I am not from a rich home. My mother single-handedly raised my siblings and me. Nothing about our lives came on a silver platter. Growing up, I sold things and helped my mother hawk them just so we could survive.

There were nights I cried myself to sleep, asking God to make a way where there seemed to be no way. I have quarreled with my siblings because someone took the leftover rice I did not eat the previous night, reheated it, and ate it before I got home. Life was hard. That is all I am trying to say.

FOLLOW US ON WHATSAPP CHANNEL TO RECEIVE ALL STORIES IN YOUR INBOX

Today, I am a beautiful young woman, and I have been talking to this man for years. From the way things are going, I know he wants to come over, see where I live, and finally meet my family.

That is where my problem begins.

My mother, my younger siblings, and I all live together in a single room. It is cramped. It is small. There are “Ghana Must Go” bags everywhere because there is hardly enough space for our belongings. It is not the kind of place you proudly invite someone into. We make do with what we have and thank God for the food on our table.

I have plans to rent my own place because of the distance to my workplace and also because of sikasɛm, money matters. However, that dream has been put on hold for now. I am still gathering enough money to make it happen.

The man I have been talking to comes from the complete opposite background. We met at a wedding, exchanged contacts, and built a friendship. We started going on dates, visiting places I only used to dream about, and suddenly I found myself experiencing them. I have visited his workplace, seen how he moves around the office, how he commands authority, and how he relates with his workers.

He was born with a silver spoon. The grass has always been greener on his side, and he never had to cross over to find it.

His parents are very wealthy and well-known public figures who are now retired after successful careers. He has four siblings, and they are all doing well and living outside Ghana. He is the youngest, and he is doing very well for himself too. He has a PhD, and you can only imagine the calibre of women he meets every day. The classy ones. The sophisticated ones. The tall, elegant, and eloquent women who seem to fit perfectly into his world.

Then there is me. Ma Christy ni bi, a woman who is still climbing the ladder.

My boyfriend himself is an intelligent man. When he speaks, he speaks with wisdom. His intelligence is something to admire, and I learn something new every time we have a conversation.

Out of all the women he could have chosen, he chose me. He wants to build a future and a family with me. Sometimes, it feels so sweet that it almost feels like a Cinderella love story, but then I stop and ask myself, am I even allowed to dream this kind of dream? Is it real, or is it just a beautiful illusion?

I have never asked him for money or burdened him with my family’s financial struggles, so he has never really “seen” me through the lens of poverty. It is not pride that keeps me from telling him. It is something I cannot even explain. Maybe it is because I have always carried myself with dignity. If you met me, you would probably assume everything is fine at home, but the truth is that it is not.

So, how do I bring this man to my house, knowing the kind of life he has lived since childhood?

He has been nothing but a gentleman from the very beginning, but these questions refuse to leave my mind.

Will his parents agree for their son to marry a poor girl like me? Will they encourage the son they have invested so much in to marry into a family like mine? What will they think of my mother, my siblings, and the place we call home? Won’t they burst into laughter and look at us with pity?

Do rich people really marry poor people like they show in movies? Does it even end well? Will they respect me, or will they merely tolerate me? Will they ever truly value me?

These questions haunt me every single day. We see stories like this in movies and on television, but those stories are adaptations of real life. Sometimes, I wonder if mine will become one of them.

I Called My Girlfriend And Another Man Answered The Phone

Considering all this, should I just ghost him? Should I block him everywhere before he gets the chance to come to my house and meet my family? Should I walk away now and save myself from the humiliation I fear is waiting for me? Or am I allowing my fears to destroy something that could have been beautiful? Hmm.

—Seyram

This story you just read was sent to us by someone just like you. We know you have a story too. Email it to us at [email protected]. You can also drop your number and we will call you so you tell us your story.

#SB<>