The morning was silent. Like a child who has been scolded for trying to indulge in adults’ conversation. As Frances crept off her bed, her eyes shut, and opened her blinds, she could relate totally to both — the silent morning, the scolded child. She sighed and allowed herself breathe. The way she has not for many many days. The sun gushed towards her. She shut her eyes and she yawned moving closer towards the back. She held that morning nowadays came too early. Her theory is the night rushed it in so it can go off to attend to other businesses aside humans – she won’t be convinced otherwise – and maybe take a nap too. That’s the only reason the morning especially drags the way it does these days; the night’s long naps during the day and short times of being awake despite. It didn’t help that the Harmattan was securing its grip on the forecast and every skin that’ll open itself up as prey. She slipped her feet into her pink charlewote and with lazed steps slouched to the large sitting space of her balcony.
So, you think this is love?
Dwamena’s words settled on her much like cold water on a harmattan morning would taking a bath during her days, years, long years, long fun years in Aburi Girls’. She bit her lip and gazed into the faraway worlds in her imagination.
Why is love so hard?
She found the question stare her in the pupils. She threw herself into her settee and watched the streets beneath her. About fifty hawkers were already pitching their wares to some of the most uninterested buyers blanketed in their fully air-conditioned cars — most of whom are workers in the big companies that have taken over this part of West Legon. Dwamena may be one of them. Headed to the office to wrap up for the holidays. It was 23rd and already Accra smelt like Christmas. If nothing, Shoprite has decorated. Plus, the Santa hat on every selling head this past week was enough evidence of what was happening. Even if she’d rather not believe it, not enjoy it. Christmas is here. But Dwamena, he is not.
She lay back and allowed the streets to have their privacy as she gazed at the starless sky for her own private time. Last year, he had surprised her with her favorite breakfast before she was awake. She still hasn’t figured out how he got in. But he was seated by her bed and probably stared at her the whole time. Because when her eyes flicked open, his was glued to her. She can never forget how hallmarky and magical those three minutes had been. His eyes were raw with love and desire and vulnerability in a way she had never seen before. She will never get over how he loved her without words since. She was so affected, was so clumsy the few minutes after. Dazed by warm sunny love pouring on her. She tripped getting out of bed, hit her head on her bedpost and would have stood staring at a hysterical Dwamena if he had not reminded her of his surprise.
“Please go brush.” Dwamena was still beside himself with laughter. “The Koose will go cold.”
“Keep laughing.” She had told him, shaking her head while laughing herself. “So, where’s my Koko and Koose from?” She screamed, after her first mouth rinse.
“From Madina estate.”
“Oboy,” She swirled the water in her mouth and spit out her last rinse. Then she made her way towards Dwamena with her you-can-fool-me face on. She put herself right in front of him and the playback of the Cavaliers and State Warriors playoffs on Kwesé sports. “Oboy, you drove from Pig Farm to Madina is what you mean?” She grew up on those streets. The Koko just before the Pentecost school is her favorite. She’s yapped about it to Dwamena many times. Even drove there once with him.
“Yes please.” Dwamena kept his eyes off her, a grin tuck around his lips.
“Ayoo. I’m going to taste. It better not be a dupe.” She had almost bit into the first supple fried delicacy she couldn’t go most mornings without.
“Not after a fresh brush. Give it five minutes so the taste will come through right please.”
“Kwesi Dwamena!” Frances screamed and dropped by him pouting.
And after the five minutes, she bit her way through a surprise she etched deep into her soul. Which man would have loved her like this? Surprising her every moment he could. When she was showered and dressed up, they stayed at home all day, cooked her favorite lunch – Banku and crab-filled Okro stew – together and then cuddled. The feel of her kinky afro against his shoulder and the smell of freshly ironed shirt and face oils and lavender stole her mind. That evening, when he bid her goodbye and held her in his arms, against his warm chest, dropped on a knee and got her screaming and stamping as he slipped on her engagement ring, it had taken every will in her to not drag him back inside and make him hers with every intimate touch she knew possible. It had taken every goodwill and God’s grace and his sweet smile for her not to love him and hurt him all in one. She had cuddled against her pillow and prayed herself to sleep after he drove off. She knew she would love him forever.
So why couldn’t I wait?
Dwamena had to go away for six months for his five-year quarter training with their affiliate company in India. He was into techs. She thought she wouldn’t mind. Till after he kissed her forehead and vanished into the departure hallway. Yes, they skyped every evening of every day and yes, they WhatsApped all day. She saw countlessly his tired eyes that still sparked with love for her. His words weighed down with the way he missed her, the way he hated being away from her too. But it never was enough. His distance presence wouldn’t tame her passion. Her neighbor’s cheap love swept her off her the floor and would have hurled her same way back had Dwamena not come through her door again, and for what could be the last. It was the night to the day Dwamena was scheduled to arrive.
That night, she had cried every muscle of strength out of her, popped open the only bottle of wine she had in her kitchen cabinet and drunk every logic out of her. Then the knock came. The neighbor opened and peered in and then entered. She had heard him slam the door to get her attention, but she didn’t care. She was slumped over on the floor of her sitting area. He had slipped onto the floor by her, held her hands, said stuff to her she didn’t hear. He was a flirt. Every girl in the flat knew. She knew he shouldn’t be here. She knew but she let him. She was standing frozen before him, slowly yielding to his every finger’s trace as the door swung open and Dwamena’s love found it’s way to them – she, clothed yet in her mind, naked and he, ashamed and ready to bolt. As the neighbor run and she stood still frozen, Dwamena’s broken heart scraped away from hers, every right to be called another’s lover. His or any other man’s.
So, you think this is love?
He had shivered as he spoke. His voice was barely a whisper. He walked past her, put a bag of gifts down by her bed and walked away from her, his tears marking his trail. He hadn’t called since. She hasn’t. She glanced at the bag of gifts and forbade the tears from falling. Her eight o’clock alarm went off. She glided her hands into the pockets of her pyjamas and stared at her wall. Then she seemed to remember the only Koko selling in front of the flat will be all bought soon. She threw on her maxi dress and rushed to the door. She yanked it open, turned towards it to lock and was stepping down after huddling herself to the face of the door when she saw his eyes on hers.
Like a dream, Dwamena was here, looking past her eyes into the deepest part of her soul. It was as though his hands have reached into her true self, bringing back ugly memories and stroking her back to comfort all in one. She stood still unable to move her eyes from his. What was he here for? For the ring? For the final goodbye? Dwamena’s eyes welled with the tears of the days he allowed to go by without looking so deep into the only face he’s ever loved with no thoughts or fears. He shouldn’t have walked away that night. Even if he had to, he should have come back; to love her. He had to let her know.
“Frances, I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed that night and told you you’re forgiven. That I love you still. I should have come back sooner.”
The forbidden tears fell and as he followed her into the place they found love and lost it and may find it again, she was glad for this Christmas.
Footnote:
Koko: Porridge made from mainly corn dough or millet with other additives.
Koose: A snack by itself or an accompaniment to porridges made from millet.
If you liked this, you may like What A Boy Means, The Happy Bare Chest or I Loved You Too Late – the story. Also, check out the chapters of the main story we read here this year When Love Finds You.
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Happy holidays in advance. Have fun as we spend this season of Jesus’ birth with and relive the love of God’s gracious salvation to all men. HoHoHo!!
©M’afua Awo Twumwaah 2017.
Afua Awo Twumwa 