Trapped By Love Found A Family And Finally Closure

We had hoped the lockdown would end after two weeks. My guardian father was eager for it to be over so he could resume his business, but that night, when the president appeared on TV, he extended it by another week. My guardian father looked at me and said, “At this rate, it seems you’re not going back to Kenya anytime soon. You’re stuck! Call your family and let them know you’re now a Ghanaian.”

We all burst into laughter. His wife chimed in, “Stop teasing the poor girl. She’s been through enough.” I replied, “When I finally leave, I know you’ll miss me. Who will you tease when I’m gone?”

The three of us have formed a close-knit family. There’s always something fun to do. They share their stories with me, telling me about their past and their dreams for the future. I was surprised to discover that, even at their age, they still have aspirations. I thought dreams were just for young people like me, but these two are always dreaming, and when they need someone to poke fun at, I’m their go-to.

We rarely discussed the boy who brought me here under the guise of love. They helped me settle in and provided a supportive environment where I could try to see the brighter side of my situation. The woman said, “You’ve kept us company since you arrived. That’s not a bad thing. Maybe we needed someone, and God, in His wisdom, brought you to us.” That’s her perspective, but my truth is different. I needed them, and God sent them my way, for which I am eternally grateful.

As the third week of the lockdown came to an end, my two companions were eager to hear what would happen next. I remember the man asking the woman if the president would speak that Sunday evening. We waited anxiously until the president finally appeared on TV. The lockdown was lifted, but there was still no hope for me to return to Kenya since the borders remained closed. After the president finished speaking, the man looked at me, and I knew he was about to tease me again. I was ready for him: “Odoyewu, nothing has changed for you today. You better call home and ask them to send the rest of your belongings here.”

His humor always made us laugh. I told him, “Even if Ghana opens up today and Kenya doesn’t, my situation won’t change. I’m just praying for a miracle.” He replied, “That’s true. I hope you now understand why love is death. You’re dead!”

The next morning, as I was in the hall, he approached me with a plan. “You can’t travel all the way from Kenya to Ghana and not see the boy who did this to you. You need to find him and let him know how deep the waters he left you to drown in are. You might have forgiven him, but he should regret his actions so he doesn’t do it to anyone else.” It made sense, and honestly, I had been thinking the same thing but lacked the courage to voice it. I asked him, “How do I find him?” He replied, “You tried once with your mother. Try again.”

I called Bernard again to ask for a favor. I said, “You were helpful last time, and I appreciate it. I’m still in Ghana and want to see your friend. Trust me, I won’t hurt him or his marriage. I just want to meet him and tell him how I’ve moved on from what he did to me. I need closure before I leave for Kenya.” I could sense his reluctance; he didn’t trust my intentions. I kept reassuring him, “Trust me, I won’t mention you. I just need access to him.” He responded, “I understand your situation, but I don’t think I can help you. Please forgive me.”

That was it. He wasn’t willing to assist me.

The woman suggested, “Let’s try that office again. If he didn’t lie about where he works, we should find him there.” So the next day, we went. His office was right at the entrance of the premises, with glass partitions allowing us to see who was inside. As soon as I entered, I spotted him. I checked his finger, and the ring was visible. I told the security guard who I was looking for, and he asked me to sit while he went to inform him. I sat down, wearing my mask, watching the security guard point me out. He probably didn’t recognize me because of the mask.

The security guard returned to tell me he was ready to meet me. He didn’t know who I was or why I was there, but as soon as I sat down in his office and noticed his finger, the ring was gone. He said, “Nice to meet you, dear. What did I do to deserve your presence?” Then he flashed an innocent smile, as if he couldn’t harm a fly. I sat there, observing him closely without saying a word. His smile faded as he realized I wasn’t responding. He kept looking at me, waiting for me to speak.

I asked, “You don’t recognize me?” I took off my mask. He squirmed in his seat. “How did you get here?” Suddenly, he seemed restless, like a boy awaiting punishment. I asked, “So what happened? It’s been over a month. Did I say something wrong?” He couldn’t respond immediately, his eyes darting around as if searching for something. “A lot happened,” he finally said. “I didn’t know how to explain it to you.”

“Please tell me. What happened after we last spoke?”

“Before I explain, let me apologize for everything that happened. I accept my mistakes and regret everything. Please forgive me.”

“I’m over it, trust me. I came here just to see you and to hear your side of the story.”

“I was driving through town that day when my phone was stolen. I had no way to reach you. I didn’t have your number memorized. They even took my wallet. I didn’t know what to do; everything was happening so fast, and I needed to catch my breath to figure out how to contact you.”

He struggled to articulate his thoughts. I realized I could express his response better than he could. Nothing he said was coherent; he kept repeating how sorry he was and how he should have tried to contact me, along with some other rambling. I glanced at his desk and asked, “You have two phones on your table now. You still couldn’t call me? Does it make any sense to you that I’m in a country where I don’t know anyone and could be stranded? Does it?”

At this point, I was nearly shouting. He looked frightened, worried I might cause a scene. He suggested, “Can we talk outside? My car is parked just behind; we could sit in there.” I replied, “I’m not moving an inch. We’re having this conversation here, and you’ll listen to me. If you think I’m shouting, just let me know.”

“You blocked me on Facebook and WhatsApp too. Your phone was missing, so how could you do all that? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“I’m telling you the truth, but it seems your mind is already made up.”

“My mind isn’t made up; I just need you to explain yourself.”

He kept changing the subject and making weak excuses. It was clear he was uncomfortable in my presence. In our video chats, he appeared taller, but the man in front of me was shorter than I expected.

“When I entered this place, I saw you wearing a ring. Now that I’m here, you’re not wearing it. I know you’re married with two kids, and that’s why we’re in this situation. Why didn’t you tell me the truth? Why would you do this to me?”

Tears began to flow down my left cheek. I had promised myself I wouldn’t cry, but I couldn’t help it. He buried his face in his hands. I could sense that people outside the office were starting to wonder what was happening. Occasionally, someone would glance our way, and I felt the tension.

I told him, “I don’t regret coming to Ghana. I have a beautiful home and wonderful people to spend my days with…” Just as I was about to finish, my guardian mother walked in. I had been in there for a while, and she was getting worried. I waved at her, and she entered. She asked, “Are you okay…?” “Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied. She asked, “Oh, so it’s not true that he’s married?” I said, “He took off his ring.”

She took my hand and said, “Let’s leave. He’ll be a changed person from now on.” As we sat in the car on the way home, she asked, “Are you okay? Do you feel any better?” I replied, “Yeah, I feel liberated. He’s not even as tall as I thought he was.” We both laughed.

That evening, he called me several times, asking for a chance to make amends and correct his wrongs so I wouldn’t leave with hatred in my heart. I told him not to bother and to focus on wearing his ring every day to honor his wife.

I blocked his number and his WhatsApp. I couldn’t block him on Facebook since I hadn’t unblocked him there. I didn’t want his calls or messages.

Life is good, and it’s a classic case of goodness emerging from adversity. I’ve been offered a job at my guardians’ establishment until I can leave for Kenya. They take me to exciting places and teach me how to cook Ghanaian dishes. I can now prepare banku and okro stew with my eyes closed. They introduce me to others as their daughter, and I meet new faces every day. It’s unfortunate that I can’t shake hands or hug people due to the pandemic. So many people have shown me kindness, and they deserve a heartfelt hug.

—Odoyewu,

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