The Ghost of Charles

My elder brother completed junior high school and couldn’t go further. He was sent to learn carpentry. Something he excels at currently. The one after my elder brother tried all she could to go further than my senior brother did. Her education ended after she completed senior high school. She was smart. She was clever. Her grades were better than my elder brother but she couldn’t continue because my parents didn’t have the money to push her through. That fact was known to me. That my parents were poor. That no matter how I took my studies seriously, my parents wouldn’t do so much because they didn’t have it. It didn’t stop me. I was determined to do better for myself and for the family. 

After senior high school, my father asked me, “What do you want to do now that you’ve completed school?” I said, “I want to go to the training college.” He said, “Be serious. Talk about possible dreams. Training college? how would you get there?” I knew what he was talking about. I knew what his concerns were. Going to the training college was an impossible dream for me because his finances couldn’t back me. I told him, “I will find a job. I will save money. I will go to the training college. Save the little that you have so that when the time comes you will support me.” He said, “It’s better you find something else to do with your hand. You’re a woman. A man will find you one day and get married to you. He’ll take care of you. It’s easy sometimes when you’re a woman.”

I didn’t take his advice. I started as a pupils’ teacher. I did it for almost a year. The proprietor of the school wasn’t serious. She wasn’t paying me as she was supposed to. Every end of the month came with an excuse; “Most the kids haven’t paid their fees. you can’t have your full salary.” She will pay me a quarter of my full salary. Many weeks later, she’ll pay another quarter. I will work for three months before I receive a full month’s pay. She wasn’t helping my dreams so I stopped. I left the school and left the kids I love so much. 

A friend of mine told me; “Where I work, they are looking for employees. If you want, I can introduce you to our boss. He’ll give you a job. Days later I was in a uniform working at the fuel station. I didn’t like the scent of fuel. It made me feel like vomiting. It was hard at the start but my friend told me, “You’ll get used to it. It happened to the best of us when we came here at first. Today, it smells like perfume in our noses.” It was hard at first but I needed the money so I didn’t complain. Some drivers were kind enough to leave some tips. Some drivers were romantic enough to leave a proposal; “Hey, you’re too fine to work here. I will take care of you. Just say yes to me.” Most of them were taxi drivers. The trotro drivers were always in a hurry. They didn’t look at me. The taxi drivers had time to chat, ask for my name and my number. I couldn’t afford to waste my dreams on them. I ignored them.

The private cars also started. They left tips and left proposals. I said no. “Hey what’s your name?” “My name is Jasmin.” “Wow, beautiful name. Oh don’t worry, keep the change. Can I have your number?” “Go and come next time. My boss is watching. If I give it to you, he may sack me.” Some of them collected a receipt and asked me to write my number on it. One day I did. The man was persistent. He said, “I’m not taking the receipt if you don’t write your number on it. I wrote my number on it for him. The next morning he was back. I was already serving a car. He could have gone to my colleagues but he waited for me to serve him. He said, “You gave me the wrong number yesterday. Was it intentional?” 

It was the way he said it and the humility that came with it. I felt embarrassed. I said, “I was in a hurry. I didn’t know what I was even writing. I’m sorry.” He said, “No problem. It happens sometimes.” While I was filling his car, he took his phone. He said, “Please mention your number. I will call and see if we got the right thing this time.” I mentioned. He called. It came through. He said, ”That’s my number. My name is Charles. Save my number.”

When he left another vehicle came. And then another until I forgot to save the number. The following day he was there. I served him. He left a tip and left. Another day he came again. I served him. He left a tip and left. I said in my head, “Look at his crooked head. After struggling to get my number, he won’t call. Why did he take it anyway?”

I was sleeping one afternoon when a call came through. He said, “Hey this is Charles. I’m at the station but you’re not here. what happened?” I said, “My shift had changed. I will come in the evening.” In the evening around 8pm he came around. He came with food. He said, “I didn’t know what to get you but I hope you will like this.” I took the food. I asked, “How much fuel are you buying?” He said, “I’m already sorted with fuel. I passed by to give you the food and also see you.” That day I looked at him very well—a man in his late thirties. Between thirty-six and thirty-nine I guessed.  All the days he came by I saw him but I didn’t watch him. That day I did. I asked, ” What’s wrong with this one? Why does he care?”

Every evening he passed by to give me food. I came to expect it so one day when he was getting late I called him. “Massa, are you not bringing food today? If I buy my own food and you later bring your own I won’t eat ooo.” He laughed. He said he didn’t know I could be that funny. He came by. He didn’t bring food. He said, “I closed very late today. Traffic. But take this and get yourself something.” When he left, I counted the money. It was GHc300. Bigger and better than my monthly salary. That evening, I smiled to people was didn’t deserve my smiles. Those who asked my name I told them. Those who asked for my number I gave it to them. More money more problems. I gave myself problems that evening. All night my phone kept ringing. 

One day I found myself seated at the front passenger’s seat in Charles’ car. I didn’t go to work that day so he came and pick me from the house. He asked me, “What’s your story? A girl like you working at the pump. There should be a story.” I said, “Yeah there is and it’s a very long story spiced with a desire to go back to school.” He asked, “Which school?” I said, “I completed senior high school two years ago. My grades were good. I want to go to the training college but there’s no money. So I decided to work here, get something and go back to school.” He asked,  “So when are you going?” I said, “When I get money.” He asked, ”Let’s just say you have money today, when can you go?”

Three months later, he gave me money to buy the forms. He said, “Why don’t you try university too and see. Whichever works, you go.” He got the university forms for me and I filled them. Months later, I resigned from my work and started schooling. The dream changed. I went to the university instead. He paid for everything. He came around most evenings after work. He would either bring food or bring me money. On weekends he will call me. “Are you free to go out?” I will say yes. He will come around and we’ll go out. There was one thing I was waiting to hear from him. I was waiting for the day he was going to propose to me.

I completed the first year, he didn’t propose. I did the second year, I sent him my grades. He congratulated me but didn’t send his proposal. My mom started calling him my husband. My dad said he was waiting for the day he would bring the drink. He said, “He should hurry up before the university boys snatch you from him ooo.” I did the third year and did the fourth year. The proposal never came. He was at my graduation, wearing his old political suit and looking like a man who just lost assemblyman elections. After my graduation, I went with my parents and my senior brother to his house to thank him for the job he had done in my life. It was my first time inside his house. I’d been to his house twice but I never went inside. He made me wait in the car, went in and pick something, and drove us away. But that day I was inside his house. 

My dad was virtually on the floor thanking him. My mom called him the messiah in my life. My brother simply said, “We appreciate everything.” After that day, I called him on the phone and said, “Man, let’s get serious here. What do you want from me?” He said, “I wanted you to go to school and do well for yourself. You have. Good for you.” I said, “Not that. What’s in for you?” He said, “I’m happy you did what you said you’ll do.” I tried all I could to get his mind to what I wanted to say but he was clever. He didn’t say more than I wanted to hear.

I decided to stay away from him and see if that would push him to do something. He didn’t care when I didn’t pick his calls. He didn’t care when I gave him excuses. He just didn’t care even when he didn’t hear from me for three days. “Or he wants me to propose to him?” I asked myself. 

I was doing my national service when he called one day. He said, “I’m getting married next weekend. Don’t worry, you don’t have to be there. It’s going to be something small at the court then we are done.” I screamed, “Getting married to who? When did she come? Where was she when you and I….” I pulled the breaks. I said, “Where was she all this while?”

That was the part of his life he hid from me for almost five years. He was in love with a rich man’s daughter. He said it didn’t look like the girl’s family was going to accept him because of his background and tribe. The family flew the lady outside to learn. After her masters, they forced her to work there. They were doing everything to prevent them from being together but the lady was stronger. She fought for them until her dad finally told her to go ahead with it but shouldn’t call on him when problems come. I asked him, “So why didn’t you tell me all this while.” He said, “It was a topic I didn’t want to bring you to. It wasn’t needed. When you invite people to a discussion like that, they will give you their opinions on what you ought to do. In the end, you’re left confused and conflicted.” I said in my head, “Good, you didn’t tell me. I would have advised you to leave her.”

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After the call, I wrote a very long message, telling him how my heart was broken and how I had dreams for the two of us and how he had let me down. I poured my heart out in the message. I said everything. I even added, “Now my parents would be heartbroken too because they were waiting for you. How could you do that to us?” I read the message over and over again, perfecting my lines and designing my punctuations to reflect exactly what I wanted to say. Everything was good but I couldn’t press send. For a whole week, I was torn between sending the message and not sending it. After the marriage, he sent me a message, “We just got married.” I deleted the whole message and sent, “Congratulations.”

For two years, I didn’t have the courage to tell my parent that Charles got married. The day I sent my boyfriend home, my mom didn’t laugh. My dad didn’t look at him. When he was gone, they both rushed at me as though they were coming to beat me. I told them, “Charles traveled outside and got married there. What am I supposed to do?

This is a nine-year-old story. I’ve moved on. I got married and have kids. I still think of him sometimes. What could have been if the two of us got married? I think of him and I miss his kindness and that old political suit. My husband doesn’t know this story. I tried telling him from the beginning but I didn’t know how to tell him without my emotions leaking through the story. I thought; “He may know that I still love Charles. He may see it through my eyes and judge that I love Charles more than I love him. He may lose trust in our love and walk away.” I kept the story to myself so I can have another go at love in peace and in freedom—freedom from the ghost of Charles. 

–Jasmin

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