My mom had died. …She was no longer with us… I observed the moment and reflected on her and had to be ok with the decision I had to make: I could not attend the funeral. With me adding a grown man to my list of responsibilities my money was gone. And this grown man could not assist me in getting to the funeral.
In Ghana funerals are the last chance to show respect. In Ghana funerals can last a full week and the families involved come together to make certain it is a festive occasion. I’m guessing that since I was not Ghanaian that these rites did not extend to me, the convenient wife. I reviewed how I felt about not being able to turn to my husband during this time. Leaning on him felt cheap and utterly wrong. He admitted that he was supposed to be the one to help me, but could do nothing. Nothing, despite the fact that his sisters had helped him to traipse back to Ghana. Nothing, despite the fact that he had not too long ago bought himself a new phone and Dre Beats headphones in lieu of helping our household.
The time had come for Emmanuel to go to Ghana. Supposedly he’d gotten a job in Ghana which was being held for him. I was suspicious and asked a lot of questions. Nothing added up, so I had to leave it and see how it would play out. Why would this company which had been non-existent since I met him all of a sudden want him? Which skills did he have that would warrant a company holding a job for him for months? What was his position?
His sisters came through for him for his ticket. Emmanuel pressed that I needed to give him money to go shopping because it wasn’t in their culture to return back from a country with no money nor gifts and also his own clothes were not new. I didn’t give a damn.
I did, however, go out to buy his daughter a few small items and I told him to tell the others I’ll see them later. Our plans were that Emmanuel would finally be making money and I would join him in Ghana later; he would send me some money to come to him there. I was not looking forward to going back to a boring village life, so we’d made plans to live in Accra instead of the countryside.
Emmanuel seemed to bolt when it was time for him to go. He took all the electronic gadgets claiming he could get money for them and that would help. I did not protest. I was grieving in my own way, so my feelings were not all registering to focus on him. I felt that at this moment someone, him, anybody, should have been focused on me…
I didn’t hear from Emmanuel upon his arrival. I’d warned him about reverse culture shock effects, but he’d pushed that thinking to the side stating that was for “white people”. Insert rolling eyes here.
Upon his arrival we did not talk alot. When we did talk it was about how expensive everything was and how dirty things were compared to the places we’d been traveling. He also reported on how his friends now had “things”. I tried to console him by stating that now he had a job he could get these “things” too. Our chats on the phone seemed to be because he needed someone to relate to his travels more.
I received a WhatsApp message: I do not want this marriage anymore. I am divorcing you.
You still haven’t bought the book. Nothing that you see on this blog is in the book. I don’t know if you’re ready for this roller coaster ride of a faux relationship. If you’re ready then it’s time that you read the book, Wanted: Green Card.
Wanted: Green Card 