All my life I had known only one man as my father, Ken. I believed everything my mother told me about Ken even though the man never contributed a pesewa to my upbringing. According to the stories I was told, he left Ghana for London when I was two years old. My mother was sure he would come back for her, so she waited for him. It took fourteen years for her to find out that Ken remarried in London and had two kids. That was when my mother realized that their marriage was over. She was hurt, but she never kept me away from Ken’s family. The only problem with that was, Ken’s family didn’t care much for me. Judging from the way they were behaving; one could say that they didn’t believe that I was one of them. 

They were always mean and cold toward me. This led me to ask my mum a lot of questions. Questions that she always evaded. This continued till I chanced upon my birth certificate one time.  I found out that day that Ken’s name was not listed under my father’s name. It was another man’s name, Kofi Mensah. I remember asking my mother; “Why is Kofi Mensah listed as my father, instead of Ken?” She gave me the look she always gave me when she was about to say something evasive. I recognized it immediately and shook my head firmly at her; “Please just tell me the truth. I need to know where I come from.” Her response was, “You already know where you come from. Ken and I are your parents. Kofi is just an old friend. His name is on your birth certificate because, when I first got pregnant with you Ken said it wasn’t his. This made me angry with him so I listed Kofi’s name as your father. That’s the truth.” 

I believed her. She is my mother after all. The only problem was Ken’s family. No matter how hard I tried to gain their approval, they never loved me. I was just someone they tolerated. But they were my family, so I kept trying and hoping that someday they will come to accept me as theirs. Then Ken came to Ghana in 2010. I was happy to finally meet my father. I was in my twenties at the time, and we made arrangements to meet and have some daddy-daughter time. When we finally saw each other, he didn’t say much. Every question I asked him was answered with silence. After a while, he gave me GHC20 and said, “I will be back.” I looked forward to his return until I heard that he returned to London. 

In 2015 I heard that Ken had told his family that I wasn’t his daughter. He went on to say, even if I was his, it wouldn’t matter because he has foreign kids now. You can imagine how hearing such things broke my heart. I didn’t want to ask my mum and be fed another lie so I asked Ken, “Am I your daughter? Please tell me the truth, because I am tired of the roller coaster relationship I have with you and your family. I need some closure, so I can at least know my roots.” Ken, always the man of few words chose that moment to tell me, “Gyai mp3nyins3m nu” which means, “Stop acting and speaking like a grownup.” It was a difficult situation but I decided to let go of the identity of my father and accept Ken just as he was, an unloving father. 

In April 2022, Ken’s elder sister died, and my mum and I had to attend the funeral. Ken also came back to Ghana for the funeral. We had made progress in our relationship, and communication between us was going very well. I believed we were developing a beautiful bond. He even sent me his flight details so I could track him till he landed. For once, I felt included. I went to visit him with my husband when he arrived. And it was very nice, or so I thought.  

On the day we had to leave for the funeral, my mum and I took the lead since we would be using public transport. Ken and I had been communicating throughout the journey. We arrived in the town two hours before he did. And we went to look for him when he said he had arrived. He was supposed to get a place for us to spend the night before the funeral the next day. We searched and searched everywhere but this man was nowhere to be found. It was as if he was playing a game of hide and seek with us. He refused to answer my calls or reply to my messages. Mum and I became stranded since he was our coupon for accommodation.

We roamed the town for six hours but there was no sign of Ken anywhere, so my mum called her cousin, the chief of the town. He was royally pissed that my mum allowed herself to be treated like that when she is a royal. The next day at the funeral, we sat with the chief and his entourage. And Ken’s family completely ignored us throughout the event. When everything was over, the chief summoned Ken to the palace for questioning. It was there that he told the chief that I am not his daughter. He suggested, “If you don’t believe me, take my samples and run a DNA test. I am sure that science will not lie.”   

To say that I was broken is an understatement. I felt totally dejected. One thing was for sure though, everything finally made sense. All the neglect, the snide remarks, and the disdain I received from Ken and his family, all made absolute sense. When we left the chief’s palace, I bombarded my mother with questions. This time I didn’t give her room to evade or lie out of it. I stood on her neck until she confessed, “Ken is right. He is not your father. Your biological father is Kofi Mensah. When we first got married, Ken accepted you as his own, so we promised each other that we would never tell you the truth. I am sorry that you had to find out this way. Kofi knows he is your father, and he has been calling me for years, and asking to talk to you. I didn’t allow him to get close to you because I believe he doesn’t deserve to get to know you.”   

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I do not know how but Kofi was finally able to convince my mum to give him my number. Mama called me after giving it to him, “I gave your number to your biological father. Are you angry?” I told her, “No, I am not angry. It’s fine.” Since then, Kofi has called me multiple times but I’m very guarded. I do not want a repeat of the Ken situation.

Kofi is eager to meet me, and I am also curious to meet him. He says, “You have younger siblings who are excited about you, and they want to meet you too.” The problem now is, mama is angry at me. She tells me she’ll be extremely hurt and disappointed if I go and meet Kofi. She says she raised me all by herself but I do not know her pain, and I am ungrateful. I also believe her problem with Kofi is not my battle to fight. If you ask me, she lost the right to feel hurt the moment she watched me get ridiculed by Ken’s family for years while my biological father was desperately trying to have me in his life. 

I feel torn right now because, despite everything, she is my mother and I don’t want to hurt her. On the other hand, I want to meet Kofi and my siblings. What do I do?   

— Nina

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