Before he drove home with me to see my father, he laid his heart bare on the table. He said, “I don’t want any working class woman under my roof. If that’s what you want to be, get out of the car and let me be going.” As much as it sounded rude, I was grateful he was being honest with me. Most men would have led me on, encouraged me to fly, and then tried to clip the same feathers after I’d officially become their wife.

He said to me, “Whatever you will be earning, I will settle you. Please, be at home and take care of the kids when they start coming.”

It disturbed me for a while.

Women were going to climb ropes and attain higher standards while I did the bare minimum. I felt the matrichs who fought for feminism would be disappointed, but then again I was also doing the Lord’s work.

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I reminded myself that we all have different understandings and key achievements. If this was my cross to carry, may I carry it well to Gethsemane. So I stopped working as a government worker who earned close to 3000 Ghana cedis, with the side perks of calling myself a government worker.

Life trajectory changed and we moved to obibini kurom, America. We have two children now who are here speaking gibberish here and there. If only they knew the kind of sacrifices that had to be made. My husband has held his part of the bargain so far. That is why I am asking for more. Because I feel cheated out of the life I was originally supposed to have.

When we first moved here, I was complacent about their culture here. The thing they call green card, I knew because I usually saw people literally die for it. I knew the perks and all, but I didn’t know I was entitled to some money when I came here and was not working as a citizen.

When my husband told me, smiles formed on my face. I thought, “Ei, they are going to pay me for not working?” What a wow.

The morning before we drove to the office, my husband whispered into my ears, “Tell the officer that I am your dependent and I will start giving you 1000 dollars a month, because they will pay you.” I nodded my head as if I was a child.

On the day, they asked me, “Will you accept your money be paid into his account?” I said yes. They asked two times again and I agreed.

Now, this is where the issue is. He thinks I’m greedy. “You’re a greedy woman and people like you die early and empty handed.” With my brows raised high, I answered, “No one ever goes to the land of ancestors with their riches, so what’s your problem?”

He left me standing there with no answers. And I’m just getting the drawing war line drawn.

You may think that I’m doing this because I’m selfish. I believe I need to be paid what’s due me. He hasn’t paid me the 1000 dollars he promised before I went to that office.

His argument is, “I am the reason you take the money because I am on pension.” That makes me believe he is receiving more than he is giving me. So who is selfish here? Huh? Who?

This is what I worked for. This is why I pushed through exhaustion to be a mother. This is what my sacrifices should earn me. How do I not reap the benefit now? How do I let this money go deliberately?

But so far, he has been a good husband, an even amazing father. I have no lack. There is so much love surrounding me I wish I could throw some in a box for you people.

We are standing at crossroads here. He calls me Oliver Twist, I call him Addo Dee. A bad leader.

A few weeks ago, I saw some envelopes in his room. One had my name. It was end of year tax filing. He filed for all four of us. My first son has more than 15 thousand dollars on his check. I have more than 7 thousand dollars, and my daughter’s own is around 10 thousand dollars. The three of us alone, money is more than thirty thousand dollars. I am not exaggerating here. I am telling you the truth. He didn’t say anything to me and I didn’t ask him anything too. I am doing my wifely duty as normal, but it is disturbing me.

Should I be greedy if I ask him? I don’t want him to start insulting me as a greedy woman again.

But I wish he gives me something from that money because I am the breadwinner of my family and he knows that.

All the money he gave me, I sent it home. But it is still not enough for my family back home. They are on my neck. Every conversation with them is like a fundraising event.

 

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Then again, every conversation with my husband is tense.

Every conversation feels loaded. Every silence feels heavy. And the hardest part is not that he is not giving me money. It is the fear that I might be destroying my marriage with my own hands. Because well, according to my husband, I am an Oliver Twist.

—Oliver Twist

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