“God is so good,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’ve been so worried, Afi, so worried,” she said to me. She was crying now.
“It’s okay, Ma, there’s nothing to worry about. He’s coming here this weekend,” I told her, knowing the news would make her happy. I so wanted her to be happy. She had suffered greatly since my father’s death. I understood that my marriage to Eli was already changing her life and giving back to her some of the dignity and respect she had lost with the death of my father. I understood that this marriage was also her way of paying back Aunty. I understood that because of all these things, I had to make this marriage work. If only she would recognize the depth of my understanding and my deepest intention not to disappoint her. As she wept softly on the phone, I decided then that I would be more patient with her. After all, I was all she had. Before we hung up, she made me promise to call her the next day. I knew this meant that she was going to deliver a progress report to Aunty and would come back with the woman’s response.
As I was about to dial Mawusi’s number, Tɔgã Pious called. He had taken to calling me several times a week, always to ask how I was doing, how my husband was doing, when I would be coming to visit. Today, after exchanging greetings, he asked why he had not yet heard from my in-laws.
“Heard from them?” I asked him, not fully grasping his meaning.
“Since the wedding, they haven’t come to visit, and when I go to Aunty’s house, it is as if I’m not your father. As if I’m not their in-law,” he said angrily, as though I was the one who had offended him. “Since the wedding, they have not come to ask me how I am doing, how I am managing. Why are they treating me, your father, like this?”
I then understood. The Ganyos hadn’t given my uncle any money or gifts since the wedding, and neither had I. My mother had informed me over the weekend that Eli had sent a driver to deliver provisions, including three sacks of rice and three gallons of oil, to her. He had also sent her several yards of cloth and some money. She had shared some of these gifts with her closest friends, including Daavi Christy, and now it appeared that Tɔgã Pious had heard of this bounty and wanted to know why he hadn’t also been a recipient. I honestly felt no pity for the man; had he already finished spending the money that he got from my wedding? Were it not for his position as our family head and his age, I would have given him a piece of my mind.
“And I hear that other people are being given things. Are our in-laws trying to say that they don’t know that a child belongs to her father and not her mother?” he said, all bluster and indignation.
I didn’t try to answer this question. He did not have the audacity to say such things to Aunty or her children, but, of course, he felt comfortable calling me.
“Afi, you know I’m an old man, but you are not asking how I’m managing to eat every day. You are not asking how I’m paying for my hypertension medication. It is not easy on me, it is not easy at all.”
“Tɔgã, I’m sure my in-laws have not forgotten you.”
“Then why have I not heard from them?”
“You know they are busy people.”
“Hmmph! Busy people. Make sure to remind them that I, your father, am here. Remind them that I have children to feed and illnesses that need treatment.”
“Yoo.”
“And you yourself have to remember that I’m here. You can send anything to me through Fo Kekeli at Tema Station. He can be trusted to bring anything.”
“Yoo.”
“I am expecting to hear from you soon.”
“Yoo.”
“Okay, stay well, bye-bye.”
As if I didn’t have enough on my mind, now this. I didn’t know why my in-laws were ignoring my uncle and I didn’t care. I too would ignore him if I could but for the talk and accusations that would follow my mother and me. I knew that people would say that I was now rich but was refusing to perform my duties. That I had abandoned my father’s people, especially Tɔgã Pious. I shouldn’t have cared what anyone thought, especially because they had stood by as my mother and I suffered. But our extended family and community still had a pull on me. Everyone knows that a person is nothing without family, even a family headed by a selfish man. I decided that the next day I would send Mensah to Tema Station with some money for my uncle.
Mawusi and I spoke before I fell asleep and I told her about the kiss. What did it mean? Was he leaving the woman? Would I be moving in with him? I confessed to her that I had considered the possibility that Eli didn’t want me, that he did not find me attractive, but that kiss had changed my mind. We both marveled at the restraint he had shown since we got married. How many men would resist even touching a woman who was their wife, simply because they wanted to first resolve problems with another woman? I had not known before this that a man could show such restraint. I wondered what had made him finally kiss me.
I got a partial answer the next day when I spoke with my mother. She told me that the Liberian woman was leaving that weekend. She was getting on a plane and going somewhere again. There had been a big fight in which the woman had threatened to kill herself. Madness! Yaya had been at the house when it happened. But was she leaving for good? Or was this just one of her tantrums?
“No one seems to know, but don’t worry about that. You have the man now; do everything to ensure that he stays with you forever.”
I nodded in understanding. I finally had my husband and I would do everything to make sure that no other woman ever took him away.
“That is the life of a wife, especially a wife of a man like Eli,” Aunty said when she surprised me with a call the next day. “If not that woman, there will be another one sniffing around, trying to steal what is yours, and you cannot sit down and let that happen. You have to learn to fight for your husband, never let your guard down. You are lucky that my son is not like other men. But even good men can fall, and women have become desperate in this country, especially those Accra women. There is no time for sleep in marriage.”
“Yes, Aunty,” I said.
“I know you will not disappoint us; in fact, I am not worried,” she said cheerily.
“Yes, Aunty,” I said.
I skipped school on Friday with Sarah’s permission and spent the day cleaning and cooking in preparation for Eli’s arrival. I sent Mensah to the market, because I was too busy to go myself and when he came back I sent him to the supermarket so that my fridge was fuller than it had ever been before. I began preparing three meals for the weekend: akple and okro soup, fufu and light soup, and yam and red fish stew. I prepared the soups and stew on Friday; the accompanying starches would have to wait until at most an hour before the meal was to be eaten. I knew that my mother would not approve of me cooking the day before and refrigerating the food, but Eli hadn’t given me a time, and I didn’t want him arriving at the flat hungry and have to wait while I peeled vegetables and steamed meat. After cooking, I went to the salon to have my hair washed and styled and then said “yes” when the nail technician asked me if I wanted my nails done. I got a manicure and a pedicure and had him fix acrylic nails onto mine. When I slipped into the bath that evening I was tired but felt happy with all that I had accomplished.
Eli arrived around 6:00 p.m. on Saturday. I had been dozing on the sofa, a book in my lap. He was wearing khaki shorts and a polo shirt. We hugged at the door and then he made himself comfortable on the sofa, his phones and keys on the center table. I brought him water and asked if he was ready to eat. He decided on yam because it was too late to eat anything heavy, and he watched CNN while I peeled the yam, immersing my hand in salt water after I was done to stem the itching and the red rash that was forming.
“You should have let me peel it,” he said when he saw the rash on my hand as I dished the stew onto his plate. He held my hand, turned it over, and asked if I had a balm to rub on it. I told him that the rashes would disappear in a little bit. He complimented me on the food, and the fact that he went for seconds and thirds confirmed that he enjoyed it. After we had ea
ten, he insisted on helping me clear the table, but I would not let him help with washing the dishes.
“Please go and watch TV,” I told him as he hovered in the kitchen with a dish towel in hand, ready to dry what I washed. He agreed to sit down only after I had served him a dessert of fruit salad. I hurriedly cleaned the kitchen while he ate and then joined him in front of the TV. From some unknown country, a reporter in a helmet and flak jacket was describing, with a great deal of yelling and a finger pressing into one ear, an armed offensive while explosions lit up the landscape behind her. Eli sighed and switched to a movie channel.
“Why are you so far away from me?” he asked in a mocking tone, his eyes lazily studying me, his large frame relaxed on the cushions.
“Sorry,” I murmured, and rose from the armchair to sit beside him on the sofa.
I sat so close that our arms touched and I could smell him. I can’t describe his smell—it wasn’t like any cologne or soap I had ever smelled but it was warm and clean and made me want to rest my head on his shoulder.
“I told Joanna about the forms; you should hear from her next week,” he said.
“Joanna?” I asked.
“My assistant, your passport,” he said.
“Okay, yes, thank you,” I said, embarrassed. I drew away from him slightly and hoped that he did not notice the effect that his presence had on me.
“I’m going to go take a shower,” he said, standing up abruptly.
I stood up with him, surprised. But without waiting for me to speak, he picked his phones off the table and disappeared down the corridor. I heard my bedroom door open and close as I remained standing in the same spot, thoughts bouncing in my head. He was going to shower! In my bathroom! That meant that he was going to sleep over. Yes, yes, yes! Why else would he be showering in my flat? But then he hadn’t brought a change of clothes so he might be leaving after the shower. Or had he left a change of clothes in the car? But that wouldn’t make sense; why wouldn’t he have brought them into the flat? Should I follow him into the bedroom, into the bathroom? Well, it’s not like he needed me to fetch or heat water for him; everything he needed was in the bathroom. Would he know to look in the hamper behind the bathroom door for clean towels? Would he use my towels that were hanging on the rod? I wouldn’t mind if he used them. Should I go and wait for him in the bedroom? Yes, I should go and wait for him in the bedroom. Oh, but I had sweat while I stood over the pot of yam. Ah, but I could dash into the guest bathroom and freshen up.
I went into what briefly had been my mother’s bathroom, ran a face towel under the tap and wiped down my body under my dress. I rubbed the towel in my armpits and then between my legs. My hand froze as I did the latter. Why hadn’t I thought to shave down there? It had been almost a month since I shaved. How could I go before Eli looking like this? I dropped the towel into the sink and began frantically searching for a shaving stick or a pair of scissors. I opened the medicine cabinet that was hidden behind the mirror but it was empty. The hamper behind the door was also empty. I went into the bedroom and checked the drawers and wardrobe; they were all empty. My mother hadn’t left anything behind!
When I walked into the bedroom, Eli was sitting at the foot of my bed, a towel around his waist. He smiled and patted the space beside him when he saw me and I gingerly did as he asked.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you okay with me staying?” he asked, clarifying his question, his hands on his thighs.
“Yes,” I said again. But what was I going to say? He was my husband and was sitting on my bed, almost naked. He hadn’t dried himself properly and drops of water clung to the hair on his chest, and now the rose fragrance of my Lux soap mixed with his scent so that he smelled like both of us combined.
He interrupted my observations with a kiss that began on my lips and trailed over my dress, down to my belly. I jumped off the bed when he began to move lower, knocking his head with my knee in the process.
“Sorry, sorry,” I said, mortified.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, rising to his feet before me, one hand rubbing his forehead. He looked concerned.
“Nothing,” I said, then added, “Please, I want to switch the light off.”
“Okay,” he said reluctantly and watched me as I scooted to the bedside to switch off the lamp. I lingered there after the room went dark, contemplating my next move.
I soon sensed him behind me and then felt his hand tugging at my zipper. I stood still as he peeled my dress off, his hand touching, caressing. When I was naked before him, even though the air conditioner was running at full blast, I felt hot, as though I had a fever, and this time when he kissed me, his lips made contact with my skin, my nipples, my belly, and that place between my legs where I lose all sense of myself, where everything but my body ceases to exist. I forgot about the hair, about not having showered before. It was only after as I lay on his damp chest, after he had slid into me and caused me to moan so loudly that I feared the security people at the gate had heard me, after he had chanted my name while moving inside me, his eyes half closed, his breath ragged, it was only after all of this that I wondered if he had expected me to be a virgin. I hoped not.
Seven
I woke up to the savory aroma of frying sausages. The air conditioner was on, the room was cold, and I was naked beneath the comforter. Eli was not beside me. I jumped up so quickly that I began to feel dizzy as soon as my feet hit the floor. When the dizziness passed, I put on my dress from the previous night, which had been lying on the floor, and went outside. I found him in the kitchen, whisking eggs in a small plastic bowl as though it was something he did every morning.
“Good morning,” he said when he saw me, a huge smile on his face. He wore nothing but his boxers.
“Good morning.”
“Breakfast is almost ready.”
I walked over to where he was and took the spatula that was in the frying pan. “Please, let me do it,” I said through tight lips. Why hadn’t I brushed my teeth before coming outside? He had obviously taken a bath.
“That’s okay, I’ve got it,” he said, holding his hand out for the spatula. How could I have let this happen? The kitchen clock read eleven. I had slept until 11:00 a.m.! The poor man had to make his own breakfast. And this was the first time that he had stayed over. The very first time! Thank God my mother was not there to see this. I imagined her, a frown on her face and a finger wagging in front of my nose, asking me: “What kind of woman sleeps while her husband cooks?” I resolved that she would never hear of this embarrassment. Though, to be fair, he had woken me up late in the night and again around six that morning, the second time with his tongue in places that even my fingers had not gone before. That time I buried my face in the pillow and stifled my moans, fearing what he would think of me.
Now he softly pulled the spatula out of my unyielding hand and nudged me with an elbow. “Go sit down, the food will soon be ready.”
“Let me do it,” I insisted. He shook his head firmly, a smile still softening his face.
Conceding defeat, I began walking back to the bedroom. I needed to brush my teeth and take a quick shower.
“Don’t stay in there too long or your food will get cold,” I heard him say as I closed the bedroom door.
He didn’t seem annoyed that I overslept. I just had to make sure it didn’t happen again. My conversation with Aunty came to mind; there were so many women who would wait on this man hand and foot, and I didn’t want to give him a reason to go looking for one of them. And I definitely didn’t want to give him reason to think that I was some sort of corrupted girl, some sex maniac. I scrubbed myself harder with my akutsa, as though in penance; the moaning, the writhing, the thrusting, the grabbing, the biting. Why had I done all of that? Where had those things even come from? I had only been with two men before, and honestly, I had never felt the urge to be that way with either of them. But last night I had bitten Eli on his shoulder. Bitten him! He hadn
’t seemed upset. In fact, he had pulled my hand away from my mouth when I tried to stifle my cries. But who knew what he was thinking behind that smile?
Breakfast was uncomfortable for me. He was still mostly naked and after we both started eating he asked if I was okay. I knew what he was asking and was embarrassed by the question; I didn’t look up from my omelet, which was surprisingly good, as good as what I would make.
“How are you?” he asked again.
As I hesitated, I realized that this was an opportunity to redeem myself. “I’m fine but my here is hurting,” I said, stroking the air above my stomach and crotch.
His brow knitted in concern at my answer and before I realized what was happening, he was on his knees beside me. “I’m so sorry. I should have brought you breakfast in bed. I’m so sorry. Yes, last night was too much. Have you taken a painkiller?” His hand hovered above my abdomen as though transmitting healing energy.
I nodded, even though I hadn’t taken anything.
“Let’s move to the living room so that you can relax in the armchair,” he said. He rose to his feet, picked both our plates off the table, and led the way. Of course, I wasn’t really in pain; I was only feeling a slight bit of discomfort because it had been over nine months since I was with my former idiot boyfriend. Honestly, last night had been so good that the discomfort didn’t matter. I was already looking forward to tonight.
While Eli watched the news, I went into my bedroom and called my mother. She answered on the first ring.
“Ehn hehn, Afi?” she answered.
I told her that Eli had stayed the night, that he was watching TV in the other room as we spoke.
“Praise God,” she said. I could sense her smile.
“He stayed in your room?”
His Only Wife Page 11
