My mom had an affair with the chief of our hometown and had me. Because of her age and lineage, they had to keep me a secret. One early dawn, my mom bundled me up and fled town with me. I was very young, around nine years old, but I still have vivid memories of the night we were running away.

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I remember the weather—it was very cold and crisp. As we sat in the car, my mom covered me in a blanket as if I were part of her load. It was my first time in a car, or at least my first time on a long journey. I sat by the window, amazed at how the trees seemed to run backwards as the car moved. I looked at the sky, and it felt like it was moving with us. I was comforted by the thought that God was travelling with us in the sky.

We arrived at a new place that smelled like kindness and new beginnings. My mom introduced me to an old woman she said was my grandma. It was a large compound house that served as a home for many families. It took me a long time to learn everyone’s name, but time was on my side.

One day, while walking me to school, she told me, “Don’t call me mom anymore. I’m not your mom. I’m your sister. We left your real mom back where we came from. Call me Sister Akos from now on.”

It was hard for me to adjust. It took many slaps and scoldings for me to remember. Later, she started coming home with a certain man. He only came at night when everyone was asleep. They spoke in whispers, as if they were thieves in the night.

That man’s presence in my mother’s life turned her into a monster. She hated me so much that she didn’t even want to see my face when he was around. I remember one evening when I couldn’t sleep while the man was there. I coughed, and my mother got up from the bed and started beating me. The man grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out of the room. I overheard him telling her, “Why don’t you send him back to his mom? He’ll be the reason we might not get married.”

I figured if I kept disturbing them, she might send me away. So, every night when he came over, I coughed. I fidgeted on my mat. I wanted them to know I was awake and watching. I had grown accustomed to the beatings. Their threats no longer scared me. I was thirteen and on my way to becoming a man.

My mom chose love over family and sent me away to live with a distant relative. Two years later, that woman died. My mom didn’t attend the funeral. It was my aunt who eventually found me and took me in.

My aunt’s husband liked me so much that he taught me how to fix cars after school. That was when my love for cars began.

My life started to take shape when I was twenty-five. I was a full-fledged mechanic and also attending training college to become a teacher. I had largely forgotten about my beginnings, my mom, and her love story.

One afternoon, after school, I was at my teaching station when my aunt’s husband showed up with my mom. He said, “Your mom is here. She came to visit you.” A decade and a half had passed. I wished it had passed with her so I’d never have to see her again. She came with an apology and a master plan.

My dad, the chief, had died, and she wanted us to go back home to fight for his properties. I laughed at her. She had five other children. She needed money to put them through school. She was appealing to me to follow her so my siblings could get an education. I declined. “You and that man kept me in the dark. I can’t just appear out of nowhere and claim to be one of his kids just to benefit from his estate. No.” She left with tears in her eyes.

I moved to Accra to work for an organization that dealt with cars. They were a group that imported cars into the country, fixed what was broken, and sold them. I was one of the mechanics. I’ve been working with them and have climbed the ranks. Currently, my mom calls me her son. She wants me to help her take care of my siblings because their father is being irresponsible.

She would call me for school fees, upkeep money, and medical expenses. I was doing my best until she told me one day, “Do I have to call you every day before you send me something? I’m your mom. I carried you for nine months. It’s your time to carry me too.”

That was the last straw for me. “You told me yourself that I’m not your child, so what changed?” I asked her. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I see you as a mother. I’m just doing you a favour.”

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I stopped picking up her calls until she eventually stopped calling. She tells family members that she has placed a curse on me and that I will never prosper or bear fruit. I’ve become the tree Jesus cursed because as a mother, she has blessings and curses to give and they come to pass. That doesn’t scare me. She killed me emotionally long before I could grow. She has no right to call herself a mother. And I’m not ready to let her push me around.

—Afrifa 

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