea who by all indications, God was pleased with and yet God made him marry a prostitute. Not a reformed one oh! This one continued prostituting herself even after she was married to the man of God. But it was all in God’s will, to illustrate His relationship between the church and Him. And I believe Hosea has the most striking portrait of that relationship between the church and God.

So if we are absolutely sure it was God’s leading, He will show us exactly why and how He intends to use it to His glory if we ask Him in prayer. But we must be careful not to attribute decisions of our flesh to God.

When I get home, we can search the scriptures more on this issue…

Your Sister,

Naomi

Virginity versus Purity

An old post by Naijalines (Back door virgins) which I chanced upon recently got me thinking about an issue which interests me greatly... 

Especially in the light of a conversation I overheard recently where a girl was telling her friend how she was a virgin and got a phone call with her friend at the other end, asking which lubricant was best for anal sex. I don't know if she was advertising the sound quality of her phone that day, because the whole bus heard.

In high school, I wrote a piece about how many mothers were giving their daughters reason to believe the only reason they cared what they did with their sexualities was because they were afraid they'd contract HIV/AIDS or get pregnant and bring disgrace to the family. It's a sad truth in many homes and my problem was that I felt if that was really the issue, you might as well throw some condoms at your daughter when she turns ten or eleven and tell her to be careful. It was devaluing a mother's interest in her daughter's reproductive health to what society would think of the mother should her daughter get pregnant or HIV/AIDS.

In the issue at hand (Virginity versus Purity), my concern is that the idea of virginity is reduced to the technicality of having some sort of barrier (be it a hymen or unusual tightness) to bear witness to a purity which is often not there. 

At a Campus event, two years ago, a speaker ventured that the first kiss of any couple should be at the Altar. You should have seen the looks on our faces! It was like 'If that was the criteria, then we've all failed' And it was a Christian gathering. There is supposed to be 'Not even a hint' of sexual immorality amongst us and yet, it appeared impossible and ludicrous to us, in our day and age to expect that from us.

Another seminar I went to had the speaker asking us to guess the most asked question he got whenever he spoke to students about sex. You guessed right, 'How far is too far' was the question. The question although very valid exposed our hearts. We all wanted to know how much we could do and still be in God's good books. But then he asked us to think about the reason behind our boundaries...

This is what bugs me about the whole virginity issue. The only boundary appears to be a hymen... and I am not here to cast any stone because if this was the case of the Adulterous woman, I'd be one of the first to put her stone down and run home.

But seriously, when someone who has had anal sex, oral sex, boob sex, and many other types of sex you cannot begin to imagine acts holier than someone who has had penetrative V sex because she still has her hymen intact, it really bugs me. What's the point, really? 

The most valuable lesson on this issue I learnt, was from a guy who had managed with the help of God, to complete university an unkissed virgin. When I expressed surprise and admiration, he asked, aren't the lips part of virginity? To him, it was all about devotion to God and his future wife...

The question shouldn't be one of a hymen ('virginity') but one of purity of mind, heart and body, if indeed you are abstaining for religious reasons. And for husbands and families who demand blood on the wedding night and don't really care about the rest, seriously? I can have anal sex with a horse and you wouldn't care, so long as I produce blood on my wedding night? really?

If we're abstaining, let's be pure. If we are being responsible, let's go all out and get tested regularly and use protection at all times. If we're on the fence and playing the two sides, let's recognize our situation as such and stop acting holier than thou. 

Besides, if a hymen equaled holiness, it would soon be redundant, because didn't some plastic surgeon figure out how to recreate one? It's only a matter of time before we have 'virginity' for sale. Purity on the other hand, will never be for sale...

#JustSaying

Bits and Pieces from here and there...

This is a rather random piece, with bits and pieces from all over...

# Lesson Learnt:

No matter how strong/hard you are, a broken heart must be given due time to heal. It should not be ignored, wished away, plastered over, prayed and fasted away, etc. Attempting to do so is like putting band-aid on an untreated sore. Sure, it will look pretty and put-together on the outside, but the wound festers within. 

# It is the 21st century but some people do not have the basic freedom to worship. The Bible is still a banned book in many places. Shame to those of us who have all the freedom and allow our bibles to collect dust on our shelves. Yes, I said us. I am guilty of this from time to time.

# Since my dreams of learning how to sew and become a closet fashion designer have been put on hold, I unleashed my creative juices on crocheting. Here is my first project *read the first project fit to be shown in public* 

# There is this issue that has been on my mind a lot this week. Your insight will be much appreciated.

Preamble: If you claim to love someone, you should either be able to accept them, with whatever religion they ascribe to, or leave them be. It is that same religion that helped mold them into the man or woman you met and fell in love with. 

Question: With Muslims believing 'Islam is the only true faith...' and Christians believing 'Jesus is the way, the truth and the life...', how do I promise to live with my spouse who I love and want the best for, accepting to never try and convert him/her? How do I say I love them, knowing(or at least, believing) the path they follow will not lead them to Heaven, Paradise, or whatever I believe man's ultimate destination should be?

(PS: I will not even attempt to extend this to friendship, that can of worms will be too big to contain)

Wisdom of Experience

I was recently asked by an inquiring young mind, as she watched her parents renew their vows on their silver jubilee. 'Sister Oye, do you think I'll be able to find a man as handsome and awesome as Daddy?' I smiled and whispered words that exposed my age and experience. 

'Sweetheart', I said, giving her a hug. 'Finding a great guy should be the least of your worries at seventeen. In fact, it's child's play compared to how to keep him once you find him. For now, I want you to promise me something. Focus your energy on becoming a woman as awesome as mommy. Learn all you can about how she kept Daddy around for all these years. In doing so, you will not only learn how to keep him once you find him, You will recognize him as soon as he arrives...'

Daddy and I - Part II

One bright Saturday afternoon, Daddy called a family meeting. I loved those! We got to go out to our favourite restaurant and eat all the ice-cream our little bellies could contain. Growing up, they lost their allure because I realised Daddy only called those when there was bad news he had to break to us - like when he lost his job and we had to change schools, or when grand-pa passed away.

This time, it was different. Daddy kept looking at us anxiously during the meal and even with our undying love and devotion to Italian ice-cream, we could hardly eat any that night. We were just as eager for the meal to end so we could drive to the beach and Daddy could tell us why he called the meeting. The tension in his face, in his sighs and in his glances was almost palpable and painful to watch.

After what seemed like eons to our anxious minds, we arrived at the beach and after the usual beating about the bush, Dad broached the topic at hand. "You miss your mom, don't you?" He asked both of us. "Yes" I nodded. "Daddy, who is 'your mom'?" My younger sister asked and as young as I was, I couldn't help but marvel at the great capacity the human heart and mind had to cope, to heal and to forget. Daddy took out the wallet photo he had of the four of us, visibly worn out no doubt from being taken out and replaced countless times. When she saw the photo, she exclaimed 'Mummy! When is she coming back, Dad?'

Daddy chose that moment to spring the news on us. Artfully dodging the question, he asked her 'How would you like Auntie May to be your new mummy?' The sly fox! 'whoa, wait a minute there, our new mummy?' I asked, incredulous. "Yes, love, I am thinking of marrying Auntie May. Your mom sent the divorce papers even before she re-covered from her jet-lag after running away with Raphael, effectively quenching all hope. I have thought long and hard about it and would like to with your approval, marry Auntie May" By this time, my little sister was jumpin up and down the beach screaming 'yay! I'm going to have a new mummy!'

You see, Auntie May was this uber cool 'Auntie' we had who used to visit us at times and prepared delicacies such as opham, kubecake, nkatiecake, and honey top cookies for us. (Auntie here is as per the African definition - i.e. any older woman whether related by blood, marriage or friendship or just plain living in the same neighbourhood) My sister loved her and I guess I did too but I had always felt she was trying to replace my mom and here I was being proven right.

Daddy saw the clouds that had gathered on my face and touched my arm, willing me to understand him, to be share his joy and excitement. After a while, I sighed and asked him - Do you love her?Yes, he said without a moment's doubt. Then I'm happy for you, I said, hugging him so he wouldn't see my tears. And as a tear fell from my eye, I meant it with all my twelve year old heart...(To be continued)

Wo kunu wo he?

I realized today that I have not put up the original post that was the source of my blog's name. A thousand apologies ( mind-your-language style). Okay, so this is the story behind my blog's name. I set up my blog in OCTOBER 2009. However, my first post is dated May this year. I thought blogging was something difficult and was venting out my creativity on facebook (notes).

My friends kept suggesting I start a blog and I gave it some serious thought and decided to give it a try after carefully weighing my options. I wanted my first post to be this article. 'Wo kunu wo he?' It means 'Where is your husband' in Twi (a Ghanaian Language). So I typed this title in the Blog title column thinking blog meant post. I wasn't able to upload it then though. After coaching from a few blogger friends, I was able to set up my first post - 'Throwing out the baby with the dishwater - Literally' and I decided to let the name stay until I found a better one. Today, I present to you - original 'Wo kunu wo he?' Here goes...

WO KUNU WO HE?

You know you’ve gotten to that stage when your mum starts asking in every convo you have with her, “So, is there someone new and exciting in your life that I need to know about?” and she sighs disappointedly when you say no. That’s about as subtle as a politician showing up at a grand durbar in his hometown weeks before the elections. She might as well say: Sweetheart, you aren’t getting any younger; your biological clock is ticking; I want to see my grandchildren before I die; or any one of those tired old clichés – you know the ones I’m talking about.

If you haven’t figured out which stage I’m talking about, it’s the stage where you KNOW you have to start taking this love, dating and marriage thing seriously. It never ceases to amaze me how parents, mothers especially, make that sudden transformation from “Concentrate on your books!” to “You know, I went to my friend’s daughter’s wedding over the weekend. Wait a minute, you should know her. Wasn’t Nyameke your junior in high school emphasis on the word (JUNIOR)? Her mom was so happy. One would think it was her wedding” Then it’s there in the pause. Unspoken but so loud you can’t miss it – “I want to be that happy soon”

You’re in even more trouble when she starts going for naming ceremonies. That was the cause of the lecture I was getting that afternoon during a visit to my mom’s. “Anowa, did I already mention going for Nyameke’s outdooring of her baby last week? (Yes mom, this would be about the twentieth time) She continues “Akos, my schoolmate who I’m way older than, was such a proud grandmother it brought tears to my eyes “(sniff!). The she turns and asks me how work is as if she had never said anything.

Aaargh mom, I wish you could hear yourself! Wasn’t it just a few years ago that you were drumming into my head the essence of concentrating on getting me educated and building a career? Wasn’t it just yesterday you encouraged me to break it off with Kojo, my level 100 sweetheart because we were way too young? What happened to you?

You said to finish school, make it big and the guys would come trooping to my door. Why are you panicking all of a sudden because I’m turning thirty next week? The way you’re going on. One would think I was turning fifty. Jeez mom, would you give me a break already?

As I sat in my car to go back to my apartment, I paused, took a deep breath and turned on the radio. Hoping some soothing music could calm me down. No such luck. As if in conspiracy with my mom, my favourite radio station was playing ‘wo kunu wo he?’ right at that time. And the first words I heard were those of the chorus “Aw aw aw aw aw – Wo kunuwo he? Obaa besia, wo’enimonyam wo he?”

I said and blushed almost immediately in shame at the four letter word I’d uncharacteristically just used. But it made me think. I am 29 years old, with a BA. Econs from the University of Ghana, a Masters in Economics from the University of Oslo in Norway and a Chartered Financial Analyst. I am a senior partner at an audit firm, drive the latest edition Lexus and have an apartment in Trasaaco Valley. I send my mom every month, more than she could spend in a lifetime and have bought her a house in East Legon. What more could a mother want or hope for?

I’m pretty, 5’ 7”, weigh 65 kilos and am very well proportioned. I have never lacked suitors (although quite frankly I must admit my picking has been getting thinner over the years) but I’ve always preferred staying single to getting married.

No, I am not a lesbian and No, I do not go home to vibrators and dildos every night. No, I do not cry myself to sleep every night and I do not have a gigolo to ‘take care of me’ regularly. I don’t hate men. I just think my life is fulfilled enough without them. I have never really had children or wanted to have some of my own. I guess I must be a bit like Robin in ‘How I met your mother’. I enjoy buying gifts for my nieces and nephews but I’ glad I’m not the one who has to take them home at night.

Why is it so hard for everyone to believe I am single, saturated and satisfied? Or that I’m turning thirty with no fiancé or husband in sight and looking forward to my party?

Just then, a hottie in a 2008 Nissan Murano drove up beside me and shot me an electric smile that sent tingles down my spine. Ok, so I lied. I’m not a sexless career woman who neither needs nor wants a man and children. I’d like to go home to something like that at night – legitimately, that is. Plus, if my husband is really convincing, I guess I could have a baby or two – (no more!) but why does society have to measure my success on marriage and call my husband my glory? Am I not glorified in myself?

Just then I heard Mister Hottie-playing-gospel-in-the-Murano scream excitedly into the phone “Mom, I think I’ve just met the woman I’m going to marry!” With that, he got out of the car, brought me his phone and said; “Here, my mom wants to talk to my future wife” I nearly fainted! As I took the phone with trembling fingers, I took one shot at his presumptuousness and said – “I could be married, you know?” “Nope! Already checked. There is no ring on your ring finger and you don’t strike me as someone who wouldn’t wear her ring. At least I hope you’ll wear mine forever.

........................................................................................................................................................................
I know right? Sounds too good to be true. I thought I was daydreaming too – until the lights turned green and the cars behind started honking at us... and then I knew that this was my very own fairytale.

And that is how I met the groom. Cheers!

As I watched my family and friends drink to my happiness. A tear run down my cheek and before it reached my chin, Kay kissed it off and gave me a squeeze, mouthing the word – I love you. I smiled and sighed dreamily. My mom nodded approvingly. I guess mothers know best and perhaps society is right. I know for sure that no business deal had ever brought me this much joy.

Now, it’s been very nice chatting with you all. But if you don’t mind, I have a wedding night to prepare for... and a husband to make very VERY happy. ;) ;) ;)

Choosing Right... My difficult Decision

Today is my late cousin's birthday. She would have turned twenty today. She died from complications arising from her sickle cell condition five years ago. This post is dedicated to her and everyone who has to, in one way or another, deal with sickle cell - Parents, family, friends, spouses and children of people living with Sickle Cell. It is also for the unmarried, to encourage them to consider this factor in their choice of life partners.

For those wondering what I am talking about, Sickle cell disease is an inherited blood disorder that affects red blood cells. People with sickle cell disease have red blood cells that contain mostly hemoglobin* S, an abnormal type of hemoglobin. Sometimes these red blood cells become sickle-shaped (crescent shaped) and have difficulty passing through small blood vessels.


When sickle-shaped cells block small blood vessels, less blood can reach that part of the body. Tissue that does not receive a normal blood flow eventually becomes damaged. This is what causes the complications of sickle cell disease. There is currently no universal cure for sickle cell disease Source:

This is a story I wrote after her demise... Read, and more importantly, choose right.

-Mummy, please can I go out to play?
-Sure dear, right after you put on your sweater.
-But mum! It’s not that cold and none of the other kids are wearing sweaters.
-I know dear, but mummy does not want you to get sick
-Does it mean all the other kids’ mums are not worried about them getting sick?
-No dear, but you are different, you are special and so why don’t you go right on, put on your sweater, come give mummy a kiss?
-Okay mummy.

-Mummy, can I go out and play in the rain?
-No dear, it’s too cold
-But mum! All the other kids are doing it. Besides, I have not taken my bath so I can do so in the rain like everyone else. I’m not feeling cold mum. Please! Please say yes!
-My dear, you may not go. Your hot water is ready. Why don’t you go have your bath and mummy will read you a nice story?
-But mum!
-Shhh! Mummy loves you and knows what is best for you. I’ve told you…
-Yea, I know – I’m different, special but it sure doesn’t feel like it! I really wish I was ordinary so I could play in the rain like all the others

-Mum, I’m ready for the party!
-Sweetheart, you’re not planning to go in that are you?
-Why not mum?
-It’s the rainy season and mosquitoes abound. Can’t have you catching malaria - you know.
-But mum, miniskirts and halter necks are the craze of the season. I can’t go in that jeans trouser and long sleeves you picked out for me, I’d look so odd.
-I’ve told you dear; odd is a synonym for special.
-Special is also a synonym for weird mum. Why can’t I be normal like everyone else? Oh well, I’ll just not go, which probably what you wanted anyway.
-Sweetheart, it’s not like that. You don’t understand…
-Yes, you’re right. I don’t understand and I’m not sure I want to because you don’t seem in any hurry to explain it to me
All my life, all I’ve heard is - Don’t go out in the rain, wear your pullover, Take your drugs, Let’s go for check-up, Beware of mosquitoes.
What I’d like s for someone, anyone to tell me why. Why do I have to be special? I never requested that I be special. Why can’t I do normal stuff like everyone else?
Why do I have to take drugs even when I’m not sick? Why do I have to take so many precautions not to get sick and why do I get sick all the same? Why do I have to go for check-ups all the time? Why mum, why?
Why me? All I want is some fun like all the kids at school. All I want is to be normal. Why do I have to be different, odd, special, weird? … She broke into sobs.


My eyes mist over and as I take my hanky, I heard my name being mentioned. ‘Are you alright?’ the groom-to-be asks. ‘Yes, yes I’m fine’ I lie but I am anything but fine. That walk down memory lane had not been pleasant in the least. I feel myself about to burst into tears again as I remember Nana Ama, my little sister who had lived to be all but fifteen years old. Fifteen years of take your drugs, wear your sweater, where is your hospital card? Let’s go for check up. Fifteen years of having to catch up on activities and lessons she missed on ‘sick days’. Fifteen years of knowing she was different, special, odd. Fifteen years of knowing we all have to die sometime but she is more likely to die younger than her other classmates who are not special like her. Fifteen years of following statistics – like how long on the average she can expect to live and learning that on the average, it is generally not expected for special people like her to live past forty years?

How do you explain to a child who was brought into the world through no fault of hers and definitely did not choose her parents that Her parents through no fault of theirs have each donated an S or C and so she has what is known as sickle sell and will have to be on medication for the rest of her life and miss out on a lot of the joys of life if she wants to live to see her eighteenth birthday? It beat my mind then… and it still does.
Oh Nana Ama, may her soul rest in perfect peace. I make the sign of the cross.

My Fiancé Kay cups my chin gently in his hand and lifts my head. He searches my tear-streaked face and asks ‘Honey, are you alright?’ ‘Am I alright?’ I laugh hysterically ‘Oh yes I’m alright. The one you should be asking if she’s alright is Nana Ama.’ ‘But Honey, Nana Ama died years ago.’ ‘Yes! She did’ I reply. ‘She sure did. But has she ever been able to come to terms with her life and death? Why she had to be special? Why she never got to marry, have a child of her own, and build that fashion empire she dreamed of and…’ I broke off into sobs.
Kay holds me and strokes my hair whilst I cry for what seems like an eternity. The marriage counsellor has discreetly disappeared. When I finally lift my head, Kay asks ‘Is it better now? Is it okay?’ ‘No, it is not’ I say grimly but with a quiet resolution. ‘It can never be okay. I’m sorry Kay but I hope you understand why I can’t marry you anymore.’

Kay takes me into his arms with understanding in his eyes and I do not think I could have loved him anymore than I did in that moment. He cries with me for what seems like hours.

After a while, I lift my head and ask ‘Can we go home now?’
Whoever said that doing the right thing was easy lied. Even though my head told me I was doing the right thing, my heart kept saying ‘you traitor’
There were times when I wondered if I was doing the right thing at all and there were other times when I felt like being selfish and going right on to marry Kay.
Kay was a world of comfort to me in those times. He was struggling to come to terms with what was happening himself but he saw my anguish and turmoil and did his best not to add to my confusion.

It was only once He asked me to marry him all the same saying we could decide not to have kids and adopt. I was sorely tempted to say yes for a while, I must admit, but only for a while. I remembered the six children Kay had always dreamt of having and how he even had their names picked out already and I looked at the pain in his eyes and how much it was costing him to make this suggestion and I found the strength to say no, I could not let him make so great a sacrifice.

Watching Nana Ama grow up had been no fun and I did not want to risk having to go through the same experience with my own child. I did not want my child to suffer.
Neither did I want to adopt. I wanted kids of my own and Kay did too.

Since these were the only two choices available to me were I to stay with Kay, I decided to let him go. Believing I was doing the right thing, making the right choice, the right decision.

Today, looking at my four healthy children and doting father, and looking at how happy Kay is with his own six children and loving wife, I’m sure I did.