How My Marriage Took The Lives Of My Dad And My Only Sister

On my traditional wedding day, I found a needle, three dry leaves, and a piece of red fabric under the seat I sat on. The leaves were inside the fabric and the needle was stuck through the middle of it. I picked it up and showed it to my father. He took it, disassembled it, and asked who could have placed it under my seat, just beneath the foam.

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He called everyone who was part of the decoration, young and old, and asked them who did it. Nobody owned up. My dad poured kerosene on it and set it ablaze. He said, “I don’t know the intention of the one who did this. Whatever the intention, they should suffer the consequences.”

A week after my wedding, my dad died. He wasn’t sick or weak. He died in his sleep. My mom was uncontrollable. My elder sister, who was still living with my parents, threw herself on the floor, screaming she wanted to die too. Then my brothers, the men of the house, stood wondering what had happened. I whispered into my brother’s ear, “Is it because he burnt that thing?”

When the family sat down, my elder brother raised the issue: “Dad’s death is mysterious. Just a week ago, he stood here and burnt something Adwoa found under her seat, but today he’s gone. This is spiritual and we ought to look into it.”

I agreed with him. If my dad died because of that, then what was supposed to happen to me? I took it upon myself to find out who placed the thing there, while my elder brother decided to consult a fetish priest. My mom disagreed. My sister spoke vehemently against our decision, questioning our faith in God.

I asked every family member who was at my wedding and was involved one way or the other in the decoration or food. One woman told me, “If something was found close to your seat, then it might have come from your sister. She put the chair there and even told one of your aunties not to change the position.”

I went to that aunt and asked why my sister asked her not to touch the seat, and she answered, “I don’t know, but after she said that, she stood by until the ceremony started. She should know who placed those things there because she didn’t leave your chair alone.”

I told my elder brother about it and he also said he had suspected it right from the onset, but since dad burnt the thing, he simply couldn’t raise the issue again. He assured me we would look into it after the funeral.

My husband was the most affected. He didn’t sleep well. He asked what was going to happen after my dad’s death. He wondered about the effect on our marriage. For some reason, I wasn’t worried or scared, but I borrowed some fear from my husband when he started asking those questions.

I spoke to my mom: “I’m scared. What if I was the one to die and dad took it on my behalf?” She answered, “You won’t die. God won’t allow it.” I asked, “What about my marriage?” My sister walked in so we stopped talking. We had all come to suspect my sister because of what my aunt said.

She’s the second born and I’m the fourth and last born. She’s five years older. She loved me, and because the two of us were the girls of the family, we were very close. I told her everything and she did the same. When my husband proposed, I told her. When we fixed the wedding date, the next minute I was on the phone with her, telling her about the wedding. She was the senior organizer of my wedding, especially the traditional one.

My dad was buried on a Saturday. On Monday, when we met as a family, my elder brother stood up and said, “Dad is gone but the living won’t keep quiet and pretend all is well.” Then he mentioned my sister’s name, asking her directly if she knew something about the leaves and needle. My sister burst out into tears, asking my brother how he could associate her name with that. “I’ve also been searching. I’ve been scared just like everyone else, so why mention my name?”

My brother answered, “It’s good it’s not you because the person responsible is going to follow dad a week from today. I’ve dived into the realm. I know what they told me.”

My sister called my mom’s name, asking why she was quiet. “Won’t you say anything while they blame me? Do you think I would do that?” My mom answered, “At this moment, all I care about is the safety of everyone. We need answers.”

My husband had been praying. He even fasted. I did too when I could. My brother was working in the Northern region then. He called to tell us what he was doing and the spiritual men he was speaking to. One day he said, “The target was your womb. The needle was stuck in your children, represented by the leaves. It wasn’t just a needle but a dagger.”

I asked what we should do and he told me not to worry because he was still on it. He took money from me to buy a goat and kola nut. He asked me to send him the dress I wore for my traditional wedding. I did, and less than a month later, my sister started behaving weirdly. She talked about faces no one saw. She ran from dogs no one could hear. She screamed at dawn, saying someone was sitting on her.

My mom called us home one weekend and we all sat to listen to my sister speak. She said she had nothing to say, meanwhile she was the one who had asked my mom to call us home. My brother wasn’t talking, but anytime my sister spoke, she mentioned my elder brother’s name, asking him to say something. My brother stood up and left. A few minutes later, my sister started talking.

“I didn’t mean to kill dad. He burnt it, that’s why. He shouldn’t have. I also didn’t know he shouldn’t have.” Then she went quiet again. My mom asked her, “What do you want from your younger sister? I thought you loved her, so why would you want to destroy her?”

She didn’t answer that. She said she didn’t mean to let any of that happen and she would do everything to reverse it and even bring my dad back to life again if she could. At some point, what she was saying didn’t add up. She would start from Q and end up at B. My mom asked where she went to get those things, but the answer she gave wasn’t coherent. We had to rally together to get her to speak up so we would know where she went. Every question we asked was deflected.

All this happened on a Saturday. On Thursday, my mom called to tell me she couldn’t find her. She had gone out the previous day and didn’t come back. I was like, “It’s shame that’s driving her away. Don’t mind her.” On Friday early morning, we got the news. She had been killed by a speeding vehicle. Eyewitnesses described it as suicide. She stood in the middle of the road just when the car was coming. Bam! She didn’t make a sound.

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That’s how my marriage took the lives of people I loved. I miss my dad as I write this. I still cry because his death could have been easily avoided. I miss my sister too. All she had to do was love me as the sister I’d always been, but she allowed herself to be consumed by darkness.

Anytime it’s my wedding anniversary, I remember them and I cry instead of being joyful. We are eleven years in marriage with three children, but none of our anniversaries have been joyful. My sister stained my marriage and memories, but I forgive her. I pray for her.

—Adwoa

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