My mother had me when she was 17 years old. The man who impregnated her was her teacher. Both families decided I shouldn’t be born, but my grandmother changed her mind at the hospital gate. In my opinion, they should have gone ahead and done it. I choose not to have existed over senseless suffering that was my childhood.

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My parents treated me as if I was just a tool they could use to hurt each other. One of them would take me to live with them, only to neglect me until I’d end up with some relative. When I was six years old, they got into an argument at a bus stop about how I was such an inconvenience to them. Out of anger, my mother hopped into a car and left me with my father. Can you believe that the useless sperm donor also walked away and abandoned me there?

It was one of his colleagues who chanced upon the fight who took me to her house. I lived with her for close to two years before my father came for me. That woman, may her soul rest in peace. She was a saint!

Unfortunately, she had older children who were not as empathetic as her. She was a teacher who lived in the girls’ dormitory and came home only on weekends. In her absence, I had to go house to house to help wash utensils just so I could eat leftovers. I stopped school at some point. Also, I had no sleeping place until weekends when she came home.

When my father finally came for me, I was on admission at the hospital. They had scheduled me for surgery for intestinal perforations due to starvation. He asked for me to be discharged without medical advice, and took me straight to my grandmother.

My grandmother then took me to my aunt. While my aunt’s children went to private school, I sold wire mesh, soap, and matches to make money for the house, not that the money was even needed.

I’ve lived all over with all sorts of people. Once, I even slept in marketplaces because one of my father’s girlfriends drove me out of his house.

My mother got married along the line and came for me. But some mothers will sacrifice their first daughters for a marriage without a thought. My stepdad would beat me at the least provocation. One night, he drove both of us out, and we had nowhere to go, so we slept at the beach. My mother was pregnant, and I was so terrified I couldn’t stop trembling.

During secondary school days, I used to refuse to go home for midterm break for fear of my stepfather’s tantrums.

I’m deaf in my left ear, have a broken neck, and a misaligned spine due to the physical abuse. One night, he came home drunk and beat the living hell out of me. I practically had to drag myself through the rain to a church for refuge. The whole time, my mother sat and watched and snarled, “I have asked you to go and look for your father. If you stay here and this man maims you, I don’t care!” All this happened because I refused to let my stepdad touch me inappropriately.

When I left home that night, I never looked back. I stayed with my pastor and his wife, and slaved away doing odd jobs so I could put myself through training school. I scrubbed bathrooms and cleaned doctors’ apartments to gather money to pay my fees.

I worked like a mad person and earned the nickname “Angie diɛ adwuma bia obɛyɛ.” Angie will do any work. Of course, I had to. I knew I had no one.

I’ve sold water, toffees, fruits, mashke (mashed kenkey), anadwo tea (street tea), farming, and cleaning. I was willing to do anything to survive and keep my virginity for marriage. I won’t lie, my struggles made me versatile and courageous.

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Over the years, I’ve had to learn to become quiet and find solace in solitude and in the family God has blessed me with.

I didn’t have a sense of belonging growing up, so how I comfort myself now is by being there for my six-year-old daughter. I am to her what and who I needed to be there for me growing up. I anticipate her needs and advocate for her. Whatever made me cry myself to sleep at night, I make sure she never comes close to. I discipline her so we can both break cycles imposed on me by the people who raised me.

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My mother now always begs to see my daughter and spend time with her. Though I hold nothing against her, I keep her at arm’s length while doing my best to take care of her.

As for the sperm donor, the same way he left me on my grandmother’s floor when I was meant to have surgery, I leave him to life. I will not even go for his funeral if he should leave this world before me.

—Angie

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