My Love Story: Love To The Rescue

A week prior to meeting the woman who will later become my wife, I had heeded a call by a preacher to give my life over to Christ. I raised my hand and went to the altar to be prayed for and to give my life to The One Who Is Love. “You have tried all you can, now give it over to Him who is able to deliver you, let Love come to the rescue,” the Preacher said. That is why I’m calling my love story Love To The Rescue , because at the time I met my love, I was at the tail end of an identity crisis, where I had wrestled with my sense of self and place in the world. And then I gave it to God.

Having become a fledging Christian, there were many things in my life I tried hard to eliminate, some I succeeded easily, others not so much. Excessive alcohol intake and the club scene were things I wasn’t ready to give up yet. This particular Friday, I was at Joker’s Nightclub, sitting outside, daring myself not to go in and gyrate with beautiful damsels. The loud music inside the club didn’t necessarily spill out, but I could feel the vibration in my legs enough to know it was lit in there.

Outside, there were other patrons like me, enjoying drinks, the famous kebabs and fried yam. And then there were the ladies of the night, in various shaped and sizes, they meant business. Right across from me, in my direct eyeshot, sat two women, clearly ladies of the night who’d made a score for the night, and three men. They sat doing tequila shots and smoking cigarettes. I couldn’t help but notice one of the ladies seemed quite uncomfortable; she neither smoked not drank. And she tried in vain to pull her short, skin-tight dress down to cover her thighs.

Every now and again, the man sitting closest to Lady Uncomfortable would massage her thigh and wrap his hands around her. A blind man could see those advances weren’t very welcome.

“Why not just get up and leave?” I thought. “Occupational hazard I guess.”

While I sat watching them, she met my eyes and we held each other’s gaze for a split second. I could swear she was begging me to rescue her. But I looked away.

Our eyes met again, and again and with each gaze, she seemed sadder than the last. And then I heard a voice, as clear as day, “Lead her.”

Was it the alcohol? Was I hallucinating?

Our eyes met again. And again as clear as day, “Lead her.”

Wait a minute, is God speaking to me?

“This Christianity thing is getting into my head or I am going loony,” I thought.

And then as clear as day again, “Lead her.”

Our eyes met again, and the voice spoke again, “Lead. Her.”

“But she’s a prostitute, how do I lead a prostitute?” I thought to myself.

“Lead. Her.”

When our eyes met again, I gestured with my head, rose and walked towards the restrooms.

She followed. Still doing the futile dress pulling.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

She burst into tears.

“Do you want to leave?” I asked.

She nodded in the affirmative.

“I’ll call you a cab, go round the back and meet me at the parking lot,” I said.

“I have to take money to my Aunty else she will be very angry,” she spoke for the first time.

“Your Aunty? Is she your family or Aunty is her nickname?” I enquired.

“My late father’s older sister,” she replied.

I got goosebumps.

“How long have you been doing this for your aunt?” I asked.

“I started today,” she replied.

“How much were you supposed to take home today?” I asked.

“I don’t know, the man is supposed to give me the money. She negotiated with him already,” she replied.

“Jesus Holy Christ!” I muttered under my breath.

I gave her two hundred dollars, put my number in her phone, plus my business card and sent her home in a cab. Love to the rescue, I just didn’t know I loved her yet.

She didn’t call for days, and I decided it all had been an elaborate scam. Until she called me one day begging me to help her return to her home country Nigeria.

Misskorang to cut a long story short, her parents had died in a car accident a year prior. She had gained admission to Lagos State University by then. After the funeral, family had split her and her siblings, sending them to relatives to care for them. She ended up with the aunt from hell, who had promised to help secure admission for her in University of Ghana, only to turn her to prostitution with a myriad of threats.

I ended up moving Fumilayo to my mother’s home around Accra Academy and helped her get admission in University of Ghana. So that is what I mean when I say, love to the rescue.

The interesting thing is, all the while I was helping her, I told myself I did it because it was the right thing to do. My mother used to call and say, “Come and visit your wife.”

And I’ll say, “Oh I’m just helping her, she’s not my wife.”

Mom would always respond, “Hwe ne gyimii bi.” Meaning, see his foolishness.

It only dawned on me I was in love with her when a girl I was dating asked her if she was one of my cousins.

Fumi looked in her eye and said, “No. He’s my betrothed, you’re only keeping him till I’m ready for him.”

Misskorang that ended my relationship with my girlfriend and started a journey to marriage with Fumi.

So that is my love story. Love to the rescue; A journey from despair to finding true friendship and love. We’ve been married nine years and have two daughters. My wife is now deputy head of HR for a bank. Yep, that’s the talent her aunt was willing to sell and destroy for peanuts.