I had all the details of the person I was going to get married to in mind when I was a teenager. I had this little book I wrote the list in. “He should be tall and handsome. He should have his own car and live in his own house. He should be romantic and compliment me often. He should care enough to call and check up on me when I’m away. He should call me sweetheart and on my birthday he should bring me cake and roses and tell me that I’m beautiful.”
All those crazy stuff we see in telenovelas and on TV. I had boyfriends who were tall and handsome but had no money. Kweku had a car but he struggled to buy fuel. At some point, I was the one fuelling it when we went out. There was this one guy too who till date calls me on my birthday to wish me a happy birthday. And there was my husband who was everything sweet but short. I was taller than him.
I was sure I didn’t like a short guy but my husband over-compensated for his height with so many things. He was caring when we were dating. And on my birthday he was the first person to call and sing me a ‘happy birthday’ song. He had a way of looking at me. I really loved it. Like I was all he had and he was ready to spend the rest of his days just looking at me. He wouldn’t even blink and when I wore a dress that fit, he would hold my hand and say, “Wow, you look beautiful.”
It was those little things that got me enchanted to him. So the day he suggested that we should get married, I didn’t think twice about it. I said yes and while he was there, I called my dad and told him, “Dad, Asamoah wants to come home to see you guys.” I was simply overjoyed.
We got married in May and in August I got pregnant with Junior. A year and a half after Junior was born, Yaa followed. Ben was born after Yaa, and Lady was born after Ben. Four solid kids in six years of marriage. Our house became a nursery and also an arena where I was always shouting at running kids to be careful.
