Was I Wrong to Attack My Friend and Her Husband Over the GH₵6,000 They Owed Me?

When Rita and her husband reached out to me, they did not sound like people who wanted to borrow money casually. They sounded desperate. Their third child was sick and they said it was urgent. They said they had tried all options and I was the last person they could call. I remember the exact tone of Rita’s voice. It was shaky and low, the kind of voice that makes you feel wicked if you say no. I did not want to give them money. I am not rich. I work hard for every cedi I earn and I budget tightly. But when sickness enters the picture, especially involving a child, your heart stops listening to your head.

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They asked for help and promised they would pay back at the end of the month. We discussed it clearly. We agreed on a specific date. Not “end of the month” in a vague way but a particular day. I asked them repeatedly if they were sure. They assured me. Rita’s husband even said, “Sister, we won’t disgrace you. This one is sure.” I transferred GHC6,000 that same day. They thanked me over and over. They prayed for me on the phone. They said God would bless me for saving their child’s life. I felt at peace. I thought I had done a good thing.

The agreed date came and passed like it was just another normal day. No message. No call. Nothing. I waited the whole day, telling myself they might be busy or sorting something out. The next day, still nothing. That was when uneasiness started creeping in. I did not want to jump to conclusions so I sent a calm message. Just a gentle reminder. Rita replied hours later saying things had not gone as planned and life had been hard. She asked for more time.

I asked how long. She said one month. I did not argue. I agreed, even though that money was part of what I planned to use for my rent. I rearranged my life again and waited. One month passed. Nothing. One week after the new deadline, still silence. I reached out again, this time to her husband. He replied casually, like we were discussing football. He said, “Oh I thought my wife has told you ooo. We were expecting some money but it disappointed us. Kindly give us a few weeks.”

That was when it started to hurt. Not just the money, but the attitude. Every single time a deadline reached, I was the one who had to ask. They never once came to me before time to say they were struggling. They never once apologized sincerely. It was always stories after stories, excuses stacked on excuses. This went on for over six months. Six months of begging for my own money. Six months of patience. Six months of swallowing my anger and pretending to be understanding while my own problems were piling up.

One morning, I woke up angry, tired, and ashamed of myself. Ashamed that I had allowed people to treat me like this. I went straight to their house. I told myself I was not leaving without my money. When they opened the door and started with their usual explanations, I cut them short. I said I was not interested in any story. I raised my voice because I was angry and because I was tired of being polite to people who clearly did not respect me.

Tenants started gathering. I did not call them. I did not invite them. They came because of the noise. Rita started explaining to them that I had come to disgrace her over money. The tenants begged me to calm down and give them one more chance. That was when I told them everything. I told them it had been over six months. I told them I needed the money to pay my rent. I said clearly that I was not leaving until I got my money.

One of the tenants went inside his room and came back with GHC3,000. He gave it to me and said I should take it and leave, that he would make sure they paid the rest. I was shocked. A stranger had more sense of responsibility than the people who owed me. I took the money because I was desperate and because I was tired. They promised to pay the rest in one month.

When the time came again, I did not even bother calling Rita or her husband. I called the neighbor who had helped. I explained that I did not want trouble again. I just wanted my money. He sighed and told me the truth. He said they had borrowed extra GHC1,000 from him and promised to pay in a week. Now they were also avoiding him. He told me plainly to get my money however I could.

So I went back there again. That evening. Same house. Same faces. Same excuses. The husband even said, “Oh we were even going to call you.” I did not know whether to laugh or cry. I raised my voice again. People gathered again. This time, nobody defended them. Nobody came to rescue them. I left without my money.

Not long after, I saw messages flying on our church WhatsApp platform. According to them, I had disgraced my best friend over money. They said I was unchristian.  They said because of me, Rita and her husband could not stay in their house due to shame. Nobody asked about the money they owed me. Nobody asked how long I had waited. Nobody asked if I was okay.

I was in that group reading everything. I did not defend myself or try to explain. I did not insult anyone. I quietly exited the group. I still go to church but I do not talk to those people. I do not attend meetings anymore. Sometimes I sit in church and feel like everyone is looking at me like I am the wicked one.

Recently, I started questioning myself. I started wondering if I was fighting everyone instead of listening. I asked myself what would happen if one day I also needed help. Who would help me. I thought deeply about everything. I examined my actions again and again. And honestly, I still do not see where I went wrong. They still owe me money. They have not apologized. They have not paid.

What hurt me the most was seeing their WhatsApp status recently. They were dressed in matching outfits at a wedding. Freshly sewn clothes. Smiling. Happy. They have money to sew new clothes and attend weddings, but not money to pay what they owe me. That was when anger rose in me again.

I have stopped asking them to pay because of what people are saying. But inside me, the injustice is loud. I feel cheated. I feel used. I feel punished for being kind. And sometimes I ask myself if keeping quiet is the right thing or if silence is just another way of allowing people to disrespect you.

Is There A Man Out There Who Doesn’t Cheat?

I helped them when they cried. I trusted them when they promised. I waited when they delayed and nd somehow, I became the villain in the story. If this is what kindness brings, then maybe people should stop blaming those who harden their hearts.

—Mavis

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