My husband is in South Africa. Four years ago, when he wanted to travel, South Africa wasn’t part of the plan but, out of desperation to get out of the country, he eventually ended up in South Africa. He lied that he had landed in Spain until months later when he confessed that he was in South Africa.

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I screamed, “South Africa? What’s there? How much is their money trading at the forex bureau that you had to waste money to travel there?”

He answered, “You know I needed to leave home. This isn’t the target but only a stepping stone. There are many eyes looking at me and what my life will amount to. I have to prove them wrong.”

He was working as a factory manager in one of the big manufacturing companies in Tema. When I met him, he wasn’t rich but he could afford the basic necessities of life; three square meals, a roof over his head and entertainment when he needed it. I didn’t see the need for him to travel but he was bent on doing so, especially because all his friends were travelling to Europe, China and elsewhere.

When these xenophobic attacks started, I was worried about him. I called and asked if he was safe and he told me he was fine and that the issue wasn’t as big as we were seeing in the news. When the video of the Ghanaian guy who was attacked started going around, we talked again. He still maintained he was fine and that it wasn’t as bad as they were making it look.

Then eventually, he called to tell me he had to run because his life was in danger. That night I made calls to everyone I knew, asking for help for him. When I heard in the news that Ghanaians were being registered for repatriation, I told him to try his luck.

Every morning, he would call and tell me they had attacked the neighbourhood so he was hiding. During the day, he would say they had attacked his shop and all foreigners had been driven out and beaten. He sent videos of marks on his skin and on his face.

He wanted to come home but had no money. I raised money from friends and also added my savings. I was doing everything to make it possible for him to leave the country.

I called one evening and a woman with a thick South African accent picked up. She said she was my husband’s wife and was referring to me as my husband’s sister.

“Ah, how? When did you become his wife?”

I stayed on the line in shock as the woman with the thick South African accent narrated the story to me, thinking I was my husband’s sister. They have been living together for the past three years and they have twins together. According to the woman, my husband was safe and there was no need for me to worry.

I was still talking to this woman when my husband snatched the phone from her and started talking to me. He asked me what the lady had told me and I answered, “You mean what your wife told me? You have another family there and all this while you’ve been lying to me?”

He denied it flatly and said the lady was someone he worked with and that she didn’t want him to return to Ghana, which was why she was saying all that.

I had the money sitting on my table; loans from friends and family plus my own savings. He asked me, “When are you sending the money? I need to leave before one day they find my corpse on the street.” I responded, “Your family is ready to bury you. Let your corpse find its way back home to Ghana.”

It took him five days to finally confess that what the lady said was true, but not entirely true. He said he went to South Africa and needed protection right from the onset, so the Ghanaians he met there advised him to marry a South African woman. That way, he would be free from xenophobic attacks. He dated the lady just to be safe but he was no longer safe. He was crying on the phone, begging me to send the money for his travel back home.

Yes, he told me what I wanted to hear but still, nothing moved me to send him the money. I had always wanted him back in Ghana right from day one. He told me it was easier for him to travel abroad from there. He wasn’t doing any better than he was doing in Ghana. At some point, I even had to send him money because he said he’d gotten a connection to travel from South Africa to Spain. I sent my savings only for him to tell me the deal fell through. Not knowing he was using my money to support a new family.

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I loved him and was ready to risk being in debt for his safety, but not anymore. I even pray that the man in the animal wig will one day find him and deal with him directly.

I also suspect he may try to return with the next repatriation flight. I pray the plane is full when it gets to his turn. By all means, he should get stuck there and dance to the drumbeat of Jacinta and her gang.

He deserves it.

—Esi York 

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