I met D.K after I completed SHS in 2003. It so happened that we both attended the same SHS but he completed the very year I was admitted. If I may say without exaggeration, he’s a spitting image of Yul Edochie. He is fair in complexion, very handsome, and has a good taste in fashion. We had a lot in common, especially when it came to music and books.
We started dating in 2004, the same year I gained admission to a Polytechnic in the North. D.K and I carved a lot of dreams for ourselves, even though I was in school and he wasn’t. By the time I completed school, he moved to Accra to try and make something out of his life. So I applied for a top-up program at a private university in Accra. And this time again, I was in school while he wasn’t.
He has what I like to call, “street intellect”. He also adored books. He had a collection of books and magazines located on one side of his room, and he treated it as a worship centre. It got to a point, life in Accra became so difficult for him that he didn’t have a place to live for five months. During this period, his friend, Frank Onero, gave him his barber shop to be sleeping in at night. I also had to give him my laptop to sell so that he would use the money to get himself accommodation.
Occasionally, he got money from some petty businesses he was doing, and he shared some with me. I also shared whatever I could with him. That was the kind of relationship we had; we took care of each other. One thing I admired about him was his fluency in the English language. You wouldn’t know he was an SHS leaver by listening to him speak. And he also always dressed nicely, and never gave away the fact that he was homeless.
I graduated from school in 2010, and he also gained admission to my alma mater in the North that very year. D.K believed in all the ideologies of rasta men but never had the aesthetic to go with it. And he loved writing. So in his first year in school, he joined the debating team and won the first debate he participated in. This earned him the nickname, “The rastaman with the Voltic”. I don’t even know what it means.
Fast forward, he got to level 200 and decided to defer his course without any reason. Then out of nowhere, he started having mental health issues. I had left Accra to go do my national service in the North when all this was going on. And when I got back to Accra after my national service, D.K was a completely different person. He had started smoking Indian hemp and drinking alcohol. I tried all I could for him to stop but to no avail. I prayed and fasted for his sake because he was gradually draining his dreams and life away. I even broke up with him thinking that it will bring him back to his senses but nothing changed.
I was at home one Saturday morning when I received a phone call from one of his friends saying, “Please come right now to the fuel station at the junction.” His tone had me on my heels. When I arrived, I saw D.K lying on top of a car in the street acting all deranged. I couldn’t control myself; I was in tears the moment I saw the scene. I called his younger sister and she came over with her fiancé to help me pick him up, and together with his friend who called me, we took him home.
He called me the next day apologizing for everything he did and asked, “Will you consider giving me another chance so that I can make things right?” I answered, “With the way you are behaving I won’t take you back. If you pull yourself together, I will consider it.” After that, we only talked from time to time. He called me whenever he needed help, and I gladly helped him. By then I wasn’t dating anyone because I was hoping he would change, and we would pick up where we left things.
We were apart for three years until I got a part-time job with a forwarding company in Tema, and met someone there. This new guy and I dated for one year but I couldn’t love him the way I loved D.K so I broke up with him. After our breakup, D.K started chatting with me regularly on the phone. He had moved to the North by then so we weren’t seeing each other. Then one day during a conversation he asked, “Will you marry me?” I was surprised. He went on, “Before you say anything, know that I have changed. Don’t I sound sane to you?” and honestly, he did. I gave him terms and conditions should we resume dating, and he agreed to all of them. By then too I was having problems with my stepmother, and the only way my father would let me leave home is if I was moving in with my husband. So D.K’s marriage proposal was well-timed.
I packed my bags, and boarded a bus to the North, to go over marriage plans with D.K. It happened that the bus developed a fault along the way. And it took me forty-eight hours, instead of the regular twelve hours to arrive at my destination. While I was in the middle of nowhere, D.K called me and started saying things that I couldn’t understand.
He said, “Can you call someone to get the police for me? There are armed robbers in my house. I cashed a lot of money from the bank and I think the robbers had a hint of it and they’re here fully armed and banging on the gate.” I went mute on the call and started tearing up because of the fear I heard in his voice. Then he told me he had a gun so he was going to face the robbers himself, and then hung up. I called a cousin to go and check up on him, and it turned out there were no armed robbers in his house.
Interestingly, before D.K called me, there was a guy who called me. He used to lodge at my house anytime he was in our town. He is a friend of a cousin. And he became friends with everyone in the house except me. He is a very lively and generous guy. That day on my journey he called and asked me, “Where are you? I am in Accra and I want to come and visit you. There is a proposal I want to put before you.” I told him I was on a journey, and he asked me to be safe and call him when I got back to town.
Now, when the bus finally arrived, I went home to put my bags down before heading to D.K’s house. And I found him in a state which was nothing to write home about. He was locked up in his room ranting and spewing nonsense. That was it for me. The talk we were going to have about our marriage plans was cancelled. My dreams of marrying the man I had loved for so long became a mirage. The love of my life had gone mad, and I didn’t have the heart to witness it. I walked away from his house that day and never looked back.
When I got home, I called back the guy who said he wanted to see me. We talked at length and he asked me to marry him. It came as a surprise to me, because like I said, we were not really friends. I told him, “Give me a little time to think about it.” I stayed in the North for one week, nursing my heartache and thinking about my family friend’s proposal.
The very day I left for Accra, was the day I accepted the marriage proposal. We got married four months later. Today, I’m thankful that I married my husband. I thought D.K’s proposal was well timed but it was actually my husband’s proposal that was well timed. He was the one Allah sent to me in my time of sadness, to soothe my ache with love and compassion. Yes, once in a while I think about D.K and wonder how he is doing. Can you blame me? I have known him for almost two decades and we shared a bond.
A few months ago, I asked his sister on Facebook about him, and she told me that he is stable now. D.K, I left you but I believe Allah hasn’t left you. Rumour has it that your illness is spiritual but whatever it is, I pray that you get yourself out of that bondage. I pray that you find strength in yourself to stand back on your feet and fulfil the promising future that you have. I will always wish you well.