I was twenty-three when I met him. He was the main speaker at an event I attended in place of my boss. I sat close to where he sat. I remember being starstruck while looking at him. He was big and famous—he still is. If you’re counting the topmost influential people in Ghana, he would be in the top ten.

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After the event, just when I was about to walk out, a man in security attire approached me. He said, “My boss wants to talk to you.” I asked, “Who? Who is your boss?”

He didn’t mention a name. He said, “Follow me.”

On a normal day, I wouldn’t do that, but I’d seen this security guard next to this influential man, so I felt safe walking with him. He opened a car and I sat in. The security man was seated next to me, assuring me not to worry. I asked where we were going and he answered, “Don’t worry. We’ll get there soon.”

We drove for about twenty minutes before we got to the hotel. I saw Mr. Influential getting out of his car and being led to the hotel. A few minutes later, the security man had a call. After receiving the call, he turned to me and said, “He’s ready. Let’s go. But you have to give me your phone.”

I looked at him like I didn’t hear what he said. He stretched his hand and I reluctantly placed the phone in it. When I picked my bag, he told me I couldn’t go in with it. I was like, “Please, Mr. Man, have I done anything wrong? Why would your boss want to see me and still want to take everything away from me? Am I safe?”

When we stepped into the elevator, he pressed 4. I was watching him. At this moment, I didn’t feel safe. When we got to the fourth floor, he pressed 6. We got to the sixth floor and he pressed 5. I don’t know what he was doing, but finally, the elevator opened and he led me to a suite that looked larger than life. I sat for a few minutes before Mr. Influential walked in with a broad smile.

“I hope they didn’t stress you,” he said, wearing a broad smile. I shook my head. He sat and we started talking. The security guy was not far from us, so he could hear everything we were saying. He asked about my work, why I was there, and where I lived. He asked about my family, number of siblings, and why I was still living with my mom. He tried his best to put me at ease, but I was never at ease.

They brought food and he asked me to eat, but I’d lost my appetite. He said he wanted to be a friend and I laughed. “A friend? How can you have a friend in this situation?” He said he didn’t like life the way it was, but he had to go through it for his own security. And to be in touch with the world outside, he wanted a friend like me.

He gave me a number that didn’t look like the ones we ordinary people use. He asked the security guy to take my number too. Then he asked the security to take me back to wherever I preferred, and they drove me to my office. I had so many questions, but I held on to them.

He called that evening and we talked. He called three days after our first conversation. It took me a while to get used to the fact that a man of his stature was a friend. I couldn’t even tell any of my friends. I tell my mom a lot of things, but it took me a month before I was bold enough to tell her. By that time, Mr. Influential had proposed and I’d laughed off his proposal.

My mom even laughed at me. She said, “You? Where did you meet him? Are you telling me about a dream you had?”

One late night, a car parked in front of our house and Mr. Influential stepped out. My mom opened her mouth and couldn’t close it again until he shook hands with her. She said, “So my daughter is telling the truth?” They joked and later came to my room with that same security standing next to the car. I wanted to love him so badly, but anytime I thought of him, something within me said it was a bad idea.

We had been seeing each other for six months. I’d even traveled with him to one of the African countries, but the whole thing didn’t look real until our first sex happened in Morocco. I hadn’t verbally accepted his proposal, but I was enchanted enough to follow him wherever he wanted me.

He would sneak into my house late at night because that was the only way. I had a good thing going on, but I couldn’t tell the world because I wasn’t supposed to let anyone know. I couldn’t take a photo with him unless we were outside. My phone was even off when I was with him in the same room.

I like to be loved in a normal way. Go to the beach with my boyfriend, display affection for all to see. I want to be able to get up and walk to my boyfriend’s house without telling him I was coming. I want to wear his t-shirt while I cook. I want to have time alone with him, but this wasn’t possible because Mr. Influential wasn’t the normal kind of man.

So I used his age as an excuse. I used his busy schedule against him. I used the protocols around him as the reason to stay away from him. How can I sleep well when there were men outside my window who could see us? I was never myself, but I allowed this relationship to go on for over three years. He loved me and it showed, but I always felt there were other women he treated this way.

For over a year, only four people knew about our relationship: my mom, my dad (who was abroad), and my two siblings. When he talked about marriage, again, I laughed it off. I discussed it with my mom and she urged me on. My dad called from abroad every morning, trying to convince me to say yes. “Remember where you come from,” his voice echoed, “This is not for only you but for the next generations.”

The only person who asked me to follow my heart was my elder brother. “I want you to marry him, but if your soul doesn’t feel right about it, it’s alright.”

I told Mr. Influential, “I want to, but everything surrounding this is the reason I can’t do it. I’m not cut out for this stiff life. Look at me, I’m too young to have a love story like this. I want the free kind of love, the street kind, the one where you don’t have to sneak in to see me with other men in tow.”

I think he got it, but he didn’t leave right away. He still came around when he could. He still invited me when he had the space to accommodate me, but this time, things were different. It wasn’t as intense as it used to be. Slowly we drifted. The number he gave me stopped working. I got the message and stayed away, building my life in a direction I thought was good for me.

A little over a year later, he got married. The woman he married looks very mature and perfect for the position of his wife. I’ve come to understand that these people don’t only marry. Marriage is a department, and their wives are not only wives. They are also an office. I want to be a wife and a wife only, not an institutional office.

Months after marriage, he called with a new number. We talked. I congratulated him. I got to know his wife was pregnant even before the world knew about it. We still talk. When I need his help, I reach out and I get it.

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I have a husband who’s cut to my own specs and desires. He doesn’t know Mr. Influential is my ex. I don’t think he’ll ever know. I’m happy and he’s also happy with what he got. No regrets anywhere. Sometimes love is like that. It doesn’t always end in happily ever after, but it’s okay.

—Beverly 

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