My Parents Fought The World To Give Us A Family

I’ve read many stories on this page. Stories that made me laugh, pause, rethink my life, and even wipe tears quietly when no one was watching. But today, I want to share the one story that shaped everything about who I am. Not because it is dramatic or perfect, but because it is the very foundation of my existence. It is the love story that brought me into this world.

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According to my mother, my father was the kind of man who could make any woman lose her sense of direction. He was tall, calm, and handsome. Even now, when she talks about him, she smiles like she’s still that young girl who didn’t know what to do with the butterflies he caused in her stomach. But as charming as he seemed to her, her family didn’t like him.

To them, he was poor. A dreamer with no foundation. A man who didn’t look like he would become anything meaningful. They thought my mother deserved someone with wealth, comfort, and a future that was already assured. But love doesn’t listen to logic. It doesn’t follow calculations. My mother loved him, and that love was stronger than every warning her family issued.

Eventually, the pressure became unbearable. One day, when she couldn’t take it anymore, she made a decision that would change all their lives. She told my father she would like to get pregnant. He panicked, begged her to think of the consequences. She insisted it was what she wanted until he agreed.

And then it happened.

When her family found out, their reaction was nothing short of an explosion.

“It’s an abomination!”

“It won’t be accepted in this house!”

“This cannot be allowed!”

It was too late. Life had already begun its quiet journey inside her. And that life was me.

Eventually, her family accepted the reality. Whether they approved or not, they had to prepare for a child they never asked for but could not deny.

My father did not run. He did not complain. He worked harder than he had ever done, just to make sure she and the baby were fine.

A few years after I was born, my mother was practically forced to move to Accra to stay with her elder sister. Unknown to her, the plan was to separate her from her baby father and erase him from her life completely.

“Forget him.”

“Look for an Accra man.”

“Those your hometown men are good for nothing.”

Every day she heard the same words, but my mother wasn’t the type to be easily thrown off by pressure. She held on to what she believed. She held on to the man she loved. Deep down, she had her own quiet wisdom—the kind that whispers that sometimes, the devil you know is better than the angel you don’t.

Years later, when she finally returned home and saw my father again, her heart chose him all over, without hesitation. She even got pregnant again for him.

Their anger this time was on a different level. But my mother didn’t care anymore. She knew what she wanted. She knew who her heart belonged to.

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At some point, she packed her things and left her parents’ home. She moved in with my father. They started their life together in a small rented place. My father worked in Tema. My mother supported him. They struggled together. Fought for each other. Held on to hope even when there was barely anything to hold on to.

Against every obstacle, every insult, every discouragement, they survived. Their adversities did not tear them apart. This year, they celebrated twenty-five years of marriage.

Twenty-five years of weathering storms.

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Twenty-five years of proving that love is not measured in currency. Twenty-five years of loyalty, patience, sacrifice, and faith.

Today, they have four children, two boys and two girls. We are all grateful they chose each other. Their story is not just a love story. It is a testimony. A reminder that when love is real.

—Edem

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