Early last year, I met Gyamfi, who came proposing to me barely a few days after we had met. When you are a woman, these things are not exactly new. Sometimes it annoys you, and sometimes you simply decide to go with the flow. I chose the latter, maybe because we both carried similar wounds that seemed to pull us toward each other. He had been married before, but his wife died a painful death, leaving behind three strong willed boys. One was in the university, another in senior high school, and the youngest was still in nursery school, learning his ABCs. It was the little boy I felt the deepest sympathy for because what exactly does death gain from taking a mother away from a child so small?

After many conversations and many nights spent talking about our lives as single parents, about loneliness, heartbreak, and what we both hoped for in the future, I made something very clear to him. I told him I was not going to get pregnant or bring another child into the world until there was a ring on my finger. If he was not ready for marriage, then he should say so plainly and not waste my time with a hit and run situation disguised as love. He assured me that he wanted the same things I wanted. Love. Companionship. Family. Stability. So we fell into each other and started creating our own little world in the shadows, sneaking around at night just to spend time together.

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Months passed, but I still did not know where this man lived. Every single time, he was the one driving all the way to my side of town and back. Since my child does not live with me, it made things easier for us to spend time at my place. At first, I did not think too much about it, but eventually I started asking when I would get to see his home. He told me he needed time because he had not yet introduced me to his boys. According to him, he wanted to prepare them first.

Some time you ask for, some time you should be given.

So I stopped asking questions and stopped throwing hints because I wanted him to feel comfortable enough to do things properly and in his own time.

But he never did. Eventually, I gave him an ultimatum. Either he introduced me to his children or he took me to his hometown to meet his family. He chose the latter.

When we arrived, we were welcomed and served water, and I followed closely behind him as he greeted relatives and neighbours. I stood there smiling sheepishly while he exchanged pleasantries with everyone around us, yet he never introduced me to a single person.

We ended up at his mother’s house, and when I nudged him gently and whispered, “Please introduce me to your mother,” he shook his head in refusal.

Why?

According to him, she had dementia, so it did not matter. No problem. Later, he took me to meet one of his aunties. We exchanged greetings warmly, and then she asked the obvious question.

“So who is she to you?”

And this man, this grown man laughed lightly and said, “This lady here? Oh, this one, you don’t know her.”

I felt embarrassed, misplaced, and foolish all at once. I forced myself to maintain a straight face because I did not want anyone saying I had frowned at them or acted proud.

For the entire journey back, I sat there thinking deeply about my life. When I got home, I did even more introspection because the truth is, I have been here before. I am thirty six years old. I have lived life, and life itself has dealt with me mercilessly at times. As a single mother, I have taken blows I never imagined I would survive, yet somehow I am still standing.

Meeting a man in his forties gave me a sense of reassurance at first. I thought maybe maturity would come with honesty, intentionality, and emotional security.

The last time we spoke seriously, I asked him directly what exactly he wanted from me and what the purpose of the relationship was. That conversation ended us.

A painful, embarrassing revelation that this man had been playing with me all along while pretending to figure me out. He said he was “still studying” me.

Studying me?

Am I a science project? A home economics assignment?

Then he said something that made me burst into laughter because of how ridiculous it sounded. He told me, “For example, I did not notice at first, but I have realised you like wearing big earrings.”

Big earrings?

After all this time together, that was the groundbreaking discovery?

I laughed so hard because in that moment, I realised how unserious the entire relationship had been. I told him that I was not going to sit around waiting for ten years only for him to announce that after extensive research, I was not “the one.”

And now, sometimes, I still catch myself expecting his call or a message from him, wondering whether he has finally made up his mind. But silence can also be an answer, and maybe this silence is the clearest answer of all.

Do we have a handbook somewhere for surviving singlehood in this chaotic world?

Because I have been single for five years, believing that the next time Cupid decided to remember me, it would finally be beautiful, intentional, and deserving of me.

Men Don’t Like It When Women Do The Paying

Instead, here I am again, sitting with another lesson wrapped in disappointment. hmmmmmm

—Anita

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