She Traveled Five Hours Only To Be Rejected Again

I was just seventeen when I was involved in a car accident that left my left leg broken. After spending three months in the hospital, I was able to walk again, but things were never the same. Although I could walk, I did so with a noticeable limp.

This experience left me feeling devastated and led to an inferiority complex. I struggled with self-acceptance, convinced that no one would want me. However, as I matured, I realized that it didn’t matter as much as I thought. Some days, I could forget about the limp, but life had a way of reminding me that my left leg was different.

One of those reminders came when my boyfriend broke up with me while we were both in university. He left without explanation until one day he said, “My friends always made fun of me for dating a cripple.” I shouted, “I’m not a cripple!” but it didn’t change anything.

After graduation, I landed a demanding job that consumed all my time, leaving me with no social life. It struck me that no one had proposed to me in years. Perhaps my focus on work had pushed love aside. I decided to re-enter the dating scene.

The first guy who showed interest was someone I met on Facebook. He was quite popular and often engaged with my posts. One day, he slid into my DMs, and we began chatting. He expressed his interest in me multiple times, and I found him charming. When he suggested we go on a date, I happily agreed.

We arranged to meet at a top restaurant in Accra, and it turned out to be a wonderful evening. We talked, laughed, and even enjoyed a bit of wine. As we took a walk, we almost kissed, but he stopped himself, saying, “That’s too fast…” I agreed.

That night, I couldn’t stop thinking about him and imagined how our next date would unfold. In my mind, he was already my boyfriend, but that turned out to be the last time I saw him. He stopped answering my calls, and eventually, I noticed he had blocked me on Facebook.

“What did I do wrong?” I kept asking myself, but he was gone without an answer.

Not long after, another guy came into my life, again through Facebook. He was the life of the party, always sharing interesting content and displaying a great sense of humor. I liked him, but I was cautious not to reveal too much too soon.

He suggested meeting several times, but I always declined, saying, “It’s a big world, and we have plenty of time. We can meet later.” He respected my wishes and continued to chat with me.

We often had video calls and exchanged numerous photos. I wanted him to see me from all angles before we met in person, ensuring he was aware of my limp.

After a year of talking and video calls, I finally decided to meet him. He was working in Obuasi, over five hours away from Accra. Although I was nervous about traveling that far to meet someone I barely knew, I thought it would be fun. So, one Saturday morning, I packed a small bag and boarded the bus to Obuasi.

He stayed on the phone with me throughout the journey, and I arrived around 3 PM. He told me to wait at the station for him.

At 3:15 PM, he called to say he was almost there. Fifteen minutes later, he asked me to cross the road to make it easier for him to pick me up.

I crossed over, hoping he would arrive soon. I waited for nearly twenty minutes, but he didn’t show up. I messaged him, saying there were no chairs around for me to sit on and asked him to hurry. He read the message but didn’t reply.

Thirty minutes passed, then forty-five, and still no sign of him. I called his phone, but he didn’t answer. I tried again, but it was the same. After waiting another ten minutes, I called once more, but he still didn’t pick up. “What’s going on with him?” I wondered.

I found a shop and asked the owner if I could sit with her, and she kindly agreed. As soon as I sat down, I called him again; “The number you’re trying to reach is on another call…” I waited, hoping he would call me back after finishing his conversation, but he never did. I tried again, but his phone was off.

Looking at the time, I realized it was 5:21 PM. I had been in Obuasi for over two hours, and fear began to creep in. I started to consider the possibility that I had been stood up.

The woman I was sitting with noticed my distress and asked if something was wrong. I explained, “I’m waiting for someone. We’re supposed to travel to Accra together, but it seems they aren’t coming.” She replied, “He better show up before this bus leaves. It’s the last one for the day.”

I called his phone one last time, but it was still off. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I looked up at the sky to hide my emotions. The woman saw me crying but didn’t press further. She simply said, “If he’s not coming, go alone. It’s not the end of the world.”

“He? How did she know it was a guy?” I thought. I grabbed my bag, thanked her, and hurried to the bus. Once seated, I called his number repeatedly, but it was still switched off. As the bus pulled away, I sent him a message: “Thank you.”

I curled up in my seat and cried. “Am I so worthless that someone I traveled over five hours to see wouldn’t want to meet me? Am I so hideous just because I walk with a limp?”

I couldn’t hold back the tears; it was too painful not to cry. Somewhere along the journey, I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until we arrived in Accra at midnight.

It took him over a week to respond with excuses: “I’m sorry about what happened. My phone died just as I was about to reach you. I had no way to contact you, and I didn’t see you when I got to the roadside where I asked you to wait.”

I had nothing to say, so I remained silent.

—Irene  
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