I was twenty years old and going through relationship problems. The men I loved treated me like an object. When They wanted sex, I gave them. When They wanted someone to run an errand, there I was. When they wanted someone to love honestly, they turned their back on me. I had no meaning. My parents didn’t care about me and where I found myself. We were four. When they broke up, they broke up with us too so we wandered wherever the wind could carry us.

I met Sammy, a twenty-seven-year-old man going through a relationship problem of his own. The woman he dated for three years turned her back on him and married a guy from abroad. We both had hurts to heal and thought we could find healing from each other. When we talked about our individual heartbreaks and saw the sameness of the pattern that ran through our stories, we fell in love with each other’s struggles.

He didn’t propose to me until after our first sex. I asked him, “Who are we?” He looked away from my naked body and answered, “You’re my girlfriend. Didn’t you know?”

Previously, a man telling me this would have caused sparks to fly or butterflies in my tummy or make my head spin like a carousel. I didn’t feel any of that. It was just empty like the careless whispers the wind makes at night. I knew I didn’t love him but at that moment, I needed a man to rest on so I accepted to be his girlfriend.

Months later, I caught him cheating. He apologized. He blamed the devil and promised to be better. I didn’t love him so finding him cheating didn’t hurt the way the previous ones did. I mean the ones my exes did to me.

He got abusive. It could be a slap in the face, a heavy knock on the head Or a whip from his belt hook. He’ll beat me up and give me alcohol to drink. He’ll whisper in my ears, “Take this. It will numb the pain.” When there was a bruise on my skin, he would pour alcohol on it and say, “It will make healing come faster.”

I started loving alcohol. I was in a very bad place I fell easily in love with things that promised healing. Alcohol healed my bruises and numbed the pain, not only the physical pain but the emotional ones so I got addicted to alcohol. I would drink it when I’m happy, when I’m sad, when I’m in pain, when I’m finding it hard to sleep. These problems were perpetually living with me so it meant that I always had a reason to drink.

Sammy found a job for me in a bar managed by his friend. There was no safety or calm in that bar but it offered me the opportunity to earn my own money so I took it. I went to work in the afternoon and closed late at night. A customer could grab your ass or boobs and you would have no right to reprimand him. If you do, you’ll lose your job.  I wanted to save enough money and go back home to start a new life so I didn’t leave. I was in a mess but somewhere deep inside the mess, I wanted to do right by myself.

I found myself pregnant one day. I was only twenty-two with nothing in my name except a boyfriend who beat me every day and a job that provided a conducive environment for my abusers. I said to myself, “No I won’t keep it.”

I didn’t tell Sammy about it because I knew he would tell me to abort it and still not do anything about it. A friend showed me a hospital I could get it done.

I called him on the phone and told him I was pregnant. Before I could add, “But I want to get rid of it…” He screamed, “Gracious God, is that true? It means we are going to be parents?”

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I was shocked he could find happiness in my pregnancy so I decided to kill his happiness before he could go further. I said, “No we are not going to be parents. I’m on my way to get rid of it.”

His voice mellowed. Like a child meeting fear for the first time. He said slowly, picking his words one after the other, “Efua, please listen to me. Don’t do it. Don’t kill our baby. I promise I’ll be a good dad. I’ll take very good care of him. Don’t do it.”

I told him I was going to think about it but when the line dropped, I went to the hospital and a few minutes later it was done. The pain was unbearable but I figured it was a better pain than what would have happened if I had the child. I was hiding in a friend’s place. Sammy was going around looking for me. He called but I didn’t answer. Three days later when the pain was down, I called him and gave him the news.

He said, “Do me one last favour. Lose my number.”

The angst in his voice got to me so I cried but I didn’t regret what I’d done. I didn’t love him to bear his child. He was not good for me. When I told him about the pregnancy, he said he would be a good dad to the child but made no mention of being a good husband to me. He didn’t care about me so I owed him no care. I packed the little things life had bestowed on me and travelled back home to live with my mom.

Eleven years later, I still think about this baby I never had. Not in a regretful way but I imagine who she would have been if I had her. In my imagination, she has a name. She’s Ella and was born with beautiful curly hair that glistens when it sees the sunlight. I see happy parents going around with their kids and I tell myself, “Ella would have been like this by now” I count the years for her, “She would have been four by this time.” She would have been five and pretty this year.”

Years after I’d lost Sammy’s contact just as he wanted me to, I was on Facebook searching for him, hoping to see who he had become. People with his name were a lot. I would close the search and move on with my life and that of Ella’s.

One night I couldn’t sleep. I lay sleepless until Sammy came to mind again. I opened Facebook, typed his name and slowly went through the faces. I would open each account and see if it was him. Hours later, I saw an account of a man surrounded by three kids. I tapped on it and it was my Sammy. He had changed. A lot. He didn’t have hair but this profile had a lot of bushy hair. His cheeks were fat and his eyes sunk.

I was on his timeline all night but I couldn’t see the mother of his children. When each of his children was born, he made an update on his timeline but no mother was mentioned. I checked his bio and it stated, “Single.”

I went into his DM and said, “Good to see you happy. Three kids. Wow. My greetings to your wife.”

I got a response a week later. He said, “When I asked you to lose my number, I meant lose everything, including the memory of me. I’m blocking you.”

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He hadn’t blocked me then but days later, I couldn’t find his account again. He never forgave me but I never regret my action. Though I see Ella in everyone’s child, I would like to assume she’s happy she didn’t make it into the chaotic family I would have created with Sammy. She won and her memories are enough to keep me going.

—Efua

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