My Mother’s Secret Is About to Shame Two Families and I’m the One in the Middle

I never grew up with my mother the way most children do. While other kids had their mothers, I was always with other people. Always. Even for the short while I lived with her, she gave me away again at age six, this time to her younger sister. Her excuse was that I would have company there with my cousins. My aunt took me in as one of her own, and her husband, my uncle, God bless him, always did his best to be a father to me. He tried. But it was my mother who paid my school fees and the bills. It seemed that was the arrangement they had.

FOLLOW US ON WHATSAPP CHANNEL TO RECEIVE ALL STORIES IN YOUR INBOX

I never cared about who my father was. It didn’t bother me. When other children talked about their daddies picking them up from school, I felt nothing. Even when I saw, right under my own nose, how my uncle doted on his daughter, how protective he was, how he rushed to her, and the way his smile reached his ears when it was for her, it didn’t affect me. Not until I was a teenager.

That is when the questions started. I wanted to ask my mother, “Where is my father? What is his name? When can I see him? Do you have a picture?” I asked every question I needed to, hoping to cure my curiosity. She just looked at me, quiet, as if I had pressed her mute button. After a while, she stood up, pulled a picture from a drawer, and said, “His name is Ampofo.” She told me he was from Akuapem.

“Okay,” I said. “So what happened? Where is he now? Does he know about me?”

According to her, they were engaged to be married. She fell pregnant, but when she told him, he denied all responsibility. His family backed him up. She said there was some back and forth until her family finally drew a line. They told his family, “We will take her and the child. Do not return to claim responsibility when the child is grown and of benefit.” And that, she said, was how things ended with the man she had been willing to love for a lifetime.

It was hard to understand. How could a man you were engaged to deny a pregnancy? It didn’t make sense, but I didn’t care about who was wrong or right. I just wanted to know him for myself. To be honest, my mother could be aggressive sometimes, and in my head, I even wondered if she was the reason for the breakup.

READ ALSO: He Married Me Only to Run Back Into the Arms of His Ex-Wife

Life went on. Then, one day, our neighbour’s daughter was having an engagement ceremony. I went to represent our family. While I was there, our neighbour recognised me. A man hugged me so tightly I almost couldn’t breathe, and he was crying. He said, “This is the child my brother Ampofo abandoned and denied.” I later learned he was the eldest brother of my supposed father, Ampofo. The neighbour was their cousin, which was why my uncle was there. My father was not.

That was how I started building a relationship with my father’s side of the family. They invited me to spend holidays with them, and I enjoyed it so much. There was lots of food, freedom, and memories. My uncle told his brothers he had found their lost niece, and they welcomed me. Only my father did not.

My uncle took me and my mother to the family house so she could tell her side of the story. He wanted to hear both sides. He was a man set on making his family accept me. My mother went inside to sit with the family elder while I waited outside, so I never heard what was said. My uncle took us there twice.

The family elder summoned my father to tell his side. I don’t know the details, but his position was clear. He said I was not his child and he would not accept responsibility.

Still, I kept in touch with my uncle and his children. I even went to stay with my uncle for a short time. I used that chance to try to get closer to my father, since he lived nearby. I even wrote him a letter.

Then, one day, he called me. He was screaming on the phone, “You’re embarrassing me! I am not your father! Go and look for your own and leave me alone! Don’t call me or send me a message ever again!” I had to pull the phone away from my ear. I looked at the number. It was really him, the same man my mother had pointed out as my father. It was hard. I felt so unloved. By then, it was clear how much I wanted him in my life. I was that desperate.

I went to live with my uncle again after that. I had re-enrolled in a cosmetology school, and whenever we passed my so-called father’s house, he would see me and frown. He would drive past and roll up his window. He even stopped being on good terms with my uncle because of me.

Remember the engagement? Well, when my uncle’s daughter was getting married in the UK, my uncle made me stand in for her at a small engagement ceremony here in Ghana. That is how far he went to make sure his family knew me and accepted me as one of their own.

Now, I no longer live with my aunt. I have moved in with my mother. I stay with her and take care of her while working at a reputable organisation.

A long time ago, she bought a piece of land at Pokuase. I knew about it, but the land developed issues with property taxes and land guards. We still haven’t been able to access it. We had moved on, or so I thought.

Then, about three months ago, my mother started speaking frequently with the landowner, who is also a reverend minister. I thought it was about getting the land back. She would hand me the phone and say, “Say hi to the Rev.” I would say a quick hello. Later, he took my number and started calling me himself. His calls became frequent, and I grew suspicious.

I asked my mother, “Was he your boyfriend before?” She would just laugh and not answer.

One day, I came back from work and he had visited. They had cooked and eaten lunch together. I thought to myself, okay then. He visited again. That time, I came home early and met him. He hugged me so tightly I thought, what is up with this man? But I said nothing.

He said, “Do you remember me? I was the one who christened you at birth.” I said, “Oh, okay.” But my mother said she couldn’t remember, and that I should check my baptismal certificate. He kept insisting, so I said I would.

He began calling me at work, saying, “You have kept too long at work, go home.” He became overbearing, telling me I should do this course and that course and that he would get me a scholarship. I finally told him, “I’m already doing other courses. I’m not interested.” He apologised, but the check-up calls kept coming. Some days I picked up; other days I ignored him.

Then he called and said, “Your mother has to tell you something. Has she told you?” I said no. Last week, he mustered his courage and said, “I am your father. Do you know that? Do you want me to be your father?”

I was stunned. I said, “I have to ask my mum first.” I cut the call and asked her. She said, “It’s possible.”

I said, “Possible what?”

Then she told me they were together, but they couldn’t be together because he was going to a theological institute at the time, and it wasn’t permissible for him to be in a romantic relationship. I asked her, “But why didn’t you say so long ago?” I was shaking as I spoke to her.

The Reverend called again the next morning. He asked me what my mother said. I told him, “She is not sure. When I was young, she told me who my father was, and it’s unfortunately not you.” He started asking questions, wanting to know who he was and where he came from. I said, “Their family has already accepted me. I can’t just take your word for it. We have to do a DNA test.” He agreed and said he would let me know when he was ready. I agreed.

I sat my mother down and gave her my piece of mind: “Mummy, why all this confusion and embarrassment? Look at how my uncle fought for me to be part of their family. Now you’re saying someone else is my dad? How will I face my cousins and the rest of my father’s family? My father never accepted me, but his brothers did. If he insisted from the beginning that he wasn’t responsible, maybe it was true. You will make my uncle a laughing stock, and he will never forgive you.”

She got angry and started ranting. “Why is the Rev saying you are his child when I have not said that? I took care of you all alone! Why didn’t he show up before? He lived so close by and never bought anything for you. Why is he coming now to cause confusion?” She even attacked his tribe, saying, “That’s how all their men are. They don’t take care of their children, then wait till they’re grown to claim them.”

Listening to her rant, it dawned on me that this might be true. She kept attacking him with her words, accusing him of neglect, saying he should have come forward sooner.

Now, I am torn between my mother’s deception and facing my father’s family. I’m afraid to do the DNA test. I’m afraid of the results. I look at my pictures and then at the Reverend’s, and I see it. I have his nose, his eyes, his complexion. I spend my days comparing photos, trying to find the linkage.

Is There A Perfect One Out There For Everyone?

What sort of shame is this? Why would mothers not be truthful about the paternity of their children for once?

It is true that I have yearned for a father, but not one that comes with confusion and shame. I am in my mid-thirties, and all this is draining me. This man calls and says “my daughter”, and I cringe. If the DNA test confirms it, he says we shall start with a naming ceremony, and he will own up to his mistakes in front of his family and ours. I am only taking things slowly and treading cautiously because of his title, Reverend Minister.

If it is really true, please, someone help me on how to move on and make amends with my other family, the one I’ve known since I was a teen.

—Joan

This story you just read was sent to us by someone just like you. We know you have a story too. Email it to us at submissions@silentbeads.com. You can also drop your number and we will call you so you tell us your story.

#SB<>