His Only Wife

by Peace Adzo Medie

  More importantly I planned to propose to Eli on the trip. Mawusi burst into laughter when I told her this.

  “Propose?”

  “Yes. I’ll surprise him.”

  “You’re mad,” she said, still laughing.

  “What’s wrong with it? I’m just having fun and I think he will like it.”

  “So you will do the whole going down on bended knee thing?”

  “Yes, I might even give him a rose,” I said, joining her in laughing.

  “How about a ring?”

  “He already wears a ring, we both wear our rings from the traditional ceremony. Or do you think I should get new ones?”

  “No, the ones you have are already very nice. Didn’t Richard buy them?”

  “Yes, and they’re proper gold, ehn, and mine has a diamond in it.”

  “Then just use that. I still think you’re crazy though.”

  “It’s ok to be a bit crazy and to have a bit of fun.”

  “That’s true, and it’s romantic.”

  “Right? A Parisian proposal,” I practically squealed. My mother would take care of Selorm while we were gone. But before we left, Eli had to make a three-day visit to Nigeria where he had meetings with Chris and Ade. He would be gone from Thursday to Sunday and I also had to be away at work for most of that Saturday.

  Evelyn called at the last minute to say that she had scheduled a fashion shoot at a beach house in Ada for our second ad campaign. The first had been a hit and really put us on the map. But this Saturday shoot was totally unexpected. We had agreed to do the shoot after I returned from France, but another client had booked a shoot and then cancelled at the last minute so that Evelyn’s agency now had a location, photographer, hairstylist, make-up artist, models, and caterer, but no products. I didn’t want to take Selorm with me because I knew I would be running around the entire day but I had no choice. My mother couldn’t get to Accra until much later on Saturday because she had an order for pies, the largest she had gotten since she started baking again. She would leave Ho around noon and would be in Accra in about three hours but I couldn’t wait for her; the shoot was scheduled to start early Saturday morning. But at least she would be at home to take Selorm off my hands after the shoot and would stay until Eli and I returned from our vacation.

  Nancy and I spent all of Friday in the workshop, getting the tailors to finish our latest designs. In fact, I found myself behind a sewing machine for the first time in months to help them. We worked past midnight but weren’t able to complete everything. Some of the outfits would have to be pinned onto the models. Nancy and I loaded the racks of clothes into a van that I borrowed from Richard and we were ready to leave on Saturday morning. Richard lent us a driver, who drove the van while Yeboah drove my car with Selorm, Nancy, and me in it to the location, which was about a hundred kilometers outside of Accra.

  The shoot was in someone’s house in a gated beachside community. I was amazed when we parked and got out of the van. The beach was pristine and the water clear. The trash that littered some of the beaches in Accra hadn’t made it this far. Houses with large windows and sliding glass doors lined the beachfront. Children with colorful plastic spades and buckets dug into the sand in front of the house nearest to us. I would have taken Selorm over to play with them if he was a bit older. Evelyn helped Nancy and me unload the clothes onto the front porch. Today she wore striped shorts and a T-shirt. I had on an A-line dress that fell slightly above my knee. We both wore flip flops. We had barely finished when the photographer, make-up artist, hairstylist, and models pulled up in a minibus, speakers blaring. Evelyn ran up to the bus and yelled at them to turn the music down.

  “Bush people,” she muttered when she returned to my side. This was not the kind of place to blare music. People moved to places like this to run away from loud music and noise. I gave Selorm to her and went inside to check on Nancy.

  The only person yet to arrive was the caterer who had been hired to feed us, but we weren’t going to wait for him. The hair and makeup people began working on the models while we began fitting them into the clothes. Evelyn reminded me that these things could drag on for hours so we had to move quickly. She had a date with her lawyer that evening and Selorm would start to get fussy soon. I set up a play area for him in the room where we had the clothes and made sure that either Nancy, Evelyn, or myself was in there to keep an eye on him at all times. While we got the models ready, the photographer and his assistant set up his equipment outside. The first model, who looked like she was no more than sixteen, had closely cropped hair and freckles everywhere. We put her in a white linen shift that had strips of color at the bottom. It was a perfect look for the beach. The photographer began snapping as soon as she came out of the house. I stood on the balcony for a moment and looked on, pleased. I could use that shot for a full-page ad in one of the glossy magazines that I saw when I visited the hairdresser’s. Luckily, the children had disappeared so there was nothing but sand and water in the shot. I went back inside to help Nancy get the other models ready. The hairdresser and makeup artists worked alongside us, teasing hair into every imaginable style and using combinations of color that I would never try on my face. The girls looked like beautiful works of art. I was sad to see them wipe off one look for another when they changed outfits. It was soon midday and everyone was hungry. The caterer had come about thirty minutes before and set up a table outside but the wind and the sand it carried sent all of us scurrying into the beautiful house. I had already fed Selorm who was now becoming clingy and wouldn’t let Nancy touch him. I knew that sleep was not far behind. He sat on my lap as I ate.

  “Shoes off. Don’t touch anything; don’t spill anything. I’m paying serious money for this house,” Evelyn warned everyone. Every five minutes or so she would walk around and inspect to make sure that no one had pawed the white walls or spilled food on the cream-colored shag rug. When the shoot restarted, I heard a child crying. Evelyn was on the phone in the bedroom with her lawyer friend so I went outside to find out what was happening. Selorm was balanced on my hip and falling asleep. There, I saw a woman holding a little girl’s hand and walking away.

  “What happened?” I asked the photographer.

  “Oh madam, don’t mind that woman. My boy just shouted at her daughter and she got angry,” the man said. He was shirtless and appeared to be under the illusion that he was the subject of the photographs.

  “He hit the girl,” the young model with the freckles said. “How can you just hit someone’s child?”

  “I didn’t hit her; I just touched her head like this,” the photographer’s assistant said while tapping his own head to show me what he had done.

  “But why would you do that?” I asked him, enraged. I would fight anyone, man or woman, who touched my son.

  “Madam, the children were ruining the shots. I was trying to get rid of them.”

  “So you had to hit the child?” I asked him.

  “He didn’t hit the child; you people are talking like he beat her,” the photographer, his hands on his hips, told us. I had a sudden urge to grab his oddly big nipples and twist them until he fell to the sand in pain.

  “What do you mean? Do you think that this is your village where you can just go around disciplining other people’s children? Look at where we are. Do you know the kind of people who live in these houses? Do you think that this is the kind of place where you can come and hit children? What if they call the estate manager and kick us out? Or call the police?”

  The photographer rubbed his head and laughed nervously while his assistant looked on with a clown-like smile on his face. They obviously hadn’t thought that far. I decided to go over to apologize to the woman.

  The house next door was a replica of the one we had rented. My arms were aching by the time I got there. Selorm, now asleep, was heavy, his head on my shoulder. The glass door was open and Highlife music played in the background. The woman met me at the door.

  “Hello,” she said, looking
puzzled. I figured strangers didn’t come to her door often.

  “Hi,” I responded, staring at her. I don’t think I’d ever seen a more beautiful woman in my life. Not in person, anyway. She had the darkest skin I’d ever seen, but it glowed. I imagined that is what gold would look like if it were black. She had a heart-shaped face and high cheekbones and was slim and much taller than I was. Her limbs made me think of the ballet dancers I glimpsed on TV as I clicked through channels. I imagined that she did everything gracefully. A flowing, ocean-blue, halter-neck dress billowed around her in the sea breeze and she was barefoot. I could build my entire ad-campaign around her. It would be unfair to place any other models beside her in a shoot. Behind her, four children were bent over a large jigsaw puzzle on the floor. I immediately knew which one was hers.

  “I’m from next door, I came to see if your daughter is okay,” I said while doing my best not to gawk. She took a step back into the house and I realized that my staring was making her uncomfortable. I too took a step back.

  “She’s okay. Thanks for coming. There was no reason for him to touch her; she would have moved if he had asked. I don’t know why people behave like this.” She didn’t sound Ghanaian.

  “That’s what I told him. I’m so sorry.”

  “I appreciate . . .” she began but was interrupted by someone inside the house. “Babe, who is it?”

  “It’s someone from next door,” she yelled back. Even her yell was graceful, smooth like a musical note.

  “Who?” he asked, walking out of the kitchen. He stopped when he saw me.

  “Afi?”

  “Eli?”

  I’d often fantasized about what I would do when I met the woman. These fantasies varied depending on my mood. I would slap her and walk away without saying a word. Or I would give her a vicious tongue-lashing that would leave her sobbing and begging my forgiveness. I would call her a shameless husband-snatcher and a home-wrecker. I would ululate so that everyone around would gather as she huddled on the ground in a public place and join me in humiliating her. I would punish her for all the heartache she had caused me, for the sleepless nights and the tears. But now I just stood there staring at Eli and the only thing that I could think was that the Ganyos had lied to me. They had told me she was ugly. But there she was, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

  We were motionless, except for Selorm, who lifted his head off my shoulder. I don’t know if it was because he sensed something was wrong or if he had heard his father’s voice. But when he turned his head, Ivy shouted his name and came running onto the porch. Her mother held her shoulders and stopped her before she could reach me. To my surprise, Selorm stretched out both hands to the woman. I took a step back and held him closer to me.

  “Afi, let’s go.” It was Evelyn, I hadn’t heard her come up behind me. Despite her words, I couldn’t get myself to move, I couldn’t take my eyes off Eli. He was shirtless and wearing swim shorts. He held a dishtowel in his hand. He was staring at me, confusion and guilt mingled on his face. I felt a grip on my arm. Evelyn tugged until I began to move and then she guided me off the porch and into the sand. As we walked away, Selorm fidgeting and still trying to get away from me, I turned to look back. Eli and the woman were still standing where I’d left them. They were looking at me but he didn’t come after me.

  We ended the shoot. The models, photographer, hairdresser, and makeup artist drove away. They were followed by Yeboah, who would drop Nancy off at the workshop before continuing home. I would ride back with Evelyn.

  “Are you okay?” she asked me. We’d been driving for about five minutes. Selorm was asleep in the car seat.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” I asked in anger.

  “I knew? That he was there with her? Why would I take you there if I knew, Afi?”

  My jaw was clenched and I was breathing very fast but I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t going to cry.

  “But you knew he’s been with her this whole time. That he’s been taking my son to see her.”

  “Of course not! I would have told you. Didn’t I tell you before when I knew he was hiding things from you? I swear to God, I had no idea. I mean, we all know he goes to the house to see Ivy but that’s it.”

  “And the Ganyos know?”

  “I don’t think so. I can’t remember the last time Richard mentioned her and even when he has, it has been to rejoice that she’s no longer in their lives. I think Eli convinced all of them that he was no longer with her.”

  I fell silent. I rolled down the window, even though the air conditioner was on, and let the wind pound my face. Evelyn, who drove like a race-car driver, passed every other vehicle on the road. I willed her to go even faster. I wished I could feel the wind on my entire body. I relaxed in my seat and rolled up the window when my neck began to hurt.

  “They said she was ugly.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “They said she looked like a man.”

  “They said many things about her that are not true. I was also shocked when I first met her, after everything that Richard had told me.”

  “Why?”

  “Why was I shocked?”

  “No, why did they say things that are not true?”

  “Because Aunty doesn’t like her. The brothers don’t like her. Yaya doesn’t like her. She does as she pleases and doesn’t care what they want. She doesn’t follow their rules, she doesn’t care about our traditions. She did not let the family outdoor her daughter. She has no problem refusing to visit Ho, even on important occasions. You won’t see her in Ho every weekend at a funeral or at some other event. When she was in that house in East Legon, they couldn’t come and go as they pleased. They had to first call and say they were coming, and as soon as they arrived, they had to tell her when they planned to leave; even Aunty, who now prances in and out of your house as she pleases. They couldn’t just walk into the house and start taking food out of the fridge or ordering the cook around. That has been the problem from the beginning, from the first time that Richard met her in Liberia, and that is why they tried so hard to separate them even then. But you’ve seen the woman; she’s not the kind of woman that a man just walks away from, even a man like Eli whose love for his mother has become folklore in Ho. The only thing Aunty could do was forbid Eli from marrying her and to get the old uncles to back her. And we both know there’s no way he can marry a woman without his family’s blessing. I know one guy from university who did that and he hasn’t been able to visit his hometown since. Can you believe it? It’s been more than ten years and he hasn’t been able to go home! Muna is too proud to give in to Aunty, and Eli will do what he can to please his mother . . . while she’s alive.”

  “And when she’s dead?”

  “Well, she’s the ringleader in this whole thing. Once she’s out of the picture, well . . .”

  My mother was in the house when I arrived but I didn’t tell her what had happened. Instead, I locked myself in our bedroom. I was feeling a mix of sadness and fury, but the latter seemed to be gaining the upper hand. About an hour after I arrived, I heard Eli trying to get into the bedroom. He knocked a few times and called my name but I refused to unlock the door. A few minutes later I heard another knock.

  “What do you want?” I shouted.

  “Selorm is crying for you. His father has tried to calm him but he won’t stop.” It was my mother.

  I could hear my son crying on the other side of the heavy wooden door. I opened it and took Selorm out of her arms but blocked her path when she tried to follow me into the room. I knew she wanted to find out what was going on and I wasn’t in the mood to explain anything to her or to hear what she had to say. I placed Selorm on the bed. He had already stopped crying and was punching the buttons on one of Eli’s phones. I hadn’t even realized he was holding it. Eli must have given it to him downstairs. I pried the phone away from his surprisingly tight grip and gave him mine when he began crying in protest. Eli’s phone was unlocked. I scrolled through his call log. He hadn’t m
ade any calls in about three hours. I switched to his text messages. About half of them were to his brothers and business partners. A few were to Yaya. The others were to M. It had to be her. I began reading the messages. Many of them were about Ivy. But many more were also just about the woman. He missed her smile and her body. He wished she was in his arms. He couldn’t wait to see her, to hold her. He adored her, felt blessed to have her, loved her. I felt tears run down my face. Most of the messages were from this month. He had sent her seventy-four messages in that week alone, and while some were sent when he was at work, most of them were sent from home. In fact, I noticed that he mostly called her during the day and texted in the night. The time stamp also showed that many of those texts were sent when we were together in bed. He had texted her while we were in bed on Wednesday night, discussing our Paris trip. I had gotten used to him being glued to his many phones and the tap tap tap as he sent messages. I’d been so foolish as to believe that those messages were for work. I picked Selorm up and we went downstairs. My mother was in the sitting room watching a Nigerian film. I handed Selorm back to her.

  “Where’s Eli?”

  “He’s outside. Afi, what is happening?”

  “Nothing.”

  I passed Mrs. Adams in the kitchen and went into the backyard where Eli was seated, an expression akin to fear on his face. I sat across from him and placed his phone on the table. He picked it up. A look of renewed panic came on his face as he realized that it was unlocked.

  “I’m sorry. I never wanted this to happen; I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was low and he was not making eye contact.

  “What am I going to do with your sorry, Eli?”

  “We can make this work.”

  “Are you ever going to leave her?”

  “Afi, let’s not do this . . .”

  “Ok, marry me,” I said, desperation causing my words to come out in a rush.

  “What?”

  “I said marry me. Let’s go to the church on Monday and get married. Father Wisdom can arrange everything and we can be married in less than thirty minutes.”