I Fell in Love With An Admin But I’m Now Sharing Her With the Gods

She came to the bank and I decided to help her. The queue was long, and so was my stare. I loved what I was seeing, so I signaled her to come. She was cashing a cheque. I took the cheque and asked her to go and sit down. I could have done it in a minute, but I didn’t want her to leave so soon. Her presence lit up my mood and I wanted to keep her for a while.

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When she came to the counter for the money, I asked quietly, “Can I have your number?”

Even the way she held the pen looked special. She wrote her number and her name under it. I said, “Thank you, Vera.” And she smiled while walking away. I was going to call her over the weekend, but she came again the next day and then again the following day. I asked, “Do you work around here?” She pointed south and said, “Just around the corner. A few meters away from here.”

We became friends. I visited her office for lunch. She visited my home one weekend. I visited her heart and didn’t want to leave. I stamped my desire for her love on her heart. She said I should give her time. But that very day, time was ripe so she said yes to my proposal. It’s different when you fall in love with someone at first sight. You can’t get enough of them. They become your world and your time revolves around them.

We came to work together. I closed a little bit late, so she had to go home before me, but once I left the office, I found my way into her house, then into her arms. Five months later, we were planning our future together. She met my mom. My dad spoke to her on the phone. He’s abroad. Her parents weren’t in Accra, so she told me we had to visit her hometown.

We didn’t do it until a year later. It was their festival and she wanted me to experience it and also meet the whole family tree.

We got there late Friday night. It’s a small town in the Volta region. You could see the place was packed. Drum beats here, music from sound systems there. We changed into something casual and joined the drum beat.

She joined a group who were dancing their traditional dance. I was awed. I hadn’t seen her dance that way before. She pulled me in and asked me to watch and do the same. I was all over the place, embarrassing myself. The rhythm traveled north while I danced towards the south. She was teaching me. The men were also trying to make me dance to the rhythm. It didn’t work. My body turned and twirled wherever it wanted.

In the morning, she formally introduced me to the family. Her mom asked about my tribe and I told her. Her dad asked if my family would accept his daughter and I responded, “My family already knows her.” I met her siblings. They were all lovely and made my stay very easy.

On Saturday afternoon, Vera changed into something different. White marks on her skin and face with only a half piece of cloth tied from her chest down. She wore beads around her neck and ankles and walked barefoot. I teased, “One day, you’ll become a very beautiful ancestor. Look at you.”

We joined a group of band players and dancers. This was different. It looked more culturally serious and fetish-heavy than the one we joined the night before. All the women dressed the same way and the men also the same way. The dancing and shouting were vigorous.

A few minutes later, Vera was dancing when she fell to the ground. All of the dancing group surrounded her, chanting words and beating the drums loudly. I didn’t speak their language, but I could feel all was not well. One man ran out and later came with Vera’s dad. They all stood over her until a fetish priest arrived. He stood and watched Vera on the floor, shaking and shouting.

She got up suddenly and started dancing vigorously. They poured powder and water on her while she danced and screamed. Honestly, I was scared and worried. I asked a gentleman next to me what was happening and he said, “The gods have entered her. She’s a chosen daughter of the priest.”

Eiiish! My Vera?

Our eyes met, but it didn’t look like she remembered me. They allowed her to dance and chant until she was later carried into a room. Her dad took me home, assuring me it was a normal cultural practice and she would be fine. Her dad was a justice of the court, but in the village, he was just like any other person.

I stayed with her family. Her brother James was with me, explaining everything to me. I didn’t see Vera again until late at night when they held a durbar. She came dressed all in white and powdered from hair to toe. I said in my head, “My girlfriend is a fetish priest now? I’m now going to compete with the gods?”

We were supposed to leave on Sunday morning, but by the time I saw her again, it was late afternoon. She had slept all day. When our eyes met, she lowered her head. I didn’t know if I could hug or touch her. She looked drained.

By evening, before leaving, her mom and dad had a long conversation with me, advising me to take good care of her because she was special. They sought to make what happened look normal, telling me it usually happened on a celebration like that. On the bus going home, I asked, “Please, explain everything to me and how it’s going to affect our relationship going forward.”

She said she was feeling sleepy, so she slept until we got back to Accra. Everything went back to normal as if she wasn’t that girl the gods had chosen. She told me, “You don’t have to worry about anything. I’m still the old Vera. I went to Rome and did what the Romans do. Back to normal life.”

She still wears her nails and eyelashes and still dresses in bum shorts when we are alone in the house. She goes to church on Sundays and sings her favorite gospel songs. On Mondays, she’s at work dressed in a suit and playing her admin role while sending emails that start with, “I hope this mail finds you well.”

Nothing has changed really, but day by day and on certain nights when she’s in my arms, what happened in her hometown reels before my eyes and I ask myself, “Am I eating the food for the gods? Are they pleased or are they planning to revolt against me?”

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She’s still the Vera I loved at first sight. She dazzles just like I found her the very first day. My feelings for her haven’t changed. She tells me we’ll prosper because the gods have a soft spot for her. I tease her, “If you say you’re the favorite of the gods, then tell them to give me winning odds.”

My only prayer is that I don’t wake up one day and the gods have won. We play. We laugh. We love. But the future worries me. A lot.

—Owusu

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