The Dean’s Office (Part 1)

I know movies can be dramatic and are designed to entertain us.

“This scene is unrealistic,”

“That is too much of a coincidence,”

“The world is too large for these two to keep meeting,”

These are some of the commentary my brain runs when I sit to watch movies.

I had never set my eyes on him until the dean introduced us during one of the faculty meetings. He was tall, fair and properly dressed in a coffee brown Italian, slim-fit suit, a white shirt underneath and brown shoes to match. He seemed to have good taste in fashion.

“Dr. Osei, meet Francis Brown (PhD). He is the newest addition to the Business School. He will lecture in Finance,” the dean said.

“Pleased to meet you, Dr. Smith,” I said with my hands lifted to meet his in a firm handshake.

The two of us sat across the dean to discuss the course structure. We were still going to lecture for ten weeks, conduct interim assessments, give the students one project work to be executed in a group and finally examine them at the end of semester.

“I am glad you will be working together to make this semester a successful one,” the dean said. “But Francis, keep it strictly professional. She is definitely not your type and she is married.”

The dean said while sharing a hearty laugh with Dr. Smith.

I couldn’t tell how far their friendship went but I was simply not interested in where this joke was headed.

I packed my notebook into my bag and quickly made my way to the door of the dean’s office.

“Let’s just say I haven’t grown out of my boyish desires,” I heard Dr. Smith respond with another loud laughter which rang through the office and was followed by another handshake.

This Francis guy or Dr. Smith was good looking and God knows he looked great in that suit. Many women would definitely kill to date him but who really is Dr. Francis Smith?

*******************

My sense of style cannot be described as classy or chic or trendy. I dress to feel comfortable and on regular days, I wear my African print dresses and my natural hair is always pulled up in a bun.

Today, I am dressed in a crisp white long sleeves with a navy blue body con skirt and a three-inch high heel. This is how I dress whenever I needed to represent the Business School at meetings off-campus. The dean offered me his spot at a high level meeting with some government officials and I had to look, act and speak the part. No wonder most of the participants wanted to interact me right after the meeting.

I needed to grab some breakfast from the Senior Staff Cafeteria before heading over to the dean’s to debrief.

“There you are,”

A voice behind me made me turn and it belonged to no other than Dr. Smith. What do they say about coincidences again?

“Hi,”

“I haven’t set my eyes on you since we had that meeting at the dean’s office. We’re supposed to work together, you know,”

His eyes moved from my face, down to my little cleavage and they rested on my skirt before making their way to my eyes again.

“You could have have simply asked the dean for that information,” I said.

“You know, why don’t we sit at the table in the corner and have a little chat. The waitress could serve us,” he said.

“Second floor, Lecture Theatre 5, Room 7. You can find me there,” I said quickly while picking my meal and leaving the cafeteria.

…..to be continued

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Afrobloggers’ The Never Ending Story

We continue Miss Kay’s story:

Ghost witches. Teleportation. Experiencing death even in death. Who would have imagined that one could die even after they were dead? If someone had predicted to her that her life-after-death experience would be this dramatic, she would have died several years ago.

“Daydreaming again eh,” Grandma Kai’s voice jostled her back to the present.

She sat on the rock and gazed at this old woman who everyone thought was ‘dead’ but is very much ‘alive’ and training her for God-knows-what. Mona had always been adventurous but that was when she was alive. All of these puzzling experiences with her grandmother were gradually wearing her out.

“Life, for our kinsmen has always been a little complicated,” Grandma started. “You live and when you think death would bring you peace and rest, it doesn’t. There is always an assignment to complete.”

Mona looked up at her Grandma Kai and wondering what she was going to say next.

“Even in death, we’re not free. There is one last task and …”

The last part of her words became inaudible. Grandma Kai gazed ahead. She seemed frightened. As if she had seen a ghost. She held her tummy and fell off the rock. She began to wriggle in pain as if she had ingested poison.

“No ooo,” Mona screamed as she jumped from the rock to hold her grandmother.

“Not here, Grandma. Please do not abandon me,” Mona cried as she held her grandmother’s almost lifeless body or spirit.

“What am I going to do?” Mona kept uttering these word with tears in her eyes as she shook her Grandma Kai.

For what seemed like eternity, the old woman suddenly jumped up as if nothing had happened. She burst out laughing.

“Oh Mona. Mona. You are too emotional,” Grandma said. “Don’t you get it yet?”

“Get what?” Mona said. Almost whispering and shocked at the turn out of events.

“For the task ahead, you don’t need to get like this,” Grandma said.

“Like what?” Mona asked, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes.

“You need to be stronger than this,” Grandma responded. “This is the emotional-strengthening test and you’ve failed woefully.”

“Come. Sit down,” Grandma said, pointing to the rock once again.

Confused by all that had happened, Mona stood up and walked back to the rock. The night seemed very cold. She rubbed her arms for some warmth and looked at her Grandma Kai and awaited what was going to happen next.

It’s going to be a long night…

©

NeverEndingABC Links:
Afrobloggers
✓Tawa of gentlegiantsblog
✓Kadali.Bartlett of Kadaliblog published on Afrobloggers
✓Nicole of humanityboss published on Afrobloggers
✓uBu published on becominguBu
✓Tanaka who blogs at passionvictim ✓@rasmunroe who blogs at mystorymyownwords ✓ Miss Kay who blogs at misskayblogs ✓ ChristianBlogGh who blogs at thechristianblogghana

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Letters: To Advise or Not to Advise (III)

Dear Ama,

We have received your letter and I was given the responsibility of providing you with the appropriate response.

After reading through your reply, the girls and I have decided to offer you a grace period and whether we accept you into our circle, will depend on the answers you provide.

You raised a few issues which boggled our minds, especially, with regards to the pieces of advice provided to you and Yaw during your marriage counselling sessions.

Did your counsellors really say you should cut off your friends and all external parties? All because you’re married? Are you really happy to do that? Will you follow through with this advice? You really scared us when you said you (the woman) will be blamed if something goes wrong in this union. 🤦🏾‍♀️

You also mentioned Yaw did not have a lot of friends. During the wedding, he did not strike us as an individual who kept to himself, looking at the number of groomsmen who followed him and his dance moves during the wedding. We all had the impression he was outgoing. Or is he currently following the advice of your marriage counsellors? 🤷🏿‍♀️

Your response to this letter is very crucial. It’ll inform the girls and I on our next step of action. We look forward to hearing from you.

The leader of the pack,

Joy

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#WBC2020 – ‘By the time he woke up, I was dying… (a creative story)

I walked to the washroom and saw Michael sitting on toilet, scrolling through his phone.

I folded my arms, waiting for him to notice me. He looked up and our eyes met.

“The test came out negative again, ” I said.

He got up, flushed the toilet, washed his hands and came over to give me a hug.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” he said.

I don’t remember the number of times I had heard that statement. This is our eleventh year of marriage and I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve hoped, tried and taken those stupid pregnancy tests. They always managed to come out negative.

I wanted to scream at Michael but I couldn’t. I knew what he’d say,

“Let’s keep trusting God. He’s the one who gives children,”

I don’t blame him. Society never bothers men when married couples do not bear children. It’s always the woman’s fault.

I thought this month’s attempt at conceiving was going to yield positive results. I took the medication and the doctor reiterated that Michael and I were perfectly normal and there’ll be good news this month.

“We’ll keep trying,” Michael repeated.

I nodded just to please him. I walked to the room to call Sandra, my best friend.

“The test came out negative. Again.”

“Let’s meet at my place,” she offered.

I quickly dressed up and told Michael I needed to clear my head.

He walked over to me, gave me another hug and said,

“Take all the time you need,”

“I will,” I said with a smile.

I drove straight to Sandra’s and parked my car. The door flew opened and with wide arms, Sandra welcomed me.

I started narrating my ordeal. This isn’t the first time Sandra is hearing my trying-to-conceive story. She knew about it but her facial expression showed she wasn’t tired of hearing it.

“I have an idea,” Sandra interjected. “Do you remember Denise? She had been trying for 15 years too and she has twins now. She showed me something that worked for her,”

Sandra walked to her room and came back with a bottle.

“This is her magic potion. She testifies it had helped several women like her. Go ahead. Try it,”

I took the bottle with some level of doubt. What do I have to lose anyway? I knew Denise’s story. Who doesn’t? She keeps flaunting the twins on her Instagram page.

“Denise tells me you may feel a little drowsy an hour later after you take it. You may want to drink it while you’re at home,”

Thinking of Michael, who’ll definitely not approve of this, I drank the concoction and picked my car keys.

“I should be at home before I feel the effects of that. Thank you for everything, Sandra,” I gave my childhood best friend a quick hug and rushed to my car.

The journey was smooth till about 400 metres to my home. I started feeling the discomfort. It was in my tummy and I was sweating profusely. I stepped on the accelerator and made the journey in less than a minute.

As I turned the ignition off, I felt the most excruciating pain in my stomach. I tried to make it to the door but that was impossible. I laid on the ground and tried to shout for Michael. He was probably taking a nap. I clenched my teeth and held my stomach tightly as if that was going to make the situation better but, nothing happened. It was as if my breath was being taken out of me. My life flashed before my eyes.

This is the worst feeling I’ve ever felt. I said a prayer and my world was whirling so fast that I had to keep my eyes shut. Michael wouldn’t know the real story. By the time he woke up, I was dying…

***This is 18/22 of the #WinterABC2020. The prompt is “By the time he woke up, I was dying…Share a creative story with this line.***

©

Never Ending Afrobloggers Chain Story

A never-ending chain story by the Afrobloggers community

It was a time for the planting season to begin and you’d expect everyone to be elated but for the rains. They had come too early… …and far too much. The earth became a soggy porridge, a fertile breeding ground for a very unexpected harvest. [Tawa of Gentlegiantblog & Beaton of BecomingTheMuse]

The year was 2025. 5 years after the fatal and brutal COVID19 had ravaged the world and left it empty. Almost. You see the world as we all knew it prior to 2020 was now a memory. A distant memory that no one wanted to talk about. [Sophie of akitcheninuganda.com]

The few of us who had survived the fatal virus now lived in groups we called tribes. Trying to live everyday. Fearful and distrustful of strangers. Never venturing out of the zones we had set for ourselves. [Mable of Mablesrants.wordpress.com]

Mona was the outlier of her tribe. She was 23 and had survived the pandemic. She felt life had to be lived in faith and without fear. Unfortunately for her, her newfound love for life was also the newly discovered fear for her parents who felt safer living within their zones. [OMT of www.omtsdigest.com]

So Mona’s faith couldn’t push her through. Fear still covered her like another pandemic was yet to come. In her zone, her girlfriends constructed a mansion where they all lived like it was a little country. Some farmers, others tailors, others saloonists others chefs, they grew their food and partied there own bar just like in the same compound. [Kadali.Bartlett of Kadaliblog.wordpress.com]

Life was not as Mona and her friends had known it, but through the stories of pain and survival they managed to get through the days. Each time she saw her parents and how her mom seemed safe in her father’s arms her heart ached as she remembered her love [ScotchRoyalty ofscotchroyalty.wordpress.com]

Locked in her fear, Mona decided to ask God for strength and restore her faith. Deep down she knew that nothing comes easy but she believed that God will make things right and erase the fear that clouded her and her parents and live a life filled with happiness. [Nikki_zw ofhumanityboss.blogspot.com]

One night, when the clock hit midnight she felt an energy in the room. She heard a woman’s voice say, ‘I am here to lift you up and remove all fear.’ She opened her eyes and saw nothing but still felt this woman’s presence. ‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘I am the ghost witch.’[BecominguBu of becomingubu.com]

Mona knew the witch’s visit was the beginning of the adventure she had been waiting for all along. Just as the ghost witch had said, her fear was erased by her longing desire for something different. Something new awaited her.
The witch only had one question for her, “Are you ready?”. [Tanaka of Passion Victim Blog]

She held in her hands, a book of which she said “contained all the places in the work beyond the Aksum zone she could visit.”

It was at that moment her spirit fully awakened as the raging soul storms calmed, “Lead the way”, she said. The ghost witch took form. [rasmunroe of My Story, My Own Words]

A breeze filled the room and Mona saw the fairest creature in front of her. The sight of the Ghost Witch was overwhelming. The Ghost Witch stretched her hands towards Mona as the breeze grew stronger forming a whirlwind. Mona took the hands, held on tightly and closed her eyes. [Miss_Kayzi of Chipo_kayzi]

Mona couldn’t help but imagine the beautiful world that awaited her and as the speed of wind increased, she could no longer feel her body. It could have been an hour of spinning in the whirlwind but when Mona opened her eyes, she was lying on a pile of snow.

RULES:

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What if…? (If He was a man)

What if…? is that mysterious man with the superhuman strength that everyone in the community revers seems to be afraid of. Tales are told of how he has disfigured the faces of the strongest men, made folly of the proud women and even disarmed soldiers who attempted to get close. As for the little children, the fables they’ve heard are enough to keep them away.

What if…? lives on the peak of highest mountain overlooking the town, where nobody abides. His house may seem haunted, his bed, as we are told, is made of steel. His kitchen has the biggest hearth with the biggest fire you can ever imagine. That is where he puts the cauldron used to boil disobedient children. His dam is what has cut water supply to the rest of the town.

“Do you want to loose your teeth or your limbs?” the older folks always ask when they sense someone is seeking to challenge What if…?

The large tract of land that surrounds his house is fallow yet nobody in the town has attempted to conduct any activity there.

“Are you building close to …?” they stammer, pointing to the mountaintop but unable to mention his name.

What if..? could have easily vied for the topmost leadership position in the community, as some say, because he is the wisest, strongest and the most knowledgeable. No town will conquer ours, in times of war, if he is made the leader. Why he is still not among the leadership is still a mystery.

We have heard so many stories that are enough to put fear into us but as I narrate the story of What if…? I haven’t had any personal encounter with him yet. I am not the only one who hasn’t. None of my friends have had any either.

These stories I tell are what I’ve heard from my father. I confronted him the other day to know if indeed What if..? is as strong as the town makes us believe. That was when he confessed he has never set his eyes on What if..?? He directed me to Grandpa. When I posed the question to him, he also responded he has never met What if…?

Perhaps the town’s sage may have encountered him. The sage is the oldest man in the town. He is known to have fought in World War I and has answers to some of the most absurd questions. I was confident when I walked up to him and posed the puzzling question.

“I know he lives on the mountaintop but nobody has ever set their eyes on him,” the town sage responded

“So you haven’t seen him too,” I whispered, too shocked to speak.

“My dear, I haven’t,” he admitted.

It was then that it struck me. Is it minutely possible that What if..? may not exist at all? Would I be right to believe that the tale of this strong man may be in the imagination of the towns folks? I am not sure but I may find out one day. That will be the day that I will gather courage to climb the highest mountain of the town and take a peep into What if’s..? house. If I come back alive, I will have the answer to my question.

Until then, “What if…? is the wisest, strongest and the most knowledgeable in this town.” Please don’t tell anyone that I haven’t met him yet.

This is Day 6 of the 21-day lock down blogging challenge and the writing prompt is ‘What if?

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Captain Hoks

Lurking in dark alleys like an apparition, he wears a black robe that hangs loosely on his thin frame except for his waist that is defined by the soft fabric serving as a belt. The over-sized hood covering his head makes his face darker, invisible and mysterious. His fingernails are gnarled and dirty and, no sound is heard when he moves but the impact he makes is quite extensive.

His victims – the wise, young, aged, vulnerable and even the strongest because status means nothing to him and his movements are purposeful. Those who encounter him limit their explanation to the tap they experience first on their shoulder that later moves steadily and slowly like a serpent. They feel his hairy hands slither into their clothes till they are rested firmly on the victim’s chest.

The impact – palpitations, cold sweat, dilation of the pupil, nausea and immobility. Delightfully, he watches on and breaks into a smile that reveals the toothless content of his mouth. All this time, his eyes never leave his victim’s and his palms presses more firmly on their chest, causing their hearts to beat faster. He moves a little more confidently this time, till he faces the victim, still maintaining eye-contact.

His most memorable moment – when the victims continue to feel the impact of his touch and try to break eye contact. When they continue to wriggle, moan and cry with indignation. It is at this point that even the most stubborn victims cower. Most of them drop down, sometimes on their knees and at other times, lying face down. Paralyzed and in tears, they plead for escape.

“I can’t do it.”
“I’ll fail.”
“I am scared”
“I’m afraid”

These are the familiar statements uttered by Captain Hok’s victims.

©  

The Rendezvous II

The Rendezvous continues…

Life always seems to take a different turn when you least expect it to. The seemingly harmless hug from the youth leader was sudden but it did have an effect on you. You enjoyed it partly, maybe, the portion of your brain that controlled irrational behaviour did enjoy it. Meanwhile, the portion of your brain that senses danger instructed you to run away from him. Run as fast as your legs could carry you and forget about those young intoxicated Christians you had just encountered.

While contemplating on your next line of action, youth leader pulled you away, held your hand and directed you out of the auditorium and from the stares of the young group who seemed intrigued by the gesture. You both walked into the clear night and found a patch of grass not too far from the church building but away from all interruptions. You fought very hard to keep your imaginations from running wild but the adventurous part of you wanted to unravel the mystery of this man’s calmness. He did not have it all but anytime you spoke with him, he never complained. He seemed hopeful of the future. You sometimes wondered what his actual age was because he seemed too mature to be 26 years. It was probably the way he was brought up.

“Are you okay, now?” he asked

That question brought you back from your stupor.

“Huh? Oh yes. I am better. Just a little cold,” you responded.

“Here. Take my coat,” he offered

You take it without any hesitation and kept wondering how the evening was going to end. You were gradually beginning to warm up to him. He seemed kind. You probably hadn’t made time to get to know him.

“I am sorry for what happened back there,” you blurted out, pointing to the church. “I guess I hadn’t encountered as many excited Christians as I did today.”

“I understand. We get that reaction from a lot of people. I can assure you we are not pretending. What you witnessed is how we truly feel about God. We love Him and that is how we express it,” he said, looking straight at you.

“I was also a reserved Christian, just like you. I loved to keep to myself. I did not want people to know I was a believer. Let’s just say I was shy to admit it but one encounter changed that perception. It made me confident in who I was and I am not ashamed to share that. It created this change that you see in me and with the others,” he added, gesturing towards the church.

You wondered what may have caused that change in him. You were not only interested in his story but becoming more attracted to the storyteller. He seemed mysterious and you liked it. It was going to be a long night, you admitted. You should probably call your mum to inform her not to wait for you. You got up and stretched your hand towards him. He grabbed it while the two of you walked away from the church premises.

“It all started when…” youth leader narrated.

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©picasion.com_9CWp

The Rendezvous

All your life, you are certain you are a born-again, spirit-filled Christian. You know this because your parents keep reminding you of the role they played in ensuring the Reverend Minister baptised you and ten other children on December 4th, 1990. You believe you are a child of God because you try to be good. Well, mostly. You have your quiet time daily and you do not smoke nor drink, neither do you club nor fornicate and the list goes on. Thirdly, you go to church every Sunday and are a member of the singing ministering and when you are not singing in the choir, you serve as an usher.  These two positions take so much of your time but you juggle them quite well and though you hate to admit it, you sometimes struggle to execute both roles effectively.

You are doing just fine (in your opinion) until a friend introduces you to another brother who is the youth leader of another church. There was nothing fascinating about him. Dull, just like that. During your initial assessment, you did not like the way he had dressed. His mannerisms and speech were funny. Simple subjects about the church, bible and the life of a Christian became so complicated whenever you spoke with him. On your second meeting, he brought up a conversation on the subject of the Holy Spirit but you shut him out while he kept rattling. In your mind, he simply likes to talk but you gave your phone number to him, anyway. This was to keep him from pestering your friend who introduced you both.

You honoured one of his insistent invitations to a weekday service in his church. The youth in that church was on another level. They seemed too exuberant, highly animated and overly cheerful. Perhaps, they have had a heavy lunch or had they taken in some narcotics? You observed keenly because you had never seen so many young people so excited about church. The service was scheduled to last for an hour but in your heart, you wished it was over so you could walk out of the midst of these over-energetic youth.

Before the grace was shared, you took your bag and were ready to bolt when you felt a hand on your shoulder, trying to restrain your movement.

“You made it. I am glad you came. Hope you enjoyed the service and I hope you’ll join us for the next one,” youth-leader said with a smile on his face. He really looked happy to see you.

“I enjoyed it but I have a number of things to do right now so let’s chat over the phone, ok?” you replied almost shrugging his hands off you.

“You seem annoyed. Are you sure you’re alright? Did someone say anything nasty to you in there?” youth-leader who seems to know everything, quizzes you. His concerns and posture were preventing you from moving away. Instead of allowing you to walk off. You turned to use the other exit but he quickly moves to stand in the doorway and that stopped you.

“Hey! Hey! Are you crying?” He asked too gently for your liking. Through the tears, you tried to push him aside but were not successful. You began to scream. This time, very loudly for him and the other members of his church to hear.

“Never invite me to this church again. You guys confuse me. You, in particular, make me question myself. Ever since we met, all you do is to speak differently on the same subjects that I’ve always known. They keep ringing in my head. They disturb me,” you said. You look at him, almost whispering, “And I don’t like you.”

Youth leader looks at you, raises his hand but decides to put them down. He rather walks up to you and what he did, shocked and intrigued you at the same time.

*************************************************************************************

This is the first of a two-part sequel. I am not too certain how it’ll end but you can give me ideas. While you do that just fix your eyes here. It promises to be exciting.

© picasion.com_9CWp

Me? A Pastor’s Wife? Never…

Dear Kwesi Broni,

I have been thinking about the conversation we had about a week ago. The one concerning the revelation the mighty prophet had about you – that you were going to be a p-a-s-t-o-r. Yes, that revelation! I told you I was going to think about it. I have thought through it very well, so, below is my response:

Kwesi B., I don’t want to be rude but just take a critical look at me. When you had your vision, did you see me as your wife? Or did the prophet announce to you that I was going to be your ‘Osofo Maame?’ You know I am very popular and don’t have a problem when it comes to receiving love proposals from men. Even as we speak, I have about four pending ones, which I’m reviewing. I decided to give you a chance not because you are the richest or the coolest dude, but, I just did. Did you know you were still on probation all this while? But you have already failed as a result of our last conversation. Anyway, the chance I gave you has expired. I am no longer interested in our ‘assumed’ relationship.

How can you consider me, Akosua Darling, as a pastor’s wife? I am not saying I am above that role because I know some beautiful wives of pastors. Oh, or you are thinking of starving me to death, eh? Kwesi, that won’t happen oo, that wouldn’t happen! If you are looking for someone to fast and pray for the needs of your congregation, why me? Please look for that person that you want to put on a perpetual diet for members of your congregation. As for me, Akosua Darling, I don’t think I have the capacity to intercede for some church members who may even end up gossiping about me. Even as I type this note, I have directed the new pastor, whose church is down the street, the one who advertises on the radio. Yes, that one. I have asked him to fast and pray for me. For your information, I have paid quite a hefty amount for him to achieve the results that I am seeking. Fasting is not one of my favourite hobbies.

Sorry. I digress. So how did I come to mind when you thought of somebody who was going to partner you in your ministry? I have told you several times that as a pastor’s daughter, coupled with what I have seen and experienced, I have vowed never to date, not to talk of marrying a pastor. Why? You think I wouldn’t like to see my husband on a daily or at least, a regular basis? Unlike my mum, who stayed with my dad even though he was absent almost 3/4th of our lives, I wouldn’t like to raise my children alone while you tour Papua New Guinea, Malaysia, Greenland, among others, all in the name of winning souls. I want to close from work, drive to the house to come and meet my husband, so, we have a hearty conversation. I want my husband to be part of my everyday life.

“Akos, if you want to give me a heart attack, then bring a prospective fiance with pastoral ambitions to this house,” my mother has already warned me and you know I am not a disobedient child.

Oh. Did I ever mention to you how some of my friends and I take long looks at our pastor’s wife? In fact, we assess her every day. We know she likes to wear funny shoes and her attire is someway. Her hairstyle, nowadays, makes her look older and we’ve concluded it’s because her husband is never around to compliment her. The other pastor’s wife too, we think she simply overdresses, wears too much makeup and is competing with us, the young ones. She never likes to cover her hair but fixes weave that some of us cannot even afford. What makes you think she is not sponsoring herself with our offertory and tithes?

Eii! and the way some church members can also demand their daily upkeep from pastors? You have been a witness to that eh? They come for their rent, transport fare and school fees from pastors. This implies that our small earning will be used to alleviate poverty among members of your congregation. So I wouldn’t only share you with your members but my money will become the church’s money. Don’t think I am selfish, I only like to protect what is rightfully mine.

So Kwesi B., do you want me to stand behind you in posters and billboards? How can you think of such a thing? Me? Akosua Darling, on a large billboard near the Motorway, standing behind my husband and inviting people to ‘our church.’ I was seriously considering you as a husband but your plans, for me and our future, are making me cry. I want to live a quiet life, probably get married to a rich man but not to someone who will be at the mercy of his congregation and everyone. I wouldn’t know what I will do when people discuss you on traditional and social media. Do you think I don’t see how some people describe pastors and Christians on Facebook? You know I can’t pretend. I may descend to their level and make myself dirty and I know I will be in the trends forever so you, let’s call this relationship off.

In the future, I may come and support your ministry when I am wealthy. Don’t see me as selfish and greedy. In fact, you should thank God I am not being pretentious. You should pay me for my frankness (you can put that in the offertory bowl on Sunday).

However, please read this portion of my letter carefully (you can read it aloud like a confession):

I, Kwesi Broni, will never, ever mention to anyone that Akosua Darling and I were ever in a relationship. I will never get in touch with her again and I won’t even bother to respond to this letter. I am removing her number from my phone contacts. I am unfriending her on Facebook and unfollowing her on Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat. In fact, starting now, I have deleted her from my memory. I consider her as my forgotten ex and our relationship, dissolved. Dead. Caput. Buried. Drowned in the deepest part of the ocean. I wish her the best in her future endeavours. So help me God!

Thank you for your time. I don’t look forward to hearing from you ever again.

Your ‘dead’ ‘drowned’ and forgotten ex,

Akosua Darling.

Disclaimer: This is purely fictional and does not represent the views of the writer.

Glossary

Osofo Maame: Wife of a Pastor

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