I was two years old when my mother ran away. She was waiting for my father to marry her after giving birth to me but my father kept giving her excuses. One evening, she dressed me up and sent me over to my father. That was the last time my dad or anybody heard from her. Nobody knew where she had gone, not even her own parents. Before leaving, she told her junior sister she’ll be travelling and that nobody should look for her when she was gone. 

My dad kept me for a week and sent me to his mother. His mother died a year later and I was sent to my father’s sister. She wasn’t enthused about raising a child so she sent me back to my dad ad my dad sent me to my mom’s mother. I was told this story when I was a teenager and was asking about the whereabouts of my mother. After hearing the story my heart broke into pieces. My perception of the world changed. I concluded, “Maybe no one wanted me that’s why they kept tossing me around.”

I didn’t feel chosen. I happened by accident. My mom didn’t choose me. I was her mistake. My dad didn’t marry my mother because she kept a mistake that should have been trashed out. Knowing these turned me inward and I became a willing introvert. I didn’t say much to anybody so they looked at me and passed me by. 

It was after SHS that it dawned on me that no man has ever proposed to me. All the people around me had a love life. The guys had girls they kept talking about and the girls had boys who kissed them in the dark. I had no one. I wasn’t ugly so why did no one propose to me? The answer was simple: “No one chooses a mistake I’m a mistake.” 

At the polytechnic, I made it a point to have someone. Martin was a friend and a study mate. One late night we were learning for an exam when I proposed to him. He found it amusing so he laughed. I said, “I’m serious.” He said, “Prove it.” 

I could have kissed him to prove it but the only thing that came to mind was shuperu. I asked him, “Is your roommate sleeping?” He shook his head and told me he was also out learning. I held his hand and took him to his own room. All I said was, “I haven’t done it before so take it easy with me.” It was painful but I felt wanted so I gave it all away to him. After, when he was lying there panting and I was feeling pains and probably bleeding, I asked him, “So what next? I’ve proven to you that I love you. What do you say?” He was quiet for a while. He answered, “I will like to say yes but I already have someone. I don’t want to lie to you.” 

“Fine,” I responded. I got up, dressed up and left his room. I was in a double agony; my down there was burning while my heart was aching. I didn’t learn again. I went inside and cried myself to sleep. The next day he reached out trying to soften the harshness of his words the previous night but I told him I was OK and thanked him for being honest. Our friendship died. I killed it. 

After school, I found another man. He had a girlfriend and I knew it but I didn’t care. He showed so much care for me and made me feel chosen so even though he was a wolf, I felt it was OK to have my own wolf. We dated for a year. One day his girlfriend found out about us. I was happy. I knew she would break up with him so I could have him to myself. His girlfriend left him and he also left me to go after his girlfriend and beg for forgiveness. What could I have done to be chosen?

It didn’t end there. I met a few other men who promised me heaven on earth but when it rained, their earth got flooded and they left with the last boat leaving me to drown. I opened my eyes one morning and I was thirty years old and working with an NGO that took me to different places but couldn’t take me to a man. I told myself; “I have to get a grip on my life before I turn out like my mother. I can’t have a baby without marriage and there’s nowhere for me to run like my mother did.” 

I stayed out of a relationship for over a year. One night, we had travelled to a town doing our NGO work when this little man walked up to me. We were in a bar, I and two other female colleagues. This little man walked up to me and said, “Can I have a word with you? Alone? Probably outside of the bar? It’s too noisy here.” I turned left and looked at the face of Abi. She was smiling. That teasing smile that said something was funny. I turned right and looked at Rose. She nodded while smiling. I took it as approval so I followed this man outside. His name was Joe. Joe for short and Jonathan for long. I thought he was a preacher looking at how his shirt was neatly tucked in and the last button to his neck was closed. 

“I’ve been seeing you around town for a while now. I’ve been meaning to say hi but each time I try something comes up. Today, I didn’t want the opportunity to slide that’s why I came for you. Can we be friends?” I looked at him again and wanted to ask what he drank but all I could smell was confidence so I took it as he drank confidence. I said, “Yes we can be friends.” I gave him my number and took his. I went back to the girls and they started teasing me; “God knows you need a man so he sent a preacher your way.” Even when I told them he wasn’t a preacher they insisted he was. 

We talked every day, me and Joe. We met sometimes at the same bar he approached me. He was doing his national service. He was only twenty-four years old. He was so convinced I was the woman for him so I asked, “Are you looking for a sugar mommy and you found me or what?” He answered, “I wasn’t looking but I found you.” 

All my life, nobody had found me. Nobody walked up to me and chose me out of the lot but Joe did. Regardless of his age, I let myself go telling myself, “Once the work is over and I leave town, this relationship would be over. Let me enjoy while it lasts.” 

I asked how his parents will feel When he takes me home. I asked about his future plans and he made lofty promises. He was a boy, so I could understand his choice of words. We spent many nights together while trying hard to hide what we had going on. He didn’t want to hide it but I didn’t want people to talk about me sleeping around with a kid. We spent three months together. The love was intense. I felt at home with him but the age gap didn’t stop troubling my mind. “Eight years? Naaa, that’s not possible no matter how hopeful we remain. When I left town, I didn’t call him and he also didn’t call me though I was hoping he would call one day. 

One month later, no call came from him. I told myself, “Wow, I was right. He was just having fun.” I deleted his number and deleted our chats. I moved on with my life. I felt pain but it wasn’t sharp enough to break me down. 

One late night I had a call. It was Joe. It had been eleven months since we talked. I asked him, “Why are you calling me now? What made you remember I exist?” He answered, “I didn’t forget about you. I wanted to make certain things right so I took the time off. I’m in Accra. Can I see you?” I answered, “Oh I get it. You came to town and you remembered I exist, right? No, I don’t want to see you.” 

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He never stopped calling. I never stopped telling him to leave me alone. One afternoon, he came to my office looking for me. “How did you get here?” I asked. He answered, “I combed through the city with only the name of your office. I’m glad I’m here.”

He was in Accra because he found a job. He was living with a friend. I asked the one question I’d been meaning to ask, “So why didn’t you call after I left?” He answered, “I needed to put my life in order first. I realized the only way you would respect me and respect my intention was to be a man first. To me, you’re the one but you didn’t believe me because of my age. I have a job now. I’ve left home. I’m a man. What else do I need to prove that I mean business?”

A week later he asked if he could come live with me. I hesitated. I loved him but I didn’t want to make that mistake. Finally, I obliged. He brought all his things into my house and occupied the spaces I didn’t know existed. I asked him, “Will your parents be pleased if they find out about me?” He answered, “Just watch me.” 

February 4th 2023 was our sixth anniversary. Yes, we got married. 

It turned out my fear was unreal. It was my mind playing tricks on me. The eight-year age difference didn’t mean a thing. Well, it meant a thing to outsiders. They questioned why he’ll marry a woman my age. They asked me why I will marry a boy his age. They called me desperate. They called him a gold digger. They told us it won’t end well with us because the age difference will show and cause a crack in our foundation. What didn’t we hear? 

But once you put your head underwater, the world goes silent and you don’t hear a word of what everyone says. We put our heads underwater and built what our hands could afford to build. 

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Age is not just a number. It means something but the meaning is what you determine for yourself. If you think eight-year age difference is too wide, you’re right but we didn’t think it was too wide. My husband respects my age and submits to it. He listens when I talk. He allows me to lead where experience is needed. He asks questions when he doesn’t understand something. I explain his doubts away when he comes asking. He’s younger so I submit to his era. In submitting I understand he’ll make mistakes. He’ll listen to the urges of his age and go where his age calls. I forgive easily and we make love work. Intentionally. It’s the reason we are here with two kids who call us mom and dad. Love like ours isn’t easy so we live underwater where we hear no one. 

–Petra

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