How would you feel should your expectations be violated? When your sense of world and control is assaulted? When the one person you imagined to be yours and could provide you with security is taken away from you for no reason at all? – DBM
“When I met my late husband, he was on the run. Some people were after a document he had against them, and was trying to keep himself and the information he had in his possession, safe. It was 10:15 pm, on the motorway to Tema, when he appeared from the bush, gasping for air and looking round for an escape. He was sweating all over, and looking terribly afraid. I wasn’t sure what was going on with him but he made the attempt to stop my car. He tried standing in the middle to the road, in my lane, to draw my attention. He didn’t scare me. He looked nothing close to an armed robber. He was that afraid of something, someone, and that was what caught my attention.
I give lifts to people, naturally, especially when I am driving alone. Unless you weren’t heading my route, I wouldn’t mind giving you a ride. My late husband looked like a mess that evening, and I cannot forget the horror on his face that day. He had both hands up, palms open, in the middle of the road. Something in his right palm also caught my attention. There was something stuck in that hand. He made me understand he was being chased by a group of guys, and he needed help. He begged for a ride and I allowed him in.
He mentioned his name, and asked of mine. My concentration was on that right palm. I asked what was in his palm, and he showed me. It was a pen drive. He had used a gum to stick there. I was curious, so I probed further. It contained information that was ultimately used to prosecute his former superiors at work. He alighted at a bus stop, thanked me, and then asked if he could have my contact number. I said no, but he kept insisting on wanting to share an information with me. I asked for his number instead, and promised to call or text. He sped off.
I did not forget about him, even though I had not contacted him in weeks. I could not forget about him because he was cute, like, really cute. Even in that state, when he had tried to fake a smile at me, it was still beautiful. I loved the warmth in his smile and it was all over me somehow. I was 32 years old then, so I waited until the 32nd day after our first encounter before texting him with a “Hello!” He texted back asking if it was me. I said ‘yes’. Then he called. I answered the phone and he had a rather relaxed tone of voice this time round. He asked me to go to my car and check under the seat he sat on that evening. He had stuck the gummed pen-drive there. He was still in hiding, from what he had made me to understand, and wanted me to contact a lawyer he trusted.
For some reason, I couldn’t forgo the thought of a possible scam or kind of game, but something about the short memory he left with me in the car made me want to also trust and be of any kind of help to him. He gave me a number to call and I was just to drop the drive at any location of my choosing, and then, leave. I did just that, without bothering to feed my curiosity. The un-repented me would have checked the contents on that drive but I didn’t. It was none of my business.
He kept checking on me from time to time and the friendship took off from there. I liked him, and he liked me too. He wouldn’t tell me where he was hiding. He felt as at that time that his life was in danger. He used our chats as a distraction until whoever was after him was put behind bars. And that was after two and a half years. We became close friends, fell in love on phone, and planned a possible first date, and a wedding after our third date, all on the phone. We had not met in any of those two and a half years we were interacting on phone. He made me understand it was for our own good, especially, mine. He did not want to put my life in any danger.
But truth was, I did not want to feel safe. I wanted to be close to him. I wanted to go through it all with him. But it was his call to make. We planned our first date alright to the last detail – as communicated on phone, and it was perfect. He was the perfect gentleman. On our third date, we were sitting next to each other on a bus to Kumasi. I was on leave, and he wanted to make my break a memorable one. He could never shut up in the bus. He loved to talk with me, and I liked talking to him too. He asked me to marry him in the bus. It was nothing grand. The bus was moving alright, and he went on one knee to ask me to consider being his wife.
I wasn’t sure of what I was feeling but I wanted to believe it was love. He took me to his house, and he had a whole weekend planned for us. He loved to plan ahead, and that was one thing I liked about him. I toured the house when he had gone out to get some stuffs he had ordered for us. In one of his rooms, he had bought his wedding suits and shoes, rings, Kente, almost everything needed to marry a woman traditionally. He used to ask about my sizes, from shoes to dress size to even panties. Then, I thought it was funny when he would ask, however, I understood. He had everything planned.
He returned with so much for us to eat that evening. We talked at length that night before going to sleep. I slept in the Masters bedroom, while he slept in one of the other rooms. That was the last time I saw him alive because I was the only one awake the following morning. He died in his sleep. That wasn’t even the horrifying part, I knew no family member of his. Two days after sending his corpse to the hospital and then, helping the police with their investigations, I got a call from his mother, who wanted to know about his whereabouts. He had told his mother all about me, and even sent her photos of our first and second dates. We were to meet with her that Sunday, to be formerly introduced.
The fact that his mother wouldn’t stop addressing me as her ‘in-law’, even while she mourned her son and tried everything possible to get the police to stop harassing me was amazing. I had never known that much acceptance and love. My late boyfriend and almost husband, was a Fante. I still live in the house. His family gave it to me. They claimed that would have been their son’s wish for me. I am married with two kids now, and my husband and the kids live in my late love’s house.
On the 13th of June, every year, I mourn his passing and appreciate his love for me. The fact that he came into my life to change everything about me can never be forgotten.” – From OA-A