A CYNIC’S GUIDE TO GETTING HITCHED – EPISODE 8

Changing Seasons


Ayitey has been hounding me forever to find a man and double date with him and his girlfriend, Joycelyn whom everyone calls Joy and very aptly so; she’s a very bubbly, round cheeked young woman with little or no inhibitions, especially in the chatter department. On and on she goes about everything and anything. Her one dam is religion; she’s very religious.

Ayitey can’t seem to get enough of her. She makes him laugh and being a man of few words, unless absolutely necessary, likes listening to her babble on. I find that I can only take her in small doses; she stands in the way of my thought patterns because she has a way of roping you into her endless prattle. She gets me to small talk and that sort of thing drains me. I keep postponing the date with the now tired excuse that I don’t have anyone to double date with.

“Just go out and meet someone already. Surely you have met some people after Nunya. Just give them a chance. They won’t be Nunya but they might have something to offer,” Ayitey says to me on one of the days I decline the double date offer.

I know he makes sense and as I enter the house I grew up in to see my mother I think about it. It’s a Sunday and my mother is making Jollof. I called her that I was on my way. I have been living on my own now for a month and I find that while the physical space between my mother and I has widened, the emotional space has narrowed considerably.

Conversations flow easier now and I enjoy coming to see her on Sundays. She seems to have blossomed in the alone time she’s getting. She says on Friday nights she has her siblings over after work to sit and talk; she reserves Sundays for me.

As we eat, I ask her why she won’t just get a man. She laughs and tells me that at her age she has no use for a new man; that the part of her that enjoys meeting new people is long dead. She says now what she craves is familiarity, that the only man she has ever really known and loved is my father and she can’t seem to move on with anyone else.

“Sometimes when you love, it takes everything you have and when it ends there’s nothing left to start over,” She says as a cloud of sadness crosses her face.

That night, back at my place I wake up in the dead of night breathing heavily, feeling like something is sucking the life out of me. The look of sadness on my mother’s face haunts me, presenting itself as my face in a decade to come.

I sit up in my bed and start to weep. I have to let the memories of Nunya go lest I end up like my mother. At least she has me and my brother. What do I have to keep me going?

I don’t remember when I fall asleep again but I wake up early in the morning, to the sound of two birds exchanging morning salutations outside my window and see the sun slowly stretching its hands over the grey clouds that ruled the night and for the first time in months I smile at the mere thought of waking up. I feel like a young tree pelted by rain for days and finally feeling the warmth of the sun on its leaves. The rain was necessary but its season is gone and the sun is more than welcome.

The emotions in our lives are like the seasons of the earth, they come and go and come back again. I know that happiness is not a destination; it’s not even the journey, its only part of it. Along the way there are a myriad of emotions. The trick is to acknowledge all of them and give each their due – balance. To hear some people talk about it, you’d think that happiness can be everlasting but I know better. As I feel the happiness slowly creeping up on me, I know that I will feel pain again, but until then, I’m going to milk this new feeling for everything that it’s worth.

I say a silent prayer to embrace Nunya wherever he is and I get out of bed. It will be the last time he occupies the entirety of my mind. I move him to a single room compartment in the apartment of my heart where I’ll run into him from time to time, I know, but we’ll smile at each other and exchange pleasantries and walk on.

A few days later, Ayitey comes to see me at my new place. Since he started dating, I rarely see him and it feels like old times to have him sit in my kitchen emptying the remaining contents of my mixing bowl into his stomach while I make cupcakes.

“Give me another date for the double date. I met someone.” I tell Ayitey.

“You did? When did this happen?”

“Oh you remember Mansa’s friend whom I went out with after the incident at The Republic? Well I ran into him at the supermarket today when I was buying supplies. We got to talking and he accused me of not returning his calls. I told him I was going through a rough time and he requested a do over so I’m seeing him this Saturday. If all goes well then we can do our double date.”

“Wait, did you say “if all goes well”? That means you hope it goes well because you’re even making plans for when it does.” Ayitey already looks surprised but then his eyes widen even more when he comes to a realisation.“Oh my goodness, Adubea, you’re hopeful, you actually sound hopeful! That is the single most non-cynical thing I have heard you say since we met.“

He discards the bowl and rushes around the kitchen counter to gather me in a hug, which I just realise we have never shared. I have been friends with Ayitey for years and I don’t remember ever hugging him. I get over my initial astonishment and hug him back. It feels good.

“I really can’t wait to meet this guy if he has you feeling hopeful.” Ayitey says when he goes back to cleaning out my mixing bowl.

“But that’s the thing; he’s not the reason for this feeling.” I tell him about the conversation with my mother and the jolt in the night.

“You’re going to be just fine, Adubs; just fine. It is you after all, not only are you awesome, you’re pretty resilient.“

“Positive affirmation; I knew I kept you around for a reason,” I smile at him.

My second date with Mansa’s friend, Kwabena, goes well. And so our double date happens. And it happens again and again. And on our fifteenth double date, 6 months later, Ayitey surprises Joy by proposing to her.

He told me when he had decided to ask her and asked me to help him buy her the promise ring. Being the wedding freak that he is, he wanted it all to be a fairy tale for her. And it was clear she is the kind that melts for the grand romantic gestures so I said to go all out. He buys her the dress she’s wearing, the shoes, he pays top Cedi for the fine restaurant and for the chocolate cake (Joy’s favourite) that hides within its chocolaty centre, Joy’s promise ring.

When Joy finds the ring, she lets out a shriek so loud; Ayitey himself cringes while everyone in the restaurant turns to look at us; some disapproving until they see Ayitey slip the ring on to her finger and they applaud.

My initial surprise abated two weeks ago when Ayitey first told me about his decision so while this total Hollywood cliché plays out before my eyes all I can think is whoever is going to propose to me better not do anything like this because after saying yes to him to save him some humiliation I will definitely say no when we get somewhere private.

Kwabena claps gleefully and turns to look at me with an odd look in his eyes. I make up my mind to give him a good talking to when we get home just to make sure he doesn’t get any ideas along the lines of the spectacle I’m witnessing.

Ayitey and Joy leave early. All the excitement of the proposal makes them want to rip each other’s clothes off. Thankfully, they opt to do it in the comfort of Ayitey’s apartment. It’s still early but suddenly I want to go home. It doesn’t help that Kwabena is getting all touchy feely. I’m happy for Ayitey but I don’t feel like company so I make my excuses and get him to drop me off at home.

When I get to my door I see a figure sitting on my landing. I wasn’t home to turn on the outside light so I can’t make out who it is until he looks up and my heart skips a beat.

A CYNIC’S GUIDE TO GETTING HITCHED – EPISODE 7

A Fresh Start


Now I know it’s ok to be a no-frills girl. I approached this project from the wrong angle. I tried to change myself to suit society’s framework and that wasn’t necessary to help me find a man. Nunya is proof of that. Nunya, even though he hurt me, showed me that the problem is not with me. I am capable of risking everything for love. I’m not detached like Mansa thought I was; like I thought I was. Even though it opened up a world of pain like I never knew, it also opened up a world of beautiful wonder like I never imagined existed. And in life, you can’t have one without the other.

One evening, as I rushed to finish two large cupcake orders that were due the next day, my mother walks in rather early from one of her outings looking chipper.

“You’re early,” I noted. “Why, your friends had to leave?”

“She put her handbag down on the couch and walked up to the counter of the kitchen which overlooked the living area.

“Oh, I didn’t go to see my friends. We had another family meeting.”

“Someone else died?”

“No, they just called and said the only time we meet is when there’s s funeral to be planned and they want to change that. So today we just met up to talk and reminisce.”

“Hmm, nice. The next time, you people should order cupcakes.”

My mother laughs. “Half of them have no teeth.”

My mother comes from a very huge family of 46 children, step children from both of my grandparents included. Some of them have passed on but those that remain are always at each other’s throats. It’s nice to see they are trying to work it out. It certainly seems to be doing my mother good.

“What are you making? Can I help?” My mother offers. She’s never offered before.

I nod and look at her, all dressed and made up and wondering why I didn’t turn out like her. Because I recall wanting to dress like her when I was much younger. I guess that when it was time for her to school me in the customs of a normal girl, she was too busy worrying about me not adding to her woes by getting pregnant so I didn’t get to wear the latest shoes and hair accessories growing up like my friends in school; I didn’t get to go out to the many kids’ variety shows and paid excursions; I wasn’t socialised.

This realisation doesn’t anger me; far from it. In fact, I have found a new appreciation for my mother. I imagine her feeling the way I do about Nunya’s leaving and not being able to give herself over to the grieving process because she had mouths to feed.

And to some extent, what she did, though misguided was partly for my benefit. What parents don’t want to accept is that their children’s lives are theirs to live. They are entitled to their own mistakes, their own choices.

We finish the cakes at 3 a.m.

The next day, when I arrive home after the long day of deliveries and setting up at the parties they were ordered for, I give my mother a long hug. I believe it is the first time I have voluntarily hugged her. It feels good.

I lie in bed that night trying to ignore the pain in my feet and my back.

In the dead of night, I wake up with a jolt and I don’t know what woke me; it wasn’t a bad dream. Then I start to panic. What was the point of Nunya crashing into my life like that? I fell in love and yet I’m no closer to having a companion than I was before.

Then it occurs to me that I had lost sight of my goal. I didn’t set out to fall in love; I set out to find a companion. I was happier when I didn’t have this. Happy in my own cynical way but at least I was content and clear headed. But this collision of souls blind-sided me and the explosion caused such a burst of debris that our pieces are all mixed up in each other and I can’t tell them apart. We gravitate towards the experiences we are meant to have. Even though what I had with him is tearing me apart because I don’t have it anymore, it was the most wonderful thing I have ever felt and in some ways, I am grateful for it, but really, what was the point?

Could it all have been for me to understand my mother better? Was that the purpose of this cruel joke the cosmos played on me?

There are days when I can almost feel him and I’m expecting him to call any moment but he never does. And there are days when I hit such a low that all I care to do is stay in bed. I don’t remember when it happens but I fall asleep again.

* * *
Ayitey and I are no longer in each other’s company every day. Part of the reason is that I don’t feel like company most of the time, and the other reason is that Ayitey finally chose a woman to be exclusive with. I’m happy for him.

Even though I don’t want to spend time with company, spending time alone doesn’t do for me what it used to do. It’s almost like solitude took offence in my romance with Nunya and became hostile to me.


I need change, a new experience; something to jolt me out of the doldrums. As I stand in the kitchen mixing batter a thought comes to me. I need to move out of the house. I need to get my own place. Rediscover myself get comfortable with myself again. Then maybe I can resume my quest for a lifetime companion. Ayitey’s finding someone has reiterated the need for me to expedite my actions.

A month later, I find a place. Not too far from my mother because I want to be able to check on her regularly. She complains about me leaving her alone but soon she accepts it and even agrees to take in one of her siblings’ children who just started a day not far from our place secondary school.

Ayitey helps me move in. It is a one bedroom apartment with a spacious kitchen that overlooks the living room. It reminds me of home and the transition is a little bit smoother.

My first night there, I lie on my bed in my new room and listen to the cars driving past outside and the leaves rustling on the trees outside my window. This is mine, at least for the next two years, and this is where I start afresh.