We were gathered in front of the school waiting for the bus that would carry us to the place of the events. We were late. Some had already started agitating. Asking why we were still at the school premises at 7am when events start at 8am. School sports events were like that. You think you are late until you get to the park and realize you are the first school to be there. Around 7:20 we heard the sound of a moving bus approaching. It was very loud. You don’t need to see the car to know it was a car suffering from stress. Immediately it came to view, we all started laughing. I asked the teacher next to me, ”Sir, is that the bus we are taking to the event?” He answered, “I’m not sure.”

The car pulled the breaks right in front of us. The fumes from the exhaust flew into the air, forcing us to breathe in polluted air. One of our teachers stepped out of the bus. He said, “That was the only car I found at the station.” In those days, cars of that nature were called “Wonsi mpia,” meaning get down and push. Those cars never get you to your destination without stopping midway for a fault to be resolved. When the going gets tough, the driver would scream at the passengers, “Get down and give the car some push, else we are stuck here.” 

Our headmaster screamed, “Hey, all of you, start getting in. We are running  late.” The athletes were the first to enter. I was one of the athletes. I got in, selected a place I thought was comfortable, and sat down. Soon we were all in. Three-seater became six-seater. Some had to stand in the car. We all had to be inside the car by all means. The driver turned on the ignition. The ignition didn’t respond. He tried several times, it didn’t work. Our ‘wonsi mpia’ moment happened right even before the journey started. Everything about the car was wrong. You didn’t need to be a magician to know that the car wouldn’t be able to take us to our destination.

Just about twenty minutes into the journey, we realized something wasn’t going on well. the car got jerky. I was looking at the driver’s face all along. He was struggling to turn the steer. You could see the veins on his forehead and his clenched jaw. But those drivers were very confident because they thought they knew their cars well enough to respond to every situation. He was negotiating a sharp curve when everything turned into a hell show. I think the break failed or the steering wheels didn’t want to turn. By the time we realized it, we were headed to the bush in an uncontrolled vehicle. Everyone started screaming, “Jesus…Jesus, Jesus.” Those closer to the window jumped out of the car. It turned along the way and somersaulted twice before it landed on its side.

My next view was at the hospital where a nurse and a doctor were standing next to me. I heard, “No, don’t lift his leg. Just cut it.” “Cut what?” I tried lifting my leg but the pain was so severe I couldn’t move an inch. The nurse held my shoulders and said, “Relax, everything would be fine.” I asked, “Where am I? Where is my mother? Please don’t cut my leg. I don’t want to end up in a wheelchair.” I started screaming my lung out. The scream came from a place of physical and emotional pain. Physical because the pain coming from the broken leg was unbearable. Emotional because I pictured myself in a wheelchair and it broke my heart.

Luckily for me, it wasn’t my leg they were planning to cut. They were planning to cut through my knickers and set my legs free. They did and put my leg in braces. All this while, I was asking about my mother. The nurse kept assuring me that my mother was on her way coming. She said, “I’m here. I’m your mother too so don’t be afraid. Nothing would happen to you.” Soon my mom came. She had worries written all over her face. She said, “Thank God you’re alive.” I asked her, “Did anyone die? She said, “I don’t know about that but I’m glad you’re fine.”

That was the year 1998. I was in class six. A boy with dreams of becoming a lawyer someday. I had an X-ray in the evening. It came out that the bone in my thigh was broken so I had to spend close to two months at the hospital for the bone to heal. My broken leg was tied to a sack through the plaster. I didn’t move. I stayed in one position for over two months.  I didn’t have a father. All I had was my mom. She was a petty trader. She had to sell before we could eat. When it became known that I was going to be at the hospital for a very long time, the first question she asked was, “Who is going to take care of him while I’m away selling?” The nurse, asked her, “Don’t you have any relatives?” She said, “They all have something to do with their lives. They can’t stay here with him for that long.” 

She told my mom, “Don’t worry, I help you. I live just around the hospital. I can take care of him during the day when you are away selling. You can come in the evening and take it from me.” My mom knelt before her and said, ”Thank you so much. You don’t know me from anywhere so this means everything to me.” She lifted my mom from the floor, tapped her back, and said, “It’s alright. I have a daughter too. A little bit younger. I know how this feels like.” From Potsin to Winneba is around 15 minutes drive but it wasn’t easy for my mother to come around all the time. Sometimes she didn’t have the money to take a car to the hospital at Winneba. 

Because of me, the nurse (her name was aunt Comfort) was always at the hospital even when she wasn’t on duty. She introduced me to everyone at the ward as her son. She said I was her sister’s son. Because of her, I received special treatment from all the nurses who came on duty. Some of them brought me food, ice cream, and books to read. It got to a time my mom wasn’t coming around as arranged. She was too tired to make it to the hospital but aunty comfort did everything to ensure I was ok and wasn’t missing anything. 

Two and a half months later, the bone healed but I couldn’t walk. I had to learn to walk all over again using crutches. It was aunty Comfort who stood by me teaching me how to take my steps and how to use the clutches. Honestly, she did more than a mother would do for me while at the hospital. The day I was discharged, I knew I was going to miss her—I was going to miss her warm smile and the way she carried me around in the hospital. I was happy that I was leaving the hospital but I was sad that I wasn’t going to see her again.

I went home and life continued. I walked with crutches for weeks before I could walk on my own. I went back to school to meet my friends. None of them died in the accident. I was the only one who sustained a serious injury.  

In 2009, I was learning in one of the classes at the university campus when I saw a group of girls arguing about a topic I knew so well. The loudest lady was wrong but she sounded so convincing that the rest were falling for her mistake. I was eavesdropping. I looked at their faces. They all looked receptive to the loud lady’s argument. I went to them. I asked, “Which year?” They responded, “Level two hundred, business administration.” I smiled. I said, “You have a point. I love the way you’re arguing it out but if you don’t take care, you’ll crash. Let me explain to you…”

I ended up spending the whole evening with them. They asked questions and I answered. They brought out past questions and I helped them solved. One of them asked, “Could you be our unofficial tutor?” I asked her, “What is the job description of that role?” She said, “We call when we need you. You come and help us. I promise we won’t take a lot of your time. We understand you need to study for your final exams.” Her name is Suzzy. She was the loudest among them. She was the one who was wrong and yet sounded so convincing. 

Weeks later, I was the one trying to convince her to be my girlfriend. She said, “You’re almost out of school. I don’t like to be in a distant relationship.” I said, “I’ll be out of school but I’ll still be in Kumasi. I live here. I will probably find a job here. I will be out of campus but whenever you need me, I will be here.” She said yes. I said, “Welcome to my world.”

Because of her, I took a teaching assistant role after graduation though teaching wasn’t something I liked. I wanted to be closer to her and build the relationship we had started. We were together often. I met her group and taught them. On weekends, she would come around, help me cook, and do other chores with me. It took only three months for me to know that she was the one I would settle with. There was nothing she couldn’t do. There was no place too far for her. I only had to mention it and she will ask, “When are we going?” 

One day while walking in the room in short knickers she asked me, “What happened to your leg? Were you born with it?” I asked, “Which leg?” She said, “Your right leg. You walk with a limp. It’s subtle—almost unnoticeable. It’s like you’ve learned to hide it but when I look at you I see the imbalance in your posture.” I said, “Wow, “I thought I’d perfected the art of walking without a limp.” She said, “Maybe I’m the only one who sees it because I look at you. I saw it the very day you stood in front of us in that class.” I told her about that rickety car that nearly drove us into our early graves that day. The story was so old it only elicited laughter from her. She said, “Just imagined you died. How would I have met you? I would be walking on this earth dreaming of a future boyfriend. Unbeknownst to me, he died even before I met him.” I said, “That’s why I didn’t die. I didn’t die so today will happen. There’s luck to it but we can’t rule out the destiny factor too. Today has to happen that’s why I survived.”

She was doing her national service when she took me to her house the very first time. Her mother didn’t pay any particular attention to me. She looked shy and very reserved. There was something usual about her but I couldn’t put a hand on it. The only phrase she said to me was, “Welcome my son. Should I offer you water?” For the rest of the time I was there, she didn’t say a word. It was my first time seeing her so I didn’t judge. Suzzy told me, ”Wait until she gets used to you. You’ll run from her.” 

Several visits later, we were good friends. She could sit alone with me and talk about anything that came to mind. She told me about how Suzzy’s father died and how she had to go through the rest of her journey alone. “I’ve never met my father. No, he isn’t dead but I’ve never set my eyes on him. My mom doesn’t even talk about him,” I told her.

Five years after dating, we decided to get married. I remember that Saturday morning when we went to perform the knocking ceremony. My mom looked at Suzzy’s mother and whispered to me, “Is that Suzzy’s mother?” I said, “Yes!” She asked me, “Does she know you’re the one?” I asked, “What do you mean?” She said, “Does she know you’re the one she took care of?” I still didn’t get it until Suzzy’s mother sat down and looked at my mother in the eyes. My mom said, “Aunty Comfort” Suzzy’s mother looked at me. She said, ”Nooo, don’t tell me he’s the one.” My mom said, “Yeah he’s the one.”

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It was supposed to be a happy moment but if you saw the two of them, you might think they just received the news of a dead friend. At some point, I had to allow a few tears to drop, looking at where the whole thing started and how it was going. Suzzy was obviously lost. My uncle too. My mom said, “Shame on you. How can you get married to your sister?” Aunty Comfort retorted, “He wants to enjoy home cook food.” 

We left the place without a list. Aunt Comfort said, “Let’s not stress them. We know our tradition. Let’s go by it.”

A few months later, we got married. Ours is not just a bond, it’s a bond sealed with history and care from our parents. We are the results of the universe’s best spellwork. The last act that gets the audience on their feet and clap for the magician. Her mother took care of me when I was at my lowest. It was my turn to take care of her daughter. When I made the vows at the altar, I added a few lines of my own. I didn’t say it to the hearing of anyone. It was a vow I made to my own self. That just as her mother didn’t make me lack anything, I will never make her lack anything. Just as her mother was there for me through it all and even taught me to walk in clutches, I will also be there for her through it all—hold her hands when she needs a hand to fall on. Just as her mother took me as her own, she’s my own and she will be all I have.  

Beyond that, I’ve learned not to play with humans in need. It’s a small world. Who you damage today could be your cross tomorrow. Who you build today can be the well you draw from tomorrow. It’s a small world. Look at it as your own pocket. You only need to dip your hand to reach everything inside there. 

–Bishop

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