My father died when I was seven. I didn’t see much of him but I still remember his face, his grip when he held me by the hand and how he scolded me whenever I went wrong. I still remember that eccentric mustache that he allowed to grow until they covered his upper lip completely. Today, I look at his pictures and I ask myself, “How was my mom able to kiss this without swallowing a tone of hair?” Maybe she had a toothpick on the side of the bed she used to remove hair from her teeth after kissing him. It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead and gone. “We can’t speak ill of the dead,” they say. Maybe we can’t also tease the mustache of a dead man. Who knows?”

My mom took over the care of me completely until she too died just a day after I completed SHS. I was too young to cry over the death of my father but my mom’s death brought out all the tears I couldn’t cry for my father. I didn’t eat anything for days and I didn’t feel like going on in life. Life threw me a hardball and I asked, “Where do I go from here now that the pillar of my life is gone?” For weeks I lived alone in the house my mom lived in and died. Neighbors were kind to me. They gave me food and tried to be there for me. During the funeral, I met my father’s junior brother who asked how I was surviving. “I live alone. I’m surviving on providence and of the kindness of neighbors who see me as one of their own.” 

He told me, “Get ready. After the funeral, you’re leaving with me to Sunyani. I’ve been a bad uncle but forgive me. Since your dad died we’ve kept our distance. We knew your mother was there. Now that she too is gone, I can’t continue to keep my distance. You’re blood and blood sticks because it’s thicker.”

After the funeral, I followed him to Sunyani where I lived with him and his wife and three children. My uncle was very supportive but his wife saw me as a threat. I didn’t know the kind of power I had that she saw me as a threat but she was determined to break me down. She realized she couldn’t sack me from the house so she did everything within her power to torment me until I run away from the house. I cooked every food in the house but I didn’t eat until her kids finish eating and leave me leftovers. 

My uncle fought her often, telling her to stop maltreating me. She said, “Since she came around, all your attention had been on her. Is it your fault that her parents are dead?” I was fast becoming the problem in the marriage so I hatched a plan to run away. I lied in bed, scratching the skies with my fingers and drawing up my escape plan. “I will pack the little that I have in a polythene bag. In the night when they are asleep, I will sneak out and run away.” Everything looked perfect until I asked myself where. “Where do I go to?” 

I had nowhere to go. 

I went to the market one day and met the only friend I’d made around the neighborhood. She too was living with an aunt who was determined to give her a red apple. “Just a bite and all your problems will go away.” But she’ll take a bite and she won’t wake up again. That friend of mine had a master plan like mine—to flee and not come back. The only difference was that she knew where she was going. Accra. I asked her, “Can I go with you?” I want to run away too.” She said, “If only you have lorry fare, then we can run together.”

I put money together—a cedi at a time made a mighty ocean that was enough to carry me to Accra. 

When we got to Accra, we went to live with an old woman she said was her grandma. The woman was kind. She liked me a lot because I was always in the house with her. She told me, ”I see a bright future in you. Don’t waste the light you have now. You’ll need it in the future.” I sold water and sold chips. I sold sugar cane and sold biscuits in the busy traffic of Accra. But I knew that wasn’t the life I wanted for myself. I knew I wanted to go back to school. I knew I wanted to study to become an accountant. Before that old woman told me I had a bright future ahead of me, I knew I deserved a better future than my present. 

I was walking around the streets of Dzorwulu in Accra when I found a signboard that read, “Workers wanted” in front of a hotel. I walked in and made inquiries. I was directed to the manager, a young man in his early thirties. He said, “All the positions here taken except cleaners.” I said, “I will do it.” He looked at me from hair to toe. He said, “It’s a very tedious job. Looking at you, I don’t think you’ll survive it.” I said, “I’ve been through hell and back. There’s no storm I can’t weather.” He smiled at me and I smiled back. He said, “If you do it for days and you think you can’t handle it again, please don’t run without telling me. Just inform me before you leave.” I told him, “I won’t leave, I promise you.”

My job description was simple but long. I clean the rooms and lay beds before clients come in. While they are there, I had to stay close so I can clean after them. In my manager’s word, “You’re the ghost that cleans and make everything better without being seen. Don’t talk to clients. When they ask you a question, direct them to the reception.” 

I wore my white straight dress and covered my hair as I pushed my cart around the hotel floors cleaning rooms for a living. I did the job for eight months. I earned myself a new name, “Madam spotless,” because spots ran away when they heard the sound of my cart approaching. I was made the chief cleaner. All cleaners passed through my hand. My first position of authority. I was twenty-three. I felt fulfilled. 

One afternoon my manager called me to his office. He asked me, “Do you have any certificate at all?” I said, “Yeah. Senior high certificate.” He said, “You’ve done any job connected to customer service before?” I said, “No I haven’t.” He told me, “We need a waitress. One of them resigned and we want to replace her. I’d rather hire from inside than outside.”

Days later, I was in a black skirt and a white top taking orders from hungry customers. From Madam spotless to “Hello, what do you want from our menu?” The money was better than being a cleaner so I started saving to rent a place of my own. Each day, my boss will call me to his office advising me against clients who want my number and clients who will talk me into accepting their complimentary cards. He said, “Remember your work first before anything. You’re one of our best workers and I don’t want to lose you because of indiscipline on your part. You serve people but remember, you’re still a ghost.”

I had a lot of complementary cards but I didn’t call any of them. A guy once told me, “You’re the reason I come here every day. I love to watch you do your work. I love to hear you talk. I will love to have you next to me each morning. Why don’t we start from you giving me your number?” I said in my head, “You don’t see me. I’m a ghost.” Outwardly, I smiled and said, “There are cameras around. If I give you my number they’ll sack me.” One day, when he paid his bill, I found a complementary card and a cheque of GHc1,000 in the bill booklet.” He winked at me and left. From that day, he stopped coming to the restaurant.

He left me conflicted. “Should I call him or I should call him not?” 

His complementary card was under my pillow. I looked at it every night when I got home. The truth is, his cheque was the final amount I needed to rent a place of my own. I called my pillow Mr. Gibson. That was the man’s name. Two, three months later, I forgot about everything and stopped thinking about whether to call him or not.

One evening, I closed from work very late. I was at the entrance of the hotel waiting for a taxi when a car stopped right in front of me. The light was blinding so I didn’t see which car it was until after a while when I got my sight back. It was my boss—the manager of the place. He said, “Hop in.” I did. “Where do you live?” I told him. “I’m taking you home, I hope you don’t mind?” I said, “It would be my pleasure.” While on the way going he said, “Tell me your story.” I told him about the death of my father. I told him he had a mustache that covered his upper lip. I told him about the death of my mother. I told him she loved kissing a man with a mustache so she could pick hair out of her teeth later.

When we got to the front of my house he asked, “Would you be my girlfriend?” I said, “What?” As if I didn’t hear his question the first time. He changed into ranting mode, “I know you’ll find it strange. You may think it’s wrong for the boss to date his worker. I’m the one telling you to stay off men. How can I also be the one to ask you out? I’m selfish I know but I’ve been looking at you. There’s this chord that vibrates anytime I see you around. Don’t say no, please.” 

A boss looking vulnerable in front of a girl he bosses around was quite a spectacle. I asked him, “You won’t give me any time to think about it?” “If you need time, you can take it,” he responded.

I liked him too. I liked his personality. He didn’t like to be seen and he didn’t talk a lot. You only saw him when there was a problem. The next day I went to his office. I asked him, ”Do you see me?” He got it so he burst out laughing. When the laughter receded he said, “No I don’t. You’ve perfected your disappearing act. A master of ghosts.” I laughed too. I said, “Thank you for pushing me to be better every day. Yes, I will be your girlfriend as far as you don’t hide me. I’ve stayed hidden all my life. I can’t do it one more time especially in the eyes of the man I love. That will hurt me. That will diminish me. That’s my only problem. I don’t want a man who will hide me from view.

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He changed my job. I became a supervisor—the girl who led from behind. I only had to put everything in order and everyone in their positions, then my job was done for the day. He enrolled me in an online accounting diploma course. I passed with distinction. I got admitted to KNUST-Distance Learning. I did Accounting. I completed with first-class honors. During our graduation when my name was mentioned, I got up, gave my baby to my husband (Yes, I had married my manager and we’ve had a baby. Sorry I kept it from you.) and walked amidst applauds through the aisle for that rolled paper. When I came back my husband said, “I knew you could do it.” I said, ”Thanks for believing in me.”

It turned out that the best thing that could ever happen to a woman is a man who is right for her. When he came into my life, he started directing affairs. I was like a ship that had lost its bearing but he said, “Turn right, turn left, hold on tight to the steering wheel. Don’t close your eyes when the raging storms are approaching. You’re a woman. You’re smart. You can do it. You’ve left grounds spotless before. You can do this too.” Slowly, he helped drive me to the shore—my compass. I’m always rested at the north because that’s where he is.

The girl who ran away with me to Accra had no formal education. She was robbed of her future but I helped her get it back. When my husband was busy directing my ship, I tied her to my tail and pulled her along. She learned catering and everything food. Now she’s part of the kitchen staff at the hotel. My uncle. He’s doing great. I have no one to take care of but him. He’s my dad now. A dad without the mustache that covers his upper lip but I will take him like that.

–Benewaa

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