How Friendship Turned Into A Joyful Marriage

Yesterday, while my husband rested his head on my chest as we lounged on a small sofa watching TV, he suddenly remarked, “Your heart is calling my name.” Curious, I asked, “How so?” He paused for a moment, then replied, “The rhythm of your heartbeat sounds like, Ko-jo ko-jo ko-jo…” I lifted his head and playfully pushed it away, saying, “Get your big head off my chest before you break it!” He attempted to lay his head back down, but I shifted, causing his head to bump against the armrest of the sofa.

As he groaned in pain, I stood up and quipped, “Thank goodness you didn’t break the sofa. You’d have to buy a new one tomorrow!” He then got up and chased after me.

That’s pretty much our daily routine.

My husband has a plethora of jokes about me, while I have just one—his head. All my humor revolves around it. He often teases, “With the way you fart in your sleep, I don’t think I could travel with you and leave you sleeping among strangers.” To retaliate, I’d say, “When you wake up each morning, make sure to apologize to your neck. It’s carrying quite a heavy load for you.” His sense of humor is unmatched. Even when I’m furious and vow to ignore him for a day, just a glance at his face can make me smile.

We’ve been married for eight years now, and when he first approached me, I never imagined I would say yes. After everything he said, all I could think about was his head. I remember telling myself, “If this head accidentally falls on me at night, won’t it break my bones?” I kept rejecting him, but he persisted. One night, about three months after his proposal, he asked, “Why do you keep saying no? Don’t I have the qualities of the man you want? Is it my tribe? Or do you just not fancy me?”

I replied, “It’s not that you don’t love me. If you did, I would feel it—there would be a sign, like an itch in my palm or a joyful emptiness in my heart. I don’t feel anything, and it doesn’t seem like you love me that much. Sure, you’re a good person, but I can’t say yes just because of that. I need to feel the love too, so we’re on the same page.” He responded, “Sometimes, love takes time to grow. Mine has developed, but I’m willing to give you time to see if you can love me too.”

I hastily agreed, “Okay, that sounds fine.” But deep down, I knew my feelings wouldn’t change. He would always be just a friend.

He began visiting every night after work, and we would talk for hours. One evening, my mom yelled from outside, “Anima, what’s making you laugh so much?” That’s when I realized the joy he brought me whenever he was around. He had me laughing uncontrollably. Gradually, I noticed a shift in my feelings toward him. The big head faded from my mind, and I began to see him for who he truly was—funny, caring, and reluctant to leave my side. I didn’t want him to leave either; I needed the laughter.

For many months, we remained friends. He didn’t bring up the proposal again; he simply enjoyed spending time with me, taking me out occasionally, and listening to my problems while making me laugh with his jokes. Eventually, I was ready to say yes, but he wasn’t saying anything. I started dropping hints, making it clear that if he declared his love, I would accept, but he kept missing the signals. Frustrated, I asked him, “Are you seeing someone else? Did you find someone after I said no?” He smiled and replied, “I thought we agreed I would wait for you?”

“So you’re still waiting? After all this time?” I asked. He said, “Yes, because it’s you I want in my life.” That was all I needed to hear. I said, “Okay, if you want me, I’ll give you a chance and see where this leads.” He asked, “You’ve accepted my proposal?” I replied, “Well, something like that.” He laughed, hugged me, and kept talking, unsure of what to do next.

From that moment on, we became the best of friends. With him, I could be myself without pretense. He knows I love food, and I don’t hide it. When we go out to eat, I order double of whatever he gets. He’d say, “Wow, mama food!” and I’d respond, “Big heads don’t need too much food; slim ones like me do.” A year later, we had a huge fight and broke up over his ex-girlfriend who kept resurfacing. I trusted him, but I felt uneasy. He told me he was attending a funeral for a classmate’s mom, not realizing it was his ex-girlfriend’s mother. What hurt the most was that he spent two days in the village for the funeral.

Feeling disrespected and deceived, I told him to leave me alone. I eventually forgave him when he approached my mom to plead on his behalf. We reconciled, and a year later, we got married.

Now, after eight years of marriage and no children yet, we share immeasurable joy. A child is a blessing, but we’ve learned to be a blessing to each other first, even before the arrival of a child, which we know will happen soon.

Eight years may not seem long, but whenever my friends ask about my marriage, I tell them, “I married my friend.” He didn’t bring the romantic feelings I expected initially, but when I gave him time, he showed me he would be more than just my husband—he would also be someone who listens to my problems and lightens my burdens with laughter.

I remember one afternoon when I told him I was going to the salon to get my hair done. I had braids that needed to be removed, washed, and styled. When I mentioned the salon, he asked, “Are you going to keep it long?” I replied, “A little, because of the braids. They have to come out.” He then said, “So you’re leaving me all alone? Come here and teach me how to remove the braids.” A few minutes later, the braids were off. He teased me about my dandruff, saying, “Wow, it looks like you have a truckload of sand in your hair. We wouldn’t buy sand when we want to build.” He joked about the smell, adding, “Next time you go to the salon, pay the girls double for the scent.”

I didn’t need to go to the salon again because he became my personal braids remover from that day on. He learned to wash my hair with shampoo and dry it with a towel. The best part is, I never had to ask him; he offered to do it after my hair had been in for a while. I realized I had a wonderful man and a beautiful marriage, but if I ever had doubts, the lockdown erased them all.

We didn’t go out until the lockdown was lifted. We lived online, trying out recipes he found and often failing miserably, but we didn’t waste food, so we ate it anyway. He’d say, “That’s how all foods were invented. We didn’t get it wrong; we just invented something new. Let’s cook and sell it when corona is over.” We watched dance videos and attempted to learn. I was better at it; he was good while sitting, but once he stood up, it was a different story. It was fun to watch him try and hear his funny comments.

The world was in lockdown, but we were on our second honeymoon.

Recently, we took a night bus from Accra to Kumasi. I was exhausted and felt sleepy, but every time I tried to doze off, my husband would tap me and ask a question. We’d chat for a bit, and I’d start to drift off again. He’d tap my shoulder and point out something outside, saying, “Oh, you didn’t wake up fast enough; we just passed what I wanted to show you.” This continued until we arrived in Kumasi. At one point, I was getting annoyed, realizing he was doing it on purpose, but I didn’t know why.

When we got off the bus, I asked him, “Why did you do that?” He gave me that teasing smile and said, “I couldn’t trust you to sleep through the journey without drawing attention to us. Prevention is better than cure.” I playfully hit his chest when I understood his reasoning. He ran off, laughing to himself. I asked, “Is it true that I fart when I sleep?” He replied, “A lot, but I’m used to it now. The people on the bus aren’t; I needed to save them!”

I said, “Shut up, why are you shouting?” 

—Anima,  
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