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*.

"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".

Risky Business (A Mother's Pain)

 Everyone’s heard about the pain of motherhood, but the tales from the delivery room don’t begin to cover it. As I held my daughter who was trying with herculean effort to contain her racking sobs, I understood more than ever the utter pain and despair of a mother who would give anything to take her child’s pain away and yet couldn't.

I think back to a happier day, the day my husband, by custom, slaughtered a fattened ram to celebrate the birth of our tenth born. I remember the smiles of my own mother, and the pride I felt at having nine children dressed in white, seated at my feet with the tenth in my arms, contentedly suckling at my breast, validating my womanhood.

Today, I had buried six out of the ten, and my husband had taken the lead into the afterworld. And as I sat in the sterile room consoling my daughter as my grand-daughter fought what was by all indication, a losing battle against cancer, I knew the exact measure of that pain.

My daughter was an insurance expert; risk management was right up there in her alley. And yet when it came to the greatest risk of all, she was just as unprotected as the rest of the world. I remember when her husband was killed by friendly fire in Afghanistan days after her daughter was diagnosed with Ewing’s Sarcoma. My broken daughter looked up to me in despair and asked. “Why is there no insurance against such pain when you can insure your fingernails if you so desired?”

I’d had no answer for her then. And I didn't have any for myself now. I too had been dealt no better cards in the gamble that is motherhood. I always believed the greatest gamble we took with our hearts was falling in love. Now I realize that while it’s true, it’s not the love that drives us to the altar, but the love that wells up when we’re handed that new-born baby that was the costliest chip.

It's Fathers Day!!!

I was recently talking to a friend who likes to call himself a 'reformed player'. I wanted tips to give to the young ladies I was speaking to later in the day. I was to talk to them about things we do and say as ladies, and vibes we give off, consciously or unconsciously that make us prime target for hit and run bad boys, players, etc. Who better to ask than a 'reformed player'?

I asked him what he thought was the greatest common denominator for all the 'prey' he was successful with. He promptly replied "Daddy issues". Fathers who were not there, fathers who did not care, fathers who made home such a living hell that their daughter could break every rule with you and not care so long as you kept her from the harsh reality that was home a little longer.

Fathers! Some of them seem so oblivious to their God-given roles and mandates in the lives of their children, sons and daughters alike. Today is fathers day and to quote Bishop T. D. Jakes, good men need appreciation... the othere need encouragement. So I will like to encourage those fathers who need encouragement,fatherhood is more than a sperm and some money.

I understand that sometimes, society does not help you out, making it seem like all you 'owe' your children is food, shelter, clothing and some form of training. And even then, it's an 'attempt all' not 'answer all' exam so you can choose which obligations you want to fufil, especially where there is no strict law enforcement to compel you.

Fatherhood is more, however. The man your son becomes and the husband your daughter takes are dependent on the man you are. They will be looking for same or exact opposite of you; and thus your legacy affects the next generation. Your approval makes a world of difference to their sense of self-worth and the heights they attain in life. You wield a lot of power over their lives, so please tread carefully.

I will also like to encourage all those who have been wronged in one way or another by their fathers, and those who have never had a father. Remember that the greatest father of all is God and He is always there for you even when your father and/or mother forsake you (Psalm 27:10)

To those who have strained relationships with their fathers, today is a great opportunity to reconnect if they are still alive. As much as is safe and humanly possible, it is a good idea to relate with your father knowing him may help you understand you. Ask for the grace to give a perfect love to an imperfect man. 

That said, I will like to thank and pray for continued grace for all GOOD fathers, step-fathers, spiritual fathers, mentors and all other father figures. Thank you for being here on earth, a representation of our heavenly father. We LOVE you all. 

To the up and coming ones, I pray for the grace to be good fathers when the time comes.

And to the single fathers and mothers who are both mum and dad to their children, Happy Fathers Day, and God bless you.

Snapshots of Human Nature: An Unusual Glimpse at Mental Illness...

There are moments in life that are just frozen in your memory, as clear as if it had been printed as a photograph and stored in a physical album. One of these is this glimpse at mental illness I got one Christmas...

I loved Christmas growing up. My uncles, aunties and cousins from Kumasi would come down to Accra and we'd all be merry together. Christmas day would meet the house filled with assorted aromas to suit the peculiar tastes present. 

On one such day, dinner was being served when we heard a knock at the gate. It was a homeless, mentally ill woman. A wave of sadness went around the house as it's always sad to see lack, suffering and loneliness when surrounded by abundant food, family and happiness.

My Aunt went to get some money and offered it to the lady. She refused saying that she just wanted to eat a home-cooked meal and that she could not remember the last time she had a home-cooked meal. The nostalgia in her voice was heart-breaking.

As a portion was dished out to her, she washed her hands and began to eat with a delight that was heart-warming to watch. She began to talk of her children and husband and her life before she 'lost it'. It was a perfectly sane woman that spoke. 

When she was done, she offered profuse thanks and went her way with a spring in her step. When offered money, she refused, saying that by the food and the company, we'd done more than enough...

This is a snapshot of human nature. When stripped bare of everything, our true needs and desires manifest; all we really need is sustenance and some love (and compassion)... the rest is dessert.

Feel free to share a story, or situation that gave you snapshot of human nature, good or bad. I'd love to hear them. :)

The Icy-Handed, Unwelcome Visitor (Thief)

Death is never funny but here I am wishing, ten days after April fool's day, that my brother will apologize and say that it was a joke. Although It would be in very bad taste, I'd be too happy and relieved to scold him.

Even after confirmation from my mom, the news has still not sunk in... How can it? It's like being told the sun will not rise tomorrow. I am still very much tempted to call her phone to see if she would pick up and tell me it was just a dream... but equally scared that she won't pick up and I'd be forced to face the reality that she's really gone.

Something has fallen in my eyes, as is said in Akan, but tears are refusing to fall to clear that which has fallen onto my eyeballs. Who is dead? You may be wondering. If I said my grandma, it wouldn't be an accurate description... for she was more. 

Related by the blood of Christ more than anything else, this woman was my grandma, intercessor, advisor, you just name it. A mother to my mother for all the years I've been alive. Yet death, with impunity, just snatched her away this morning... I am sad... and I am angry... but mostly sad...

My only comfort is that she has gone to be with the Lord... May her soul rest in peace!

About that, I just have to ask... Will your family have that comfort when you're gone? I've been thinking a lot about this. Death has this way of punching you in the solar plexus with a reminder of the life hereafter... 

I believe it causes you to think even when you're an atheist or agnostic or say you do not care. For no one has come back to confirm that indeed this life is all there is, and religion is indeed 'rubbish' What if there's more?

Whilst we have life, we still have a chance to decide... Please think about it. After here, what next... And yes, if you ask me, I recommend Jesus...

Talk to me...

The importance of communication in any relationship cannot be overemphasized. From our relationships with God, to family, friends and lovers. C'est tres important.

No wonder Nigerian mothers ask their daughters 'Who are u talking to these days?' when fishing for news of a prospective son in law. Just as what you focus on becomes your reality, who you talk to most, captures the most of your attention and interest, and ceteris paribus, has your heart...

Letter from a Contract Worker 

by Antonio Jacinto 

from Angola, is 

one of my favorite African Poems. It highlights the helplessness the inability to communicate in a relationship can bring like no other. The despair in the end, says it all... Please enj

oy the p

oem thinking 

of h

ow happy they w

ould b

oth 

be if she actually heard all he had t

o say...

 wanted to write you a letter
my love,
a letter that would tell
of this desire
to see you
of this fear
of losing you
of this more than benevolence that I feel
of this indefinable ill that pursues me
of this yearning to which I live in total surrender ...

I wanted to write you a letter
my love,
a letter of intimate secrets,
a letter of memories of you,
of you
of your lips red as henna
of your hair black as mud
of your eyes sweet as honey
of your breasts hard as wild orange
of your lynx gait
and of your caresses
such that I can find no better here ...
I wanted to write you a letter
my love,
that would recall the days in our haunts
our nights lost in the long grass
that would recall the shade falling on us from the plum
trees
the moon filtering through the endless palm trees
that would recall the madness
of our passion
and the bitterness
of our separation ...

I wanted to write you a letter
my love,
that you would not read without sighing
that you would hide from from papa Bombo
that you would withhold from mama Kieza
that you would reread without the coldness
of forgetting
a letter to which in all Kilombo
no other would stand comparison ...

I wanted to write you a letter
my love
a letter that would be brought to you by the passing wind
a letter that the cashews and coffee trees
the hyenas and buffaloes
the alligators and grayling
could understand
so that if the wind should lose it on the way
the beasts and plants
with pity for our sharp suffering
from song go song
lament to lament
gabble to gabble
would bring you pure and hot
the burning words
the sorrowful words of the letter
I wanted to write to you my love ...

I wanted to write you a letter ...

But oh my love, I cannot understand
why it is, why it is, why it is, my dear
that you cannot read
and I - Oh the hopelessness! - cannot write!

Daddy and I - Part III

Most people I know have horror stories about their stepmothers. Not I. I am not saying my step-mum was an angel or anything but she never gave me reason to lie awake at night plotting the cleanest way to get rid of her. It may have something to do with something my Dad said I did the first week she moved in that established the fact that we were on the same team.


My Dad tells me the first week my step-mum moved in, I scheduled a meeting with her and made her sign a crayon scribbled contract that said she wasn't going to leave or hurt papa like mama did. He said I told her I'd come get her if  I ever saw Papa sad. What can I say? Too many movies, I guess. But hey, it worked.


Auntie May (my step-mum) and I were a team. She had two children before marrying daddy and one of them, a girl only a year younger than me, came to live with us but I can confidently say I was and am her favourite daughter and I on the other hand, wouldn't trade her for all the tea in China, nor all the rubies in India. (Giving up the rubies will hurt a little more, though)


She taught me all the secret recipies she had used to capture Daddy and taught me the way to a man's heart was indeed through his stomach. of course, when I grew older, she explained that it was through his stomachs, both the upper stomach and the lower one ;).


When I got to University, She was prouder than a peacock who just won a beauty pageant. In my third year, and three children later (each with a different man), my biological mother called me. She cried crocodile tears and I was about to concede that she had changed when she dropped the bombshell - She wanted me to help her kick Auntie May out. She had seen the wrong in her ways and wanted Daddy back.


The nerve! I couldn't believe this woman. Fourteen years later! Needless to say, I told her what she needed to hear and I only refrained from saying more because of Ephesians 6:1-3. She called my younger sister who also gave her a piece of her mind.


on my wedding day, as dad went to his seat fighting tears after walking me down the aisle, I watched my step-mum pat his back with even bigger tears in her eyes. The pride and happiness on her face was almost blinding. And I looked to the back where my biological mother was sitting. Auntie May had invited her without my knowledge and begged me to let her stay because that alone would be punishment enough. Looking at my biological mother's pained expression, she couldn't have been more right.


As I looked back at Daddy and smiled at him, he mouthed 'I love you' and I turned to my groom and smiled. If he was half the father Daddy way, and I was half the woman my mother was (yes, I call Auntie May my mother because it takes more than an egg to be a mother), our children were going to be the luckiest kids on earth :) :) :)


And they lived happily ever after... Lol. How else was I going to end? The story is still being lived. :) :) :)

Happy New Year

Happy New Year To You

Happy New Year to you!
May every great new day
Bring you sweet surprises--
A happiness buffet.

Happy New Year to you,
And when the new year’s done,
May the next year be even better,
Full of pleasure, joy and fun.

By Joanna Fuchs

This year has been an extremely eventful one. A lot happened that if anyone had told me beforehand, I would have said a la Nigerian, 'it's a lie!!!' I surprised myself a few times, found out a couple of things I'd never really noticed about myself, known great love, shed huge tears and learnt great lessons.

one lesson I think I will continue to learn each year is how gracious and faithful God is. My songs for this year have been 'Never failed me yet' by Jars of Clay and 'Great is your mercy' by Donnie Mcclurkin. I have sang these many a time as I walked to classes and exams all weary and anxious. And through it all, God has shown me His grace is indeed sufficient for me.

I realized I have quite a temper and being a person who tends to sigh more rather than speak out when wronged or offended doesn't help much in this regard. I have poured out bottled-up feelings on unsuspecting victims and truly learnt the meaning of the last straw breaking the camel's back because in my sober moments of reflection, I realized the offenses did not merit the outrages. 

I also realized I am not patient with certain things which is interesting because this same year someone called me the most patient person he knows. I guess It all has to do with motivation. As you can imagine, it is a new year resolution to work on these two kinks in my armor. 

This year was also a year of many tears. Seriously, I have never cried as much as I did this year, for as long as I can remember. My tear ducts seemed to believe tears were the best responses to betrayal, heartbreak, frustration, disappointment, anger  and fear. Most of my prayers were literally crying out to God and thank God, a broken heart and a contrite heart, my God does not reject. 

It was a year that had a lot of good too. New beginnings, love, rekindled friendships, so so blessings. What can I say? God is good!

I have had a great Christmas! I spent it with and old friend and her family and they are such warm people that it has felt like home. New year was ushered in at a quaint Ghanaian community methodist church where I got the opportunity to sing Methodist hymns, sing Ghanaian praise and worship songs and sing a testimony in church (what more can a girl ask for?). 

I would never have done this last year but I have realized that I don't need to be Georg Friedrich Händel or Cece Winans to praise God. All I need is a pulse, a heartbeat and a heart filled with gratitude and by God, I will sing because God has been good to me and I have all three. *sings off*

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)