Her parents were happy to see me until I told them where I came from. It was her father who asked that question. I said, “I’m a Fante, from the central region.” Her father looked at the face of his wife and they both went silent. Her mother asked me, “Both of your parents are Fantes?” I said proudly, “Yeah they are. In fact, they both come from the same village. My mother’s mother worked for my father’s parents. That was where they met and started their relationship.” They went quiet again, for several seconds.” Karen, my girlfriend, held my hand and squeezed it. As if to say, “Don’t worry, everything would be alright.” 

Her father didn’t say another word. He excused us and went into the room. He didn’t come out again until I asked permission to leave. Her mother told me, “It’s alright. I’m happy you came to see us. This is your home too. We’ll always welcome you.” 

I know what a home is because I’ve been in several homes and the feeling is always the same. A home isn’t where you’re told. A home is where you feel welcome because everything you see and meet opens their arms to you. Her father’s behavior that day got me scared. Her mother was trying everything to cover up for the father’s deed but it was so glaring no amount of darkness could cover it. So I asked Karen, “Did I say something wrong?” She said, “No you didn’t. Maybe he wasn’t in a good frame of mind. I will go back and seek clarification.”

When she came back she told me, “There’s something about your tribe he doesn’t like but trust me, it’s not s deal breaker. My mom is dealing with it so everything would be fine.” 

Where one comes from is something they can never change. They can change their name. They may decide not to visit their hometown again or even change citizenship but where you come from would always be with you. It’s the blood that runs through your veins. It’s the way you speak. It’s the reason you like a certain food and don’t like a certain food. It’s the reason you see life in a certain way. Your whole life is what it is now because of where you come from so if someone doesn’t like where you come from, what can you change to make the person like you? Nothing. But as Karen told me, her mother was talking to him and she was sure everything was going to be alright.

The day we went to do the knocking, her father behaved like he was a stranger. He sat through the occasion but didn’t utter a word. It was Karen’s uncle who took everything into his hands to ensure that everything goes according to plan. In fact, her father left the place where we were doing the knocking rite even before everything came to an end. Karen would hold my hand, squeeze it and tell me, “Don’t worry. It takes a little bit of time for some people to come around. Give him some time. Everything would be OK.”

We fixed the date for our wedding and communicated it to her parents. The response that came from her mother was, “The date wouldn’t be possible because my husband has a funeral in his hometown.” We changed the date to another day. Again the father didn’t accept it because he had other engagements he wouldn’t name. So we left the date in their hands to decide for us. Three months later, there was no date. Karen was frustrated and angry. I was the one calming her down. “Don’t worry. They can’t postpone it forever. One day the date would come.”

So Karen sent her pastor, the pastor of the church in which her father was an elder, to talk to her father. After a long deliberation between the pastor and Karen’s father, the conclusion was that the wedding could go on without her father because he wasn’t ready to sit through our wedding. It broke Karen’s heart so she went home to cry to her father, pleading not to abandon his only daughter on her wedding day. Her father said, “It’s you who decided to abandon me first. You know all the things I don’t like because they are too few yet you went ahead and chose what you know I wouldn’t like. What do you expect from me?” The elders of the church intervened before he accepted to be at the wedding.

Fathers wear Kente cloth to the wedding of their children. We bought a beautiful Kente for him and my father. The same design and color so they could twin on the wedding day. When the hymn sang for him to bring my wife to me, I realized everyone had turned back and was looking at them. It’s a wedding. There are so many reasons why people would turn and look at the bride. It was the face of the pastor that made me look back. He buried his face in his palm and then cast a sad look at me. He then shook his head. So I turned and guess what, the man was in a simple T-shirt over khaki trousers as if he was attending a casual meeting in the village. My wife was crying as they walked to the altar. After that, he left the church and didn’t come again until the wedding was over.”

What he was trying to communicate was clear, “I didn’t want to be here and you forced me so here I am.” If you go through our wedding photos from the beginning to the end, you’ll ask me, “Was that a wedding or a funeral?” There was not a single shot of us smiling or anyone around us smiling. Her father’s behavior cast a large shadow on the mood of everyone present but the most important thing was achieved. We left the church as a couple with a special mandate to go out there and live our lives as a husband and a wife.

Everyone said we should allow time to heal him. They said when he realizes that there is nothing he can do, he will warm up to us and take his rightful place as an in-law in the marriage. I didn’t know how long it would take. I worried about it. I counted the days when he would come around and have a real conversation with me instead of avoiding me. Two years later, I told myself, “I won’t allow him to affect me the way he’s been doing since marriage. I would move on without him. Whenever he comes around, I’ll open my arms to him.” 

We went to a funeral one day in their house and I intentionally went to sit next to him. His mood changed. He shifted needlessly so his skin wouldn’t touch my skin. Later, he got up from his seat and never returned to it. That was the day I made that declaration not to worry about him again. He would address everyone in the room, mentioning names and laughing with them. When it gets to my turn, he’ll jump over me as if I wasn’t a human being or my presence meant nothing to him.

I grew a tough skin to tolerate him but then Karen started having complications with pregnancy. Our first child got miscarried for no apparent medical reasons. Our second pregnancy also happened the same way. Actually, it was more terrible than the first one because it nearly cost Karen’s life. When she was in the hospital crying out of physical and emotional pain, her father also added more pain to it. We thought Karen’s life meant a lot to him so if she was on the verge of losing it, the father would run and come and see her. On that day, it was only her mother who came around. Karen asked, “I thought you were coming with my dad?” Her mother sighed loudly. That was the only answer her mother gave. A sigh without words but what she didn’t say made everything loud and clear. Karen cried like a baby. I held her hand and squeezed it like she would do if it was me. I whisper, “It’s alright. You’re already in pain. Don’t add any more to it.”

When she left the hospital, she called her dad and asked why. His answer was, “I knew you would be fine. I didn’t have to come there to make you well. I’m not a doctor.” 

Our third pregnancy succeeded. We guarded the pregnancy with all we have. Going by the book and sticking to the doctor’s instructions. God being so good, she didn’t have any complications until she delivered. Again, her mother traveled to visit but her father never came around. When she was discharged, we agreed for her to go and stay for a while with her parents. Her father never looked at the baby. He would go about his business as if there was no baby in the house. He would talk to Karen and ask how she was doing but will do anything to avoid talking about the baby. We named our son after him in a church where he’s the church elder. We thought naming a child after him would soften his heart but no. He didn’t attend the naming ceremony and didn’t do anything to suggest the baby was his grandson.

Five years later, I’d moved on with my life. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Theres’ nothing I can do to change my tribe so he can love me for the tribe I am. Five years later, It’s my wife who’s still hurting. She had gone for counseling and had seen two psychiatrists for help but it still hurts like a new pain. I understand the hurt because she’s his daughter—his only daughter and the one he dolled on when she was growing up. She can’t understand why her own father would treat her the way he’s doing. She would wake up at dawn and cry. Sometimes she will stay in bed and not eat anything. I would take her to the beach to take fresh air and she would end up throwing up. Her counselor told her, “It’s all in your head. If you could forget and concentrate on this beautiful family you now have then everything would be alright.”

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How can one forget her father just like that? It’s a book motivation that can hardly be applied especially when the only thing you did wrong was marrying the man you love. My wife’s mood is my mood too so I decided to go and face her father man to man. When I got there, I asked my mother-in-law to excuse us. I called his name thrice and he didn’t bother to look at my face. I told him, “I know what you love and at this point, I would travel over the sea and back just to be who you want but a tribe isn’t dirt on our skin that we can wash off. It’s the spot on the cheetah. It’s the birthmark on our skin. It’s a life in our hearts. It’s a world in our heads. I can’t change it for you to love me. That’s alright but how about your daughter? Your only daughter. What should she change before you love her the way you used to? She’s suffering because of you. I’ve grown over it with time but she can’t do the same. She calls our son by name and she remembers you and cries. That doesn’t sadden your heart? She had paid for the treatment of sickness only you can heal. That doesn’t bother you? I’m not here to negotiate for my life but the life of your own daughter. Won’t you do anything about it?”

He sat there, his eyes fixed on the TV while chewing a piece of meat I met him chewing. He chewed slowly and then he chewed faster. When I kept quiet for a few seconds, he got up and left. I also left. 

Nothing has changed—no something has changed. My wife is doing better today than before. Slowly, her heart is healing and it makes me scared because when a woman moves on, nothing brings her back. Her father is gradually losing a daughter and the fact is, one day he would change his mind about us. It’s taking longer than we thought but he’ll definitely change his mind and come around. It would break my heart to see his daughter shun him just like he did to her.

A few days ago she asked me, “Your father has a name, right?” I said yes. She said, “Let’s give it to our son.” I  said in my head, “We are getting there.”

—Abeiku

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