He was born and bred in the Volta Region, but he schooled here in Accra. It was during his time at university that a young girl like me fell head over heels in love with him. His name was Selorm.

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As long as he was in Accra, our love blossomed and grew, to the point of jealousy. I told my friends and family about him, that I had met a sweet Efo. Even when school was on vacation and he travelled home, we still talked. Love, they say, knows no distance. That was how our love ran.

When he was back in Accra, we had sex. Casual. It was the yin to our yang. Until he completed school and went back home to start his life there.

Once in a while, he comes to Accra. When he does, it is a sight for sore eyes. I am with him everywhere, every day, almost as if I want to inhale him. But I could not visit him. The situation between us did not allow it.

I got desperate for something more, and I got tired of the rotation we were running. So I started slowly withdrawing from him. He did not understand. After all, when he came to Accra, I warmed his bed, and he did his best to provide for me. But it was not enough. I am a woman. I want the marriage, the happily ever after, the children, the beautiful home. I could not keep up with it any longer.

He tried to charm me with words. It did not work. He tried gifts. It did not work either. Then he got feisty with me, and we had a terrible argument. I ended up blocking him. That fight was in July.

In August, I missed my period. I have always had irregular menstruation, so I told myself it was one of those things. For two days, I slept and woke up with a small voice in my head asking me to take a pregnancy test. I kept cancelling the thought. I feared that what I was thinking would become true. On my way back from work one evening, I bought a test kit and used it in the bathroom. It was positive. “Sometimes the kits are faulty,” I told myself.

I went to a lab near my neighbourhood to confirm it. The result was the same. I was pregnant, almost a month gone.

The first thing I wanted to do was terminate it. I do not have the means for a baby. Maternity clothes. Baby clothes. Antenatal care. Cravings. School fees. I am a child myself, twenty four years old, learning a trade. My parents will knock the life out of me. They speak of me as if I am light itself. And there is the small matter of what the neighbours will say, what society will say.

Because I had blocked him, I hesitated, then unblocked him. Before I could even finish my sentence, he cut in. “I am not the father of that child. Go and look for the father. It has been two months since we last met. Don’t come and put me in trouble, I beg.”

If there is one thing I am good at, it is keeping dates in my mind. The day my parents were born. The day my first crush winked and waved at me during our inter school games. The day I first saw my period. Even the day after we met in July, when I bled and thought it was my period announcing itself. It turned out to be implantation blood.

To prove my truth, I sent him the lab results so he could do his own calculations. He called back, saying everything and nothing, beating around the bush. I asked him, “What do you want me to do?”

He answered, “It is your life. Do with it as you please. I don’t care.” The last time we spoke, he was plain about it. “I am not ready to father a child. It is not in my plans anytime soon. So get rid of it.”

Now I am torn between keeping it and getting rid of it like he suggested. I could get rid of it without my parents ever knowing. I could tell my parents and admit I don’t know what to do. Or I could run away and have the child. That last option is not advisable for me.

If you gave me a car and told me to drive to the Volta Region, I could not tell you which part he lives in. I do not even know the name of the place. So if I tell my parents, I know it will only add salt to injury and make things worse. What do I tell them? What do I do? Where do I even begin?

Is There A Man Out There Who Doesn’t Cheat?

If I had the resources to cater for a baby, this would be a different kind of debate, and I would keep it without a second thought. But as things stand, it feels like giving birth would be the death of me. I am going mad thinking about the options in front of me.

If you were my elder sister or brother, what would you advise me to do?

—Steph

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