It was in 2013 when I met my first love. By then, I had completed Senior High School and returned home. She was still in school at the time, set to graduate in 2015. Her name is Korkor.

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We lived in the same community. Actually, we were neighbours. Her family’s house was right behind ours. Her father ran the local drugstore.

Korkor was charming and beautiful. I am not kidding. She was the kind of girl every young guy in town admired. Boys would pretend to buy medicine just for the chance to see her or get a few words with her.

That’s because her father was very strict. He barely let his daughters out. The only time you’d see Korkor was when she was attending to the shop.

I loved her from afar. I wanted to be close to her but doing that without raising suspicion wasn’t easy. So just like the other boys, I would go there to buy medicine. It wasn’t a sustainable plan though. I mean, how many times would I have need for medication?

I had to devise a new plan. I offered to help with her studies. Thankfully, it worked. Her father grew to trust me and allowed me to spend long hours with her at the shop.

When she got comfortable enough around me I expressed my feelings to her.

“Give me some time to think about it,” she said in response.

I was patient. I just stuck around and kept being a friend. Then one day she told me, “I am ready to give us a chance.”

This was in 2014. What we started was beautiful. At night, when her parents were asleep, we’d meet quietly behind her house and do what things lovers do.

We were sure we were being discreet, but before long, we became the talk of the town. The good news is that all the boys who admired her backed away when they saw that I had won.

Our love grew so strong that I was sure nothing would separate us. Even when I moved to Accra for university, the distance didn’t shake us. By and by, she completed SHS in 2015.

Because we both wanted to be close again, I encouraged her to move to Accra. Her father owned a house in the city, so it made sense. She listened to me. She made the move in 2016, and our love continued strongly in the capital.

I am not saying we were perfect. Like every couple, we had our issues. We argued, broke up for a day or two, and then came back stronger. To me, every reconciliation was another sign that we were meant to be.

We dreamed together — about marriage, about travelling the world, about doing life hand in hand. We even started a small business and merged our names as the brand name. That business was a symbol of our future.

To fulfill our plans of leaving Ghana, I started looking for ways to travel abroad. In 2019, I tried to move to Canada, but my visa was denied.

That’s when I noticed the first real shift in Korkor. By 2020, something was different. She became distant. Cold. Guarded. As if she was hiding something from me.

I tried to find out what was going on. I even involved her uncles and our mutual friends whom she respected. She kept telling me, “Everything is fine,” although deep down, I knew something was wrong.

I cried many nights, trying to make sense of everything.

Then one day, I was filled with hope when she told me she was going to visit an uncle. This uncle was one of the people I had reached out to for help. So I thought it would be the perfect chance to surprise her over there so that we would settle things in person.

To my surprise and utter dismay, she wasn’t at her uncle’s place when I got there. I called her, but she didn’t pick up. At some point, she even switched off her phone.

That day broke me, but I didn’t leave her. I still held on to hope that we could fix things. This is Korkor we are talking about. We had been through so much to be broken apart. That’s what I thought.

I was there one evening when my younger sister sent me a message that shook me to the core.

“Maxwell, someone came to the village to ask for Korkor’s hand in marriage.”

I froze when I read the message. I am sure my breathing even ceased for a while.

How? When? Why?

We were still together. Still planning our future. We were supposed to get married in 2021, so why was she marrying another man?

Turns out, Korkor was pregnant for the man.

That week, I cried like a baby.

She didn’t even have the decency to end things properly. She just stopped answering my calls as if all our years together meant nothing to her. To add salt to injury, her new man sent me a message.

“Leave Korkor alone,” he said, “she is with me now, loser.”

Imagine that. After all our years, all our memories, and all the sacrifices we made, I was suddenly a “loser” to someone who had just come into her life.

When her engagement invitations were sent out, my phone blew up. Over 150 missed calls. Countless WhatsApp messages. Everyone wanted answers. I had none.

I was heartbroken. No, I was beyond broken. I felt dead inside.

Thank God for my mother, my late grandmother, and two loyal friends. I don’t know what would have become of me without them.

With their support and comfort, I started the slow journey toward healing. It took over six months before I could even breathe normally again.

As I tell my story today, I still don’t know exactly how I survived that storm.

I’m in the U.S. now. Everything we dreamed of has come to pass for me. I travelled. I am building a good life for myself. But she is missing.

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I’m all alone. There’s no one to hold my hand and say, “Babe, we did it.”

Sometimes I get the urge to call her. Just to say, “Korkor, I made it. Our dreams came true.”

But I remind myself that some chapters must stay closed for the story to continue.

Last year, when I visited Ghana, she wanted to see me. I said no.

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It’s been almost five years since everything fell apart, but sometimes it still feels fresh. Like a scar that never fully fades.

Regardless of the painful memories, I’m finding new ways to be a better man. I am growing into someone the younger me aspired to be. I am still single though. That’s the part that makes me sad.

—Nash

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