If you haven’t read the first part of this story, here’s the link. Kindly read it before starting this one.

When my story was published months ago, the popular opinion was that I should bring external family into the issue. I should talk to an uncle or someone in the family that my parents respect to intercede on my behalf. I had already done that but forgot to add it to the story. I’m very close to my father’s senior brother. I lived with him for four good years until I completed senior high school. I spoke to him about my father’s behavior and his advice was simple. “You live with him. He sees you every day. He saw the beginning of your beard until it got to where it is now. It will never appear new in his eyes because he was there when it started. But what did I say when you walked in here? That you’re now a man, right? Your dad or your mom would not see it until you leave the house.”

I knew he was speaking the truth but I didn’t want to upset my father. That was even before my senior sister got married. After publishing my story, I went back to him again. His first question was, “Are you still living with your parents?” I said, “Yes. They don’t think it’s the right idea for me to rent a place when they have empty rooms in their house.” He asked me, “So you agreed with them?” I said, “I’m only respecting them because they are my parents. I don’t want to make them angry or make them feel disrespected.” He answered, “You don’t want to disrespect them, that’s good. I hope they also don’t disrespect you because you live with them.”

I told him about my marriage issue again and also told him my dad was against it. He laughed. He asked me, “Your dad asked you to get land and a car before you think about marriage? Look he’s just looking for a reason to keep you around. When he married your mother, he didn’t have any of the things he’s talking about. The land his house is built on belongs to your mother’s family. It was her share of her family’s asset. Your father got land because of marriage. Don’t mind him.” He continued laughing until I asked him if he would talk to him on my behalf.

He said, “What your father is saying is not a bad idea but a man can’t have it all. Men live and die without ever owning land and cars. We are in Accra, you can buy a piece of land today and lose it tomorrow and in the process lose your life’s savings. Will that make you a man? If you think you’re ready. You feel very strongly that you’re ready, just look for a place and pay for it. Then go to him and tell him that you’ve paid for a place so you’ll be moving out. When he says no, you’ve already paid for it. You’ll then decide whether to listen to him and waste your money or go out there and enjoy your money’s worth.”

I went home and thought about what he told me for days. When my story was published the first time, a lot of people said I wasn’t mature if at this age I allow my parents to manipulate me. One wrote, “The fact that he was called to fan the fire while younger ones were there and he obliged means he is still a kid.” I’ve always acted mature even when I was twenty. I’m the only son. I have two elder sisters but my father treated me as the eldest of his kids. He placed his trust in me and raised me to take his place in the family. I saw that and felt I had to repay his trust, hence the special respect I gave to his orders. I wasn’t being a kid. I was only responding to the dictate of our cultural and religious demands that said we should respect our parents. But when it got extreme, I decided to follow my uncle’s advice.

I used two weeks to get a new place. One evening when they were both seated watching TV, I went to them and gave them the news. “Dad, I rented a place days ago. I should be moving to the place this weekend.” They were both quiet as if they didn’t hear me. My dad cleared his throat. He asked, “What did you just say?” I repeated my statement. He said, “So you think your grown wings so you can take decisions without consulting us? Then why are you telling us? Just pack your things and go. You didn’t need our permission to rent so why do you need our permission to pack out?” I answered, “I’m not asking for permission. You’re my parents. It’s just right that I tell you before I move out. And this is not the first time I’ve told you about my desire to get a new place. I just got it and I’m telling you.”

He chuckled and left the hall. My mom said, “I’m not saying anything wrong should happen to you where you’re going but when it does, you’ll remember us and what we told you.”

Early morning, I heard a knock on my door. My mom walked in. She sat on my bed and started giving me exhortation; “Your dad is hurt. He’s angry with you and it’s not good. Change your mind and do it later when he agrees with you. We are not pushing you our so why are you in a haste? We are your parents. We know the terrain you’re going through more than you do. Listen to us when we speak.” I answered, “I’ve already paid for it. I will be fine.” 

“You’re doing all this because of a woman?”

“No, she doesn’t even know I’m moving out. It’s about me than it’s about her.”

“Yooo, do what you want. We are here.”

I left home in July. I called home every day to check on them. Their responses sounded repressed but it didn’t bother me. I went home on weekends to see them. I asked them if there was something they needed me to do for them. Sometimes they gave me something to do. Other times they didn’t have anything for me to do. Life went on but the most important thing was I saw them coming to terms with my new situation as a child who no longer lives with his parents. When my mom called and needed a favor from me, she preceded her request with “please”. She came to visit me once and commended me on how I’ve put my place together.  I said in my head, “It’s time to make the next move.”

I called my uncle and told him about the new development. He asked me, “Did they kill you for leaving the house?” I responded, “I wouldn’t be talking to you if they did.” He said, “Being a man comes shrouded in making hard decisions like this. It contributes to your growth and sends a clear signal that you can’t be bossed around. Now tell me, when do you want me to go and see your dad about the marriage?” I answered, “As soon as possible.” He said, “Let’s go and see them next weekend.”

My uncle. Quite a character. Immediately he entered the house of my parents, he started screaming my father’s name; “Akwasi, where are you? Come out here and tell us why you think we can’t marry. We have beards. We have a job. We have our own place now. We even have a woman so what’s your point?” All this was said into the air as my father was yet to come out. When my mom offered him a chair, he told her, “So you also agree with your husband that we are too young to marry?” My mom smiled and left.

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When we finally sat down to discuss our reasons, my uncle repeated, “My son called to tell me you guys say he can’t marry because he’s too young. Is that true?” My dad said, “I didn’t say that. I was only offering him a better alternative.” My uncle said, “What’s the alternative? Let’s discuss.” My dad was surprisingly calm. He answered, “Oh it’s ok. He’s bent on getting married and it’s not a bad thing. When we were young, our parents did the same thing to us but we went ahead and got married anyway. So he can go ahead. I wanted to do so much as a father but I guess he’s his own man now. He can go ahead.”

We did the knocking in early November. Our wedding is scheduled for February 2022. Akwele is happy but I’m the happiest. Today, my mom calls her in-law. She stays on the phone with her for several minutes, talking about the marriage plans and asking her what she wants. We visit them on weekends. They both stay in the kitchen until the food is served. They are getting along so well that it makes my heart smile. 

Some people get things easy when they decide to marry and there are people like us who have to go through a baptism of fire to justify their reasons for getting married. I’m not angry and don’t regret whatever happened between me and my dad. I guess is part and parcel of becoming a man.          

–Ablorh

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