Dear Alfred

To my father, for having been here and to my mother for surviving.

Dear Alfred,

It’s been a year and I thought I’d write to tell you all that has happened this year.

Where do I begin? I suppose I can start from my love life. I’m definitely not going to start dating yet but I have started thinking about it. Last week, my friend introduced me to her co-worker, she said his name was Agyei. He’s a Bank Manager. For the first time, I found myself actually thinking about it. The idea of me with another man, of me loving again, didn’t seem so odd. It seemed possible. I feared this time would come but I have learned in this season to embrace those fears. They are not so bad.

The children do not seem opposed to their mother throwing herself out there again. In fact, Enyima seems to desire it. I suspect she longs for a father figure in her life. It is understandable. She wants me to marry a rich man too. All the better for her right? She has always been a wild dreamer.

Speaking of the children, Enyima is now done with the university. You should have been there to see it, Alfred.  I know you would have been so proud. There I was in my kente cloth, the green one I bought on our trip to Kumasi, smiling proudly as our child walked the podium. They called her name and she stood so boldly. You should have seen her walk. She was confident and full of life. She is so much more than I was at her age. She wasn’t valedictorian but in my heart she was. I was the proudest mother in that room. My child – our child, a graduate. We have done well.

Yoofi got admission into the university this year too. He said to me yesterday, “Mummy, I can’t wait to be an engineer like daddy was”. I’m very glad that he’s finally made up his mind about what he wants to do. Remember when I shared how worried I was that he lacked focus and you just brushed it off? You were right in the end. I think your death gave him purpose. Death has a way of clarifying things for us, I’ve come to find. Previous decisions that seemed complicated suddenly become so clear, I guess the finality of it all puts everything in perspective.

Just think how we used to argue about certain things. To me, now, those things don’t matter but I do know that if you were to come back, we would surely argue about those things again.

A lot has changed since you left but, in many ways, it is still the same. I still sleep on the left side of the bed even though I turned it in the other direction. One morning, I woke up; the children were at school and I was all alone. So, I decided to do something different and before I could say jack, I had started shifting the bed. I just went with it and I think I like where it took me. It’s still the same bed. I still sleep at the same side but it feels different and I think different is good.

I still keep my toothbrush turned outward. Your toothbrush is no longer there and the bristles can’t touch. Even if they did, it wouldn’t matter. I have done the same thing every day for the past twenty years and though it seems pointless now, I think it’s even more pointless to change.

I now wear socks to sleep. At first, when I started, it felt odd. Each night as I put them on, I caught myself thinking that you wouldn’t like it and then I reminded myself you weren’t here to complain about it. That was my ritual every day for almost two months. I think it was a good ritual – each night sitting at the foot of the bed, slipping on your old multi-colored socks, my mind telling me you wouldn’t like it and me responding that you weren’t here. I needed that. It felt defiant in a good way.

My mind has played such games with me for a long time. Every time something happened, I would think “I ought to call Alfred” or “I can’t wait to tell Alfred”, “Maybe I should ask Alfred”, “I wonder what Alfred would think”. Then I would quickly catch myself —Alfred isn’t here anymore.

It was a cruel game and it hurt my heart. It’s like my brain knew you were dead but it didn’t really know it was you. Like, yes, ‘Alfred is dead’ but the man who laid next to me at night is not. The man who paid the children’s school fees and chastised them with me is not. The man who worked on the electricals around the house, fixed the plumbing and killed the cockroaches and spiders is not dead. I’ve taught it now that it really is you that is gone. I’m glad those thoughts have stopped. They hurt too much.

Patrick and Leticia are divorced. I know we saw it coming but now that it has happened, I don’t know how to feel. First, I wondered the kind of conversation we would have had about it. The last time we talked about it, you seemed to think the marriage could be saved. Would you still feel the same way or would you agree with me that they were both being stupid? Next, I was angry. Couldn’t they see that I was suffering? They had each other and yet they were so comfortable letting each other go. If you were here and I said that to you, I know you would tell me that it was a selfish way of thinking.

I do feel bad sometimes. I smile with Leticia and the last time I met Patrick, I had a cordial conversation with him but I’m very angry with them. They annoy me so much. They have something but don’t even know they have it. Never mind that they fought all the time, right? Don’t mind me, I know I’m being silly but I can’t help it.

The basin that you kept fixing over and over started leaking again. I got a plumber to fix it and then two weeks later it was back at it again. That should make you happy. It means you were not the problem after all. Anyway, I got upset and just got a new one. Yoofi had wanted to try and fix it but he doesn’t even know how to hold a screwdriver to save his life.

I feel he thinks he has to be the man of the house and fill your shoes. We both know those shoes are too big to fill; both literally and figuratively. He’s still growing and he deserves to grow at his own speed. Nothing I can say is going to change his mind, I’m certain. I know he’s going to continue to feel responsible for his sister and me, I only pray he doesn’t lose his mind doing so.

Arsenal came close to winning one of the leagues. I don’t know which league it is; only that they came in second or something. I was following from time to time. I hate that they waited for you to die to become good again – ten years or more, they took you through hell. That’s what you get for supporting a bogus team. They better win next year because I support them now. 

Messi won the World Cup; it was truly a historic moment. I was just standing in front of the TV with my hands on my hips, shaking my head incredulously. The man did it. He actually did it. I wish you were here to see it.

I don’t hear from your family very often and I’d like to think it’s both a good and bad thing. At least they are not fighting me tooth and nail for property. I have decided to give them two of the houses, it’s only fair. It does feel as though I don’t exist to them and that hurts me a little. It would have been nice to receive the occasional phone call.

We had my final widowhood rites. Your family gave me the white cloth and three months later, at church, the pastor prayed for me so I took off my black cloth. I haven’t been a fan of black since then. If you were to see me now, you’d be surprised. I wear polka dots and stripes. I know, it’s crazy!

Since we’re talking about clothes, I am pleased to tell you that I have lost weight. I’ve lost so much weight that I had to take all my kaba and slits to Obaapa to take it in for me. I’m so proud of myself, even though the weight loss was grief induced.

The other day I was thinking that I may gain all the weight again and then I would have to take all the clothes to Obaapa yet again to open them up. So, I have decided to go on a diet – no more late-night meals or extra balls of banku or fufu.

Three days ago, Leticia asked that we go out to eat fufu at Mangoase, I said no. Did I cry inside? Yes, but at least I looked good on Sunday. Beauty is pain as they say.

I can’t believe I forgot to add, I cut my hair off. Yes, it was yet another spontaneous decision. I’m sure very soon the children will be too scared to leave me at home. Shortly after the funeral, I would comb my hair and it would just fall out. Some people said it was because of all the head wraps I had to wear for the funeral. I think it was the grief.

Either way, I got out of the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror, picked up the scissors and started cutting. I cut off all the perm and then I went to the barbershop on the next street so they would make it neat.

I felt so free, so much air passed on my head. I was smiling so much I bet if someone saw me, they would think I had gone mad. In the evening, I just let the shower run through my hair. I cannot remember the last time I did that.

The children were initially shocked but then they loved it. Enyima even suggested I get it texturized and put in an ‘aboi’. I don’t know if I want to be that adventurous but who knows? Maybe tomorrow I will wake up and decide that that is exactly what I want to do.

Tomorrow, we will unveil your tomb. The house is going to be overrun with people again. I’m so angry the world didn’t stop. It just continued. The sun continued to rise and set. People continued to marry and give in marriage. New life started while others ended. It all just continued like you didn’t matter – even me. It upsets me and I want you to know I’m sorry. I wish the world had stopped and burned. I wish there was something cosmic that showed that you were gone and that you mattered. In the days leading to your funeral, it did rain a lot. That was a sort of comfort – like the universe was crying with me or something.

I miss you. I miss you a lot. In this year I have cried, my tears could fill a river. I have also laughed. In my head, ‘Alfred’ is dead. Then I remember the times we laughed and the times we fought. I remember the times we held hands or kissed and the times we hustled together to make a life for ourselves. Then it dawns on me that he is the one that is dead. That voice, that hand, that person, he is the one that is gone. It chokes the air out of me.

At first, I crawled through the pain. Then I started walking. Soon, I’ll be running and then I’ll start flying. That was what I was afraid of this entire time. I was afraid that life would continue and that I would continue as if you didn’t matter.

I’m scared to forget your face, your voice and everything about you but a year is a long time and the pictures are never enough to bring your face to life in my mind again. I suppose I must accept that the memory of you will continue to fade till you don’t even feel real. Soon, you’ll be just an ember in my heart. I will live my life barely seeing your significance tangibly and all that would be left in my heart is the feeling that you were once here and I felt you and loved you.

I wish we’d recorded the memories more and made more memories to record. Every picture or video of you, holds so much more value for me than I could have ever imagined. It feels like a rare commodity – more valuable than gold in a way. It’s like this thing I’m grasping onto. When I watch our old home videos, every glimpse of you or the sound of your voice makes that video so precious to me. It has you – the remaining essence of you I will ever have for the rest of my life.

I was afraid to love again. I was afraid to feel again because to do these things was to feel pain again – this pain again. But this is life. You cannot let the fear of death stop you from living because then you would have never lived. You cannot let the fear of heartbreak stop you from loving because then you would have never loved. This is the point of it all: to have loved greatly and lost greatly but persevered through it all.

I persevere through it all, every day. I allow myself to feel every emotion and every sensation. It reminds me that I am truly living.

I love you. I think I will do this every year; write to you, I mean. It’s more for me than you, obviously. I think it helps me see how far I’ve come and how you’re still a part of it somehow. We will meet again.

Your wife in this lifetime,

Dora.

---

Kente - A traditional Ghanaian fabric.

Kaba and slit - A Ghanaian dress style comprised of a blouse called a kaba and a long skirt known as a slit.

Banku - A traditional Ghanaian dish made from fermented corn and cassava.

Fufu - A traditional Ghanaian swallow made from unriped plantain and cassava pounded together.

Aboi - A cut made usually at the side of the hair.