In the WhatsApp group we were in, she was the most vocal. She always had something to say, always making suggestions and saying the things everyone else was thinking but did not have the courage to say. She struck me. So I texted her, and a friendship grew.
She had a boyfriend at the time, but that did not stop me from trying to date her. We started going out occasionally, mostly just outings. I was in the military back then in Ghana before I traveled to the States, so whenever I was off duty, she would come to the barracks, cook for me and my friends, and we would all eat together. She was such a vibe, and all my friends liked her. More importantly, they loved her cooking. To this day, she remains one of the best cooks I have ever encountered.
When I moved out of the barracks into my own place, she was the first person I informed. She was also there to help me get some of the things I needed to set up the apartment. After that, she started coming around more often. She had broken up with her boyfriend because he was planning to marry someone else, but she still would not accept my proposal. She said she was trying to heal, as she put it, but I was still around, still waiting in that space between friendship and something more.
FOLLOW US ON WHATSAPP CHANNEL TO RECEIVE ALL STORIES IN YOUR INBOX
She makes a mean groundnut soup, so when I returned from a one-month work trip, that was the only thing I wanted to eat. I asked her to make it and bring it to my place. My friends came around too. I remember we had ours with banku while she sat and ate hers with rice, while the boys and I had joined hands and eaten. Then we played games afterwards.
After they left, I slapped her. What did she do? Her phone had been giving her problems, so she was using a basic phone and a tablet. I specifically asked her to bring the tablet to me, and she did not. That was how my hand landed on her face. Even as it happened, I do not know what came over me.
The look on her face still comes back to me sometimes. She was shocked, but she did not scream or insult me. She went quiet, turned around, and walked into the kitchen without saying a word. I regretted it immediately, but my pride refused to let me fix what I had just broken. Instead, I walked into my study and tried to focus on the exams I had coming up, pretending like nothing had happened. I do not even remember when I fell asleep.
I woke up because of a sharp sting across my face. I opened my eyes. She was standing over me with a spatula (banku ta) in her hands. I was opening my mouth to demand what was going on when she landed another heavy blow on my back. I fought my way out of the house. If I had stayed any longer, things would have gotten worse.
When I returned, she was gone. The door was locked, and the spare key was missing. Her phone was switched off for hours before I finally reached her. An hour later, I got through to her. She said she was at home and that my keys had fallen into the gutter near my house. “If you want it, look for it.” It was a closed gutter, so there was no way I could retrieve them. I went around looking for a welder to open the door, and nothing prepared me for what I found inside.
My 55-inch television was smashed. My iron was broken. My mattress had been soaked in water. My center table was in pieces. She had destroyed almost seventy percent of everything in that room.
I will not lie. I cried.
I called her again, demanding to know why she had gone that far. She screamed “Never lay your hands on a woman again. I even wanted to report you for domestic violence.” Then she added, “Talking stage mpo nie, na mpenatwe ansa na aware.”
What hurt me the most was not even the broken television. It was the fact that she had poured the remaining groundnut soup all over my kitchen floor.
I sat on the floor in my hall for almost an hour with my hands on my head. Later, I called my friends to come around. After listening to my side of the story, they asked me questions I did not have good answers for.
“Were you two dating?”
“Had you ever slept together?”
“Did you buy the tablet for her?”
“So why exactly did you slap her?”
All my responses were no.
She was staying in Kasoa, but I did not know her exact location. If I had, I would have gone after her. I tried to act remorseful, hoping I could somehow convince her to come back. I said sorry’s countless times and promised it would never happen again. She didn’t budge, “Yes, it will not, because you are never going to see me again.” And she meant it.
I heard she had gone for police training without telling me, I would have been very helpful. She stopped attending our group events completely. I even created different numbers and tried to reach her by pretending to be someone else, but she did not respond. It was as if she had erased herself from my life.
Before I left Ghana, I never saw her again. Sometimes she still crosses my mind, and I just shake my head.
The only thing I genuinely miss is her food, especially that groundnut soup. That Kasoa girl showed me serious shege. But then again, why would I slap someone who was not even my girlfriend over a tablet I did not even buy?
I Called My Girlfriend And Another Man Answered The Phone
Recently, I came across her Facebook profile. I went through it and smiled. She still looks beautiful, and she now has a lovely daughter too. The first thought that came to my mind was, who had the courage to have a child with this woman? Then I laughed at myself for even thinking that.
I said a quiet prayer for her daughter, hoping she grows into an even kinder person than her mother. Looking back now, despite everything that happened, she was genuinely one of the nicest people I have ever met.
Since meeting her, I don’t joke with anyone called Akos, Akosua, or Esi. I just assume they’re all crazy.
—Jeremy
This story you just read was sent to us by someone just like you. We know you have a story too. Email it to us at [email protected]. You can also drop your number and we will call you so you tell us your story.
#SB<>
