When I was young, I had a friend who became more like a sister to me. Yes, we were those girls, screaming “besties for life” at the top of our lungs. We shared our feeding money, our pens, and our pencils. When boys were giving us trouble, we turned to each other for advice. Sometimes it was silly, considering we were only using our own limited experiences to churn out wisdom, but it was something. Everyone knew us as a duo. Everyone knew we belonged to each other’s worlds.

In 2023, she moved to Canada. Then, last December, she invited me for a visit. It was a fully sponsored trip, and receiving that message felt like rain falling after a long season of drought. First of all, I was getting the opportunity to travel out of the country with everything paid for and catered for. All I had to do was show up at Terminal 3 and fly away. Second, it quieted the little voices in my head that kept screaming about how all my friends had moved forward without me.

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Here it was, an opportunity to reunite with my person and have a “detty December” in the cold.

It was snowy and white when I arrived. She took me to places I had only ever seen in pictures. We took photos in the snow and explored different foods.

We talked and laughed until our sides ached about our childhood days, and spent the night airdropping our photos to each other, smiling at the same moments all over again.

The days that followed were almost the same. We would go out, wander around, and come back home, tired but happy.

One night, after a very long day. She was sitting very close to me, her head resting on my thighs while she drew invisible circles on my skin. It was not uncomfortable, so I allowed it every step of the way. We were not drunk. Our eyes were wide and wild, open to whatever had come over us, and then we went all the way. I mean the “Sodom and Gomorrah” kind of all the way. .

By the next day, before I could even gather my thoughts or let the shame properly wash over me, she was picking our underwear and nighties from the floor, apologizing. “I don’t know what came over me.” I didn’t know what had come over me either. In that moment, it had felt like the world’s troubles were finally behind me. It felt like I did not have a single worry, except for the reality of what we are.

We have been friends for a lifetime. We have both had boyfriends who came close to marrying us. We have dealt with men problems since we were girls, but we never had to deal with women problems. Now, I wonder if what happened that night is a true reflection of who we are, or just a trick of the light.

My visa was only for a few days, so I packed my bags, sat in the corner, and counted the hours until I could leave. I eventually left without a proper goodbye.

Now, here I am. I am not bisexual. I am as straight as a ruler, or at least I thought I was.

I have long returned to Ghana, and we have not crossed that bridge. I do not even want to think about it. She, on the other hand, is relentless about having a conversation. She keeps calling me and begging me not to let this come between our friendship, but it feels like a point of no return. I read her messages, her attempts to make peace. She says she is straight too, but I am finding it hard to decipher the truth.

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The way she led that night did not feel like the work of an amateur. And then there were the devices. To be honest, there is a turmoil in my head as I write this. Everything from that night is still imprinted in my mind. These unfamiliar feelings for a woman, especially my friend, disturb me.

The worst part of it all is the way it lingers. In my thoughts. In my body. I keep having flashbacks, and the confusion about my sexuality refuses to leave me alone.

I am a Christian, and I do not even know how to begin dealing with this.

—Sisi

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