Deep Regrets: I Traded In A Good Man For A Bad Dog

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I can boldly say in all my life that there is one single thing that I deeply regret; when I followed bad advice and greed, and left a good, good man to marry a bad dog. I have deep regrets about every decision that led me down this path of frustration and single motherhood. If there ever was a phrase stronger than, “I have regretted,” I would use it, but I just can’t find the words.

In the year 2007, I was a national service personnel at a life insurance company in Kumasi. I lived with my mother and three older sisters, and I had high hopes for my life.

All my life I had been told I was beautiful and that my beauty would afford me a rich husband. I can say my sense of self was built around the notion of marrying well. I don’t know what is the reason for my mother’s obsession with light skin, but she painted this elaborate picture of me finding wealth because I took after my paternal grandfather and had light skin. She called me her very own obroni. And she instilled in me a high sense of self with no real substance to back it up. Everything was about my looks; I am long legged and tall, with wide almond eyes and a chiseled oval face.

When puberty hit, I developed an ample bosom and a well defined hips. I can say I hit a jackpot in the looks department but not so much the common sense part, that is until life sat me down and taught me the mother of all lessons.

I met Randy in 2007, I had just graduated from K-Poly and was working as an administrative assistant in my national service position. He was a client at my office and had come to correct a wrong deduction on his account. Being new and eager to please, I assisted him to get his business done with all the professionalism I could muster. By the time he was done, he had my number and had promised to have pizza delivered to me.

But rather than deliver the pizza, he called and invited me to a pizza place close to Capital Radio; he called it a pizza date. That Friday evening has become a beautiful mainstay in my memory, whenever I am sad or lovelorn, I replay that date. It was simple and wholesome! We sat under a secluded tree, separated from other patrons, and we talked for hours and hours. We talked about everything and nothing.

We had a large pizza and a big box of don simon fruit juice. We were practically strangers, but it didn’t feel like that at all. It felt as if we were old friends. Our connection was instant and electrifying. Randy was and still is a gentleman. I was smitten.

He told me about his life, and how he had had to struggle because both his parents died when he was just a boy. And he talked fondly about his days in South Africa studying wood art. He regaled me with wicked, humorous horror stories about his failed voyage to Europe via the Sahara desert, and he talked fondly and passionately about his sophisticated wood art business he was struggling to get off the ground.

Compared to him, I didn’t have a story. So I told him the little there was to tell, about my mother and my sisters, and the trajectory of my life. I will never forget what he said when I told him I still lived with my mother. He wistfully said, “I wish I still had my mother. You are blessed, Gifty.”

As the evening wore on, the moon appeared. It was a bright, full moon. And by that time, we had talked for more than three hours. He suggested we get out from under the tree and sit under the open skies. And I still get goosebumps when I remember how he looked at me under the light of the moon, “You look like a goddess, Gifty,” He said smiling.

I purred like a Cheshire cat.

“One day when my business brings in enough to sustain us, I am going to marry you,” He said, and then he drove me home. That was the magic of our first date.

And we had many, many wonderful moments after.

A year and half after we met, the insurance company employed me as an HR officer. I began to make enough, and with Randy’s business picking up, we felt in a good position to make our relationship official to our families.

Randy’s family, his aunt and cousins received me with love. My mother and two of my sisters received Randy with disdain. Mom said a prophet had told her I would marry an older, well established man based in the United states, and that was certainly not Randy.

Only one of my sisters, the eldest, sided with my choice of man. She said, “He looks like a good guy, Gift, marry character not personality, anyone can come into money any day, but not everyone will treat you right.”

I will never forget the tirade of insults my mother rained on my big sister that day. Mom said my sister was encouraging me to marry a carpenter.

That time Randy drove a Nissan March, and that became one of my mom’s main jabs. “See your long legs,” she would say, “Long legs in a dwarf car. That guy will give you knee problems, arthritis.”

And that is how my household nicknamed Randy ‘Arthritis’.

Randy saw he wasn’t very welcome in my family, but he kept trying,he kept coming. I should have protected him, I should have stood up to my mom and sisters, but I kept mute and let the veiled disrespect continue.

Then one day, he asked me to lend him a bit of money. Almost my entire savings. He was taking stock of a pile of plywood and needed the money to pay for it. All my mother’s dire warnings about poverty flooded into my heart. No I did not want to give him my money, he ought to give me his, not the other way round.

One evening while walking home from work, a Nissan Patrol rolled slowly to a stop by my side. The distinguished man in the car rolled down his glass and offered me a lift. “No, my house is right in front of us, thank you,” I said and walked off.

He slowly followed me. Then he parked at the back of the house, got down from his car and followed me home. I won’t lie, that grand gesture felt romantic to me. And he was so self assured and distinguished! He wore expensive clothes and carried himself with an air of importance. I started feeling all warm and fuzzy, tingling from head to toe. I hear that feeling is a sign of common sense vacating a person, I believe it is true.

As soon as my mother saw Sefa and heard his reason for being in our house, she began to sing:

“O for a thousand tongues to sing,

My Great Redeemer’s praise.

The Glories of my God and King

The triumphs of His grace

The triumphs of His grace…”

And she made sure to emphasize ‘triumphs’!

That evening marked the beginning of my woes and a chain of events that will leave a regret tattoo in my heart. The sea waves of deep regret lashing me as I write this, began forming that evening when Sefa stepped in and pushed Randy out.

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Adwoa Danso

I am a connoisseur of life stories, and writing is my first love. I believe we can empower, educate and uplift by telling our stories. Writing is my happy place.

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Deep Regrets: I Traded In A Good Man For A Bad Dog

Adwoa Danso

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