There is something I’ve carried in my heart for years, and today, I just want to let it out.

My husband’s colleague moved into our compound some years ago. I had just given birth to our first child. He came with his fiancée, and it was my husband who had to be involved before they could get a room in the compound.

I wouldn’t say we were best of friends, but we were good friends who celebrated milestones together, prayed together, and looked out for each other.

A year or two after they got married, children were not coming, and they were worried. So, I introduced them to our family pastor and asked him to join them in prayers so that they too would have children of their own. It didn’t take too long for them to conceive.

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From the conception to delivery, as someone who had been there before, I helped her navigate the whole pregnancy.

One New Year’s Day, that same pastor came to our house to pray for our family. My brother even stepped out to buy anointing oil when it was needed. Before the prayers ended, our neighbour said he was running late for work and asked to be prayed for first. I thought my brother, who had gone through the trouble of buying the oil, should have been first, but I kept quiet.

After the prayer, the anointing oil had spilled on him, and he asked if I had tissue. I honestly told him we had run out and suggested he could quickly get some from his room since we lived only a few steps apart.

He got angry because I said that. He came back home with a toilet roll as a present to me later that evening because I had said I didn’t have one.

Everyone may have seen it differently, but to me, it felt humiliating.

We were praying together every time they went to the embassy for their visa. Every step of the way, we fasted and prayed that they would get it. And they did. They sold all their belongings before they left, and we bought some of them. Even the coins he said he had saved up, I bought them for my shop for 350 Ghana cedis.

The car they had booked to pick them up cancelled at the last hour. Again, it was my husband who drove them to the airport. They didn’t buy fuel or even try to pay for his time. I didn’t expect our communication with them after they got there to be consistent, but it has been far and few between.

One day, the only message I received from his wife was that her brother would come for the keys to their apartment and that I should hand them over.

No “How have you been?”

No “How’s your family?”

I hear they are in Ghana now, and these people haven’t even passed by to say hello to us or to my husband.

And it is bothering me. How can people be this ungrateful, considering how close we were before they left and during the time they lived in the house?

The thing is, we didn’t have any issues while they were still in Ghana. We were cool and happy. There was no fight, no major misunderstanding, nothing that would make me think our friendship had changed.

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But everything they have done since they left seems to prove that they didn’t cherish us the way we cherished them. Is it that we took the friendship too seriously and they treated it like some kind of joke? I understand that these things may happen, but really, hmm. I am still coming to the understanding that some friendships don’t end with a fight. They only teach you a lesson.

_ Rita

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