My school father was a tyrant. He stole my food, sent me on stupid errands, made me sleep under his bed, and sometimes made me fan him until he fell asleep. I don’t remember how he became my school father but I thought having someone like him would stop other seniors from bullying me but no. He bullied me and created opportunities for other seniors to bully me. I didn’t like him but he was all I had. I couldn’t change him. I couldn’t walk to any other senior and say, “I don’t like my school father. He breaks into my chop box and steals my food. Please, be my school father so he stays away from me.” I couldn’t do that. Once a senior chooses you as his school son, it remains until the senior complete and leaves the school or he himself has to proclaim that you’re no longer his school son. The latter wasn’t going to happen so I started counting the days he would complete school. I needed my freedom. 

If you have a school father, you’ll have a school mother. Most likely. One evening after entertainment, my school father called me. Just when I was about to get to where he was, he screamed, “Kneel down. I say kneel down before you get here.” I knelt down. He said, “Now, move slowly forward until you get to where I am.” The ground was uneven. The floor was covered with gravels but I moved slowly on my knees until I got to where he was standing with a girl. The girl said, “Oh Abaa, how could you do this to your own school son?” He answered, “He doesn’t respect so anytime I get him, I show him his level. Also, he’s coming to meet my queen. There should be a difference. I can stand before you but he can’t.”

He slapped my back and shouted, “You see your school mother? Look at her face and say she’s beautiful.” I did. He screamed, “Say it louder, I didn’t hear you.” I said it loud and slowly; “My school mom, you day beeeee!” He slapped my back again and said, ”Now get up.”

The following Monday, I saw the girl at the school assembly. She was in the first-year line. She smiled and I smiled back. I asked, “You are in your first year?” She nodded. After school assembly, she asked my name and I told her. She said, “Don’t soften yourself for Abaa to treat you like that. Report him the next time he does that.” I responded, “I’m used to it. Don’t worry.”

Knowing she was a first-year student changed everything. It even changed the filter through which I saw her. I thought she was beautiful. I wondered how a girl like her would say yes to a crook like my school father. He had no qualities a woman should fall for. He wasn’t an athlete, he wasn’t a smart student, he wasn’t a dancer. All the things guys were that attracted a lady, my school father wasn’t. 

I was waiting patiently for him to complete school so I could hit on my school mother. I stayed closer to her. Even when I hadn’t been sent to her, I went to her. We talked about our home life and the dream that brought us to Ghana National College. We were that close but when my school father completed school, everything changed. Prisca also changed. She became a hardcore, something I never saw in her when my school father was around. She dressed differently. She walked with wild girls. They formed a group that would perform on stage every Saturday during entertainment. I was a soft guy. I didn’t see myself getting a yes from a woman like her so I stayed out of her lane but once in a while, we talked.

She fell in love again with a third-year student. She told me, “No, I can’t date my mate. From chop box to chop box? No, I can’t do that. A girl like me can’t be on that level where I would be seen dating my classmate or year mate. It can’t happen.” That put the final nail in the coffin of my hope. But we were friends until we completed school. When we left the walls of Ghana National College in 2003, I never heard from her again. It was still a small world but without phones and social media, the world looked like an ocean with heavy tides. 

After university, I traveled to Australia, studied for two years, and later had a job. My job was too good I didn’t see myself coming to Ghana anytime soon but I kept in touch with friends. One day, one of our year mates got married and posted a photo of their wedding on Facebook. I wrote my comment under the photo congratulating him for his new marriage. In the evening when I was about to sleep, I had a notification from Facebook that said, “Prisca commented on so-so-and-so’s post.” I froze. “Prisca? My own Prisca or someone else?” I went to check and it was Prisca. My school mother!!

I didn’t sleep that night. I went through her profile and watched every single photo she had ever posted on Facebook. She had a photo of her SHS days in her photo album. I saved that photo. I read everything she had ever written on Facebook. The memes, the silly comments, the videos, everything. I even tapped on her Instagram link and went there too. I saw beautiful pictures of her. She had changed. She no longer looked like the girl I met on campus. She looked like a woman who had gone through life. She was still pretty, a midwife, and was doing very well with her job. I was tempted to say something but I didn’t. I sent her a friends request but her friend’s list was full so I became a follower. 

I followed her silently for weeks. She became the reason I went on Facebook after a day’s work. I wondered if she would remember me. I wondered if she could see my photos and say, “Yes, I know you. Abaa’s school son.” All aside, I wondered if she was still single and would say yes to my proposal. I stopped wondering and instead slid into her DM one evening. My message read like a letter. The kind of letters we used to write back in school.

Dear Prisca,

It’s been fourteen years since we saw each other so I will pardon you if you don’t remember who I am but let me walk you through the memory lane of our days in school. The first time we met, I was kneeling on the floor because according to my school father, I wasn’t worthy to stand before you. You were my school father’s girlfriend. We became friends. We met a lot and we talked. But there’s something you didn’t know. Maybe it’s time for me to confess. I was in love with you. So much in love, I was waiting for my school father to leave school so I could propose. He left school and you changed. I was a wallflower but you were the life of the party. To make matters worse, you fell in love again with another senior. I was in pain but I was waiting for that senior to also leave so I can propose. The senior left and you told me, “I can’t date my mate. From chop box to chop box? No, I can’t” That was when the hope died.

I found you here recently and I’ve gone through every photo you’ve ever posted. The feeling here is still the same. I don’t know your situation now but I hope you’re not married and I hope you’ve changed your mind about dating your year mate. If you have, please I’m still here—still kneeling here because I’m not worthy to stand before you. But this kneeling is for a different purpose. I’m proposing. If you’re available, we can marry in February.

It took me two good weeks to get a response and it simply read, “You’re very crazy. When we were we where were you? Now you get mouth to talk. Keep sitting on your knees. Your punishment for being a coward. Laughing emojis”

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We talked but it was clear she took everything I wrote as a joke—a joke old schoolmates crack. But I said, “No it’s not a joke. This is how true men propose. We don’t beat about the bush. Straight to the point. You’re not married. I don’t know about a boyfriend but hey, I’m ready. We have only three months ahead of us.” 

”Seriously? Just like that?” 

“Seriously. Just like that.” 

“I want to see you to believe it. I want to hear it from your mouth.” 

“Let’s do a video call.” 

“No that won’t do. I want face-to-face. I want to hear it live.” 

“Then you have to wait until December when I come to Ghana.”

“You’re not in Ghana? Where are you? It’s already December.

“I will be in Ghana on Xmas day. That’s when I can see you.”

“No problem. I will wait.”

We met on Christmas day. I did the proposal again. She wouldn’t let me kneel on one leg because she said it was embarrassing. She said yes. We couldn’t marry in February as I promised but February and April aren’t far from each other. We got married in April 2019. In January 2020, she relocated to Australia. She came right on time. Weeks later, the world closed down because of the pandemic but I had all I needed with me so I didn’t care about the world and its problems. We came out of the lockdown with a pregnancy. We have a boy with us now. He makes all the difference. But soon, all that would change because another one is on the way coming. 

Don’t play with second chances. It might be the last chance. I made mine counted and it’s the reason I have her here with me. I call her mine because she’s my wife. My happy ending. 

—Jack

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