When I and Nana were together, we thought we could conquer the world even without trying. We were young and wild. He was twenty-two when I found him and I was twenty. Very naïve. He was the one who held my hands through life and showed me a lot of things I thought I knew but didn’t actually know. At his twenty-two, he had his life figured out. He knew he wanted to be—an engineer. So, everything he did day in and day out was centered around his dream of becoming an engineer. One day when he asked what I wanted to become, I said, “I don’t know. Maybe someday, I will figure it out.” He said, “You love writing. Why don’t you become a journalist?”

That question stuck with me for days. There was some truth in it so I called him one day and told him, “I want to be a journalist. Where do I start from?” He said, “I know some friends who are doing that. I will let you talk to them.” I a year later, I was in school studying to become a journalist. I must admit, I was doing it because he said I could. I was doing it for him—to make him happy.

On his twenty-fifth birthday, He bought himself a motto bike. He told me about it before buying it. I remember trying to talk him out of buying that bike. I told him, “Motorbikes are not safe around here. See the number of accidents people encounter while on Motorbikes.” He said, “It all depends on how you drive it. People have accidents with bikes doesn’t mean we should stop riding them. See cars. Accidents every day yet people buy them every day. Even planes get accidents but we never stop taking them.”

When he bought the bike, I was the first person he drove to. In front of my house, he said, “Come let me give you a ride.” I said, “I’m scared.” He said, “Get on first and you’ll realize it’s not scary at all.” I said, “No, I don’t want to.” He said, “Do it for me.” So, I strapped on the helmet and I jumped behind the bike as he drove away. I held on tight—too tight as if my life depended on it. He screamed from his helmet, “Hey, relax. I’m not going to throw you off.” I screamed, “I don’t trust you.”

My first time sitting behind a motorbike was with him. My last time was also with him. He drove that bike for only six months until he tumbled off that bike one day and hit his head against the tarred floor and went into a coma. The only time he drove that bike without a helmet on happened to be the time he had the accident. I remember crying next to his hospital bed; “Nana, I told you but you won’t listen. These things kill faster but you won’t listen to me.” He never said a word to me or to anyone until he died four days later.

This story is not about him so I won’t go on with how I suffered for months after his death. I won’t talk about the incessant dreams I had about him each night when I went to sleep. I won’t talk about the promise I made to myself never to love another. Again, I won’t talk about the fact that I couldn’t eat for months and developed an ulcer because of that. I suffered but two years later, I found myself again in the arena of love, ready to wear my love’s armor and love again. His name is Albert. He is the first guy I opened up to without holding anything back. When he said he loved me, I told him jovially, “I’m sorry but you have to compete with the memory of nana’s ghost.” He asked about Nana and I told him everything. I told him, “For two good years I haven’t had the courage to go on again. Not that I don’t have the strength—I’ve recovered long ago but I’m scared I may not find someone better like him. If that happens, I will always have to compare the two and it won’t be healthy for me.”

He said, “There’s always someone better. I’m not saying I will be better than him but you won’t know until you give me the chance.” So, I gave him the chance—I gave love a chance in my life again. Albert didn’t need to be better than Nana. At some point, I have to accept that the two men are different and can only bring different things into my life. Of all the good things Nana brought into my life, he had his shortcomings too just like I have mine. I didn’t need to compare the two. I loved Nana but his time has passed. It was Albert’s time and I learned to give him all the love he deserved. The good thing is, he reciprocated the love and went the extra mile to make me feel better than I used to be.

April 30th, 2021 was exactly three years since Nana died. I woke up feeling heavy—it was like a fog had settled on my heart, forcing it to beat slower than normal. I went through my photo archives, picked three photos of Nana and me, and posted them in his memorial. I wrote; “I tried to forget but it’s hard. RIP Nana.” Surprisingly, after posting that, I started feeling normal again. Friends who knew us started messaging and giving me words of motivation. Our mutual friends started making jokes about the whole thing until I started laughing it off.

Around mid-afternoon, Albert called. He was clearly angry. He shouted, “Delete that post. What kind of childish behavior is that?” He went on and on ranting. I said, “I didn’t know it will make you feel bad. I’m sorry.” I deleted the post, sent him a message, and told him I’d deleted them. I apologized again. He sent a long message telling me how he was feeling bad and how my post had made it look like I didn’t treasure him and how some of his friends were even teasing him because of that.” I said, “Forgive me. I miscalculated.”

I thought that would end the conversation but no. For several days, this guy kept giving me attitude. He won’t pick my calls and he won’t reply to my messages. I went to his house and asked, “Is there something else you need me to do before you forgive me?” He said, “You’ve hurt me badly. I’m deeply embarrassed. I don’t think I can forget easily.”

Honestly, I thought he was overacting so I said, “Is your reaction about the post I made or there’s something else you’re not telling me?”

That got him more infuriated and made him say things I didn’t expect him to say. He said, “If ghosts had ‘joysticks’, I bet you’ll still be sleeping with his ghost.” That hurt but I kept my calm. He finally said, “Give me some space. I don’t want you around. It gets me angry.” Before leaving his place I told him, “You need space. You have it. Let me know when you need me in your space again. I will come.”

I thought it was going to last for a few days. Two, three, four weeks later this guy never called. Though I wanted to call him each day, I forced myself not to call him. It was hard but I tried. Many days passed and he never called. I told myself, “Maybe he had moved on. Let me move on too.” I forced myself not to think about him again. I forced myself to move on though it wasn’t easy.

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Two months later he called. I picked. He said, “So you’ve grown wings. You did something that made me angry and I stopped calling you. Instead of you to call and apologize, you’re there feeling big, right?” I said, “Albert, how may I help you?” He kept ranting for minutes. He was trying so hard to make me feel guilty for his mistakes. I kept asking the same question, “How may I help you?” He dropped the line. I didn’t call back. In the evening he called again, ranting. I said, “If you called to make me feel guilty then you won’t succeed. I’m not fighting or exchanging words with you because there’s no reason to do that. I’ve moved on so there’s no need to cry over spilled milk. Just leave me alone.”

He cut the line again and didn’t call back until recently he came back all sober with apologies and remorse asking me to forgive his overreaction and come back together again. I’ve told him over and over again that I’m not going to accept him back into my life but he keeps coming. He had run to my siblings asking them to intervene on his behalf. He had run to friends and some people I didn’t think he would go to, all to get me back. I don’t want him back. Even If he brings the moon and sprinkles the stars in my hair, I won’t accept him back. My problem now is, how do I stop him from bothering me? I’ve threatened to report him to the police (which I think is extreme) yet he keeps coming.

Is there any strategy I can employ to get him off my back once and for all?

–Nhyira 

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