My Best Friend Tried to Reach Me Before She Died But I Was Asleep

Akua was my best friend. My sister in every way that mattered. We ate together, laughed together, shared good times and bad, and shared secrets and dreams. For 20 years, we were tied at the waist. That’s how deep our bond was.

She knew me better than most people ever will. And I thought I knew her just as well.

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On Monday night, she called me. It was close to midnight. I was fast asleep, but the phone kept ringing and woke me up. Just as I reached for it, the call dropped. Her name flashed on the screen: Akua. I checked the time. It was almost midnight. I told myself I’d call her back the next day.

By morning, I had forgotten all about it. I went about my day as usual. Later that afternoon, when I finally remembered, I dialled her number. It rang and rang. No one picked up. I didn’t think much of it. We were two adults with busy lives. I figured she was caught up and would get back to me.

But she didn’t. That whole day, I heard nothing from her.

On Tuesday, I sent her a message. No reply. No reaction. That’s when I started to feel uneasy. Where was she? Why wasn’t she responding? I didn’t understand.

Then, around midday on Wednesday, a message came from her phone.

“Akua is dead.”

I screamed. “Jesus!” My hands were shaky, and my eyes filled with tears in a second. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I typed back with trembling fingers, “Who is this, please?”

A voice note came through.

“Afia, it’s me, Kukuwa. I have Akua’s phone. I’m at the hospital, returning her medication and paying for her pills so they can issue the death certificate.”

I dropped to the floor and cried until my voice broke and my chest was hurting me so much. I held the phone in my hands and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t believe it. I kept asking the empty room, “Akua, where were you going? Why didn’t you wait for me? Why didn’t I answer that call?”

Of all the things troubling me, one question won’t let me rest. Why didn’t I pick up her call that night? Was it her final goodbye? Was she trying to tell me something? Was she scared? Was she in pain?

I went through our old chats, and each message felt like a knife, so many memories, so much love, so many plans we made that will never happen now.

Let me tell you what happened…

Years ago, Akua made a decision that changed everything. She got pregnant, and we were only 19. We were scared; we were still in school, and the boy she was dating was trouble. I never liked him, and I never trusted him.

She called me crying, and I scolded her like a mother would. But I rushed to see her, and she was terrified. I told her to keep the baby, and I promised to help her talk to her parents. I was so involved, so much so that we made plans to travel to her hometown the next day and face them together.

But when I arrived, she said she couldn’t go. That boy had convinced her to abort the baby, and he brought some concoction he swore would work. She trusted him, and she believed he wouldn’t lie to her. But it wasn’t safe, and it wasn’t done properly.

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She was already bleeding, so I begged her to go to the hospital. She said her body would sort itself out, and I walked away angry because I didn’t understand what she meant by “her body would sort itself out.” I didn’t speak to her for days.

To make things worse, the boy left her without a word. He didn’t even pretend to care.

Eventually, we made peace, and we forgave each other. But the damage was done. Her body never healed, and her health never fully recovered.

Akua was 37 when she died. No husband. No child. She often told me she felt unlucky, even cursed. I reminded her that God’s time is the best, and I told her her blessings were still coming. But deep down, I knew she was tired.

When the pain got worse, I kept urging her to go to the hospital. She was scared of the bills, and I was scared of losing her.

When she finally went, they diagnosed her with endometriosis. The doctors removed her fallopian tubes, and her only chance of having a child was through IVF. But it was too expensive, and she was devastated. I told her not to worry, because her health mattered more than anything else.

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We thought the worst was behind us, but then the pathology results came back. They found cancer. The doctors planned chemotherapy, but complications from the surgery sent her back to the hospital. This time, she didn’t make it back home.

When I say Akua loved life, I mean it. She loved to laugh, she loved to dream, and she loved deeply. She was full of fire, full of hope, full of stories.

But death came too soon, too fast, and far too cruel.

Now, all I have are memories and a heart full of sorrow that refuses to go away.

What makes it harder is knowing that her ex-boyfriend, the one who gave her that deadly concoction, the one who left her bleeding and broken, is still alive. He is out there living his best life, married with a family, raising a child of his own, while Akua lies frozen in the mortuary, waiting to be buried. Life is not fair, and sometimes it feels unbearably cruel.

All I know is this: no boyfriend is worth your life. No relationship is worth your health. No man is worth dying for. Guard your body and protect your future. It is all you have. Do not let any man convince you to do something that will haunt you forever.

That midnight call haunts me. I replay it in my mind every single day. What if I had picked up? What would she have said? Would she still be here?

I miss you, Akua. I wish I had answered that call. I wish we had more time. I wish I could tell you one more time how much you meant to me.

But most of all, I wish you had known, truly known, how deeply you were loved.

Rest in peace, my sister, my friend, my Akua.

—Yaa

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