THE GIRL I NEVER HAD, PART 1

A very long time ago, when I was in Junior Secondary School, there was a particular girl in my class that every boy wished was his. We did all we could, but we couldn't snatch her away from the tight grip of one boy, whose forehead was so big that it could block the destiny of six generations. Yes, you read that right. We couldn't comprehend why such a beautiful girl would choose such an ugly dude over us. Love can indeed be blind.

We tried our best to convince her to stop seeing this ugly guy, but it felt like convincing a hungry dog to choose honey over bones. It was hard. Very, very hard. At one point, we even thought that this ugly dude had bewitched the girl.

There were three of us friends - EK, MA, and me, KD. We decided to separate the "couple", and then each one of us would try to win the heart of this damsel. Whoever wins, wins. Ewwwwww, you say? This shows how frustrated we were. I was the leader. I was the cutest. I was the smartest. I stood a better chance of winning her love than my other friends, so I never had a problem with that arrangement.

Here's how we planned to separate the two. Oh, I forgot to tell you that this ugly guy, JK, was the most intelligent in our class. He used to teach us during those times when our teachers went on strike. For obvious reasons, I didn't like him, but not his style of teaching. He taught us like a trained teacher, and he controlled the class as if he were the headmaster. He was loved by both boys and girls in my class, except the three of us. There was never a day that you wouldn't find JK and his books together. Most of the time, Lucy, the girl of our dreams, was found next to him in a compromising posture.

One hot afternoon, after we had returned from our second break, the headmaster entered our class with a boy. We thought he was our headmaster's last born. He was well-dressed, with a neatly ironed shirt, polished shoes, and well-combed hair.

You could see on the faces of the girls that they were dying to rest in his arms. He was so cute, perhaps even more than me. Envy was written boldly on the faces of the guys. We just couldn't believe a guy could be this cute.

The headmaster told us he was a new student who would be joining us the following day. After the announcement, he asked me to be the friend of this new guy. I was sitting alone at the desk; my two friends were behind me. So automatically, the new guy had to join me at my desk. I didn't have much of a problem with that arrangement, but my only fear was going to school one day to hear that the new guy had snatched the girl of my dreams away. I prayed hard against it.

The following day, I had a lot of fun with my new friend. You could see from his new uniform and even his skin colour that he came from a rich home. Although my parents weren't poor, the new guy had a lot of things that I didn't have. The very first day he came to sit beside me, he brought me a gift. I thought that was too thoughtful of him, but I asked him to give it to my other friends.

A few days later, I got to school early and found an envelope under my desk. Of course, I opened it. No name, no clue. Inside was a letter—a love letter. I read it carefully, word for word. Still no name.

It was from Miss Nobody to Mr Nobody. The writer confessed she was falling for a boy who sat at that desk.

I looked around the empty classroom, my heart racing.

But the question burned hotter than the afternoon sun: who exactly was she talking about?

Not This Time, Love Pt 4

The day finally came for me to leave for school. I packed my bag and baggage into an awaiting taxi. My mum had a program to attend, so I had to go with just the driver.

I had never been to the school before, but the taxi driver assured my mum he knew the place and would get me there safely. I squeezed myself into the front seat, while my chop box, luggage, bucket, mattress, and school bag piled into the back. I didn’t like the idea of arriving at school in a taxi, but at least it was a brand-new car. That gave me a little dignity.

As we drove, the driver played country music that just swept me away.

“Seein’ you in my dreams

Holdin’ you close to me

Oh, what else can it be?

It must be love…”

That was my favorite part of Don Williams’ song, It Must Be Love. It felt almost intentional, as if someone had whispered to the driver that I was battling a love conundrum and he should play the song on repeat to soothe me.

When we arrived at the school, the driver helped me unload and carry my things to the boarding house. He even guided me through the admission process until I was shown my room and assigned a bed. I thanked him, and he drove off.

It was the school’s first year housing students as boarders. Even though it was a mixed school, the boarding house was strictly boys. The entire school sat on such a small piece of land that you could tour it in ten minutes.

I sat on my bed and began arranging my things. Our room was supposed to hold thirty students, but only ten had reported so far. After I finished arranging, I lay back to rest.

Soon, a boy came over and struck up a conversation. His face looked young, but his voice and words sounded mature. I couldn’t figure out whether he was older than me or just wise beyond his years. Though a first-year like myself, he spoke as if he’d already mastered boarding house life.

He advised me to pray often and read my Bible regularly. But then he added something that chilled me:

“Some of the students here carry bad spirits. You have to be very careful.”

The words shook me. My chest tightened. From that moment, I resolved not to trust anyone—not male, not female.

The next day, we went to class. At break time, a senior walked in and handed me a bell.

“You’re the bell boy now,” he said.

I froze. Me? Of all the Form One students?

I refused. “I’m not ringing any bell.”

The senior shoved the bell into my hand, but I dropped it. It landed squarely on his left foot. His eyes flared with rage. In seconds, I was dragged out of the classroom, surrounded by five seniors. They shoved me around until I fell hard on my butt.

I wanted to fight, but what could I do against five well-built boys? They forced me to kneel. Tears rolled down my cheeks before I could stop them.

Just then, I saw a girl approaching.

I quickly wiped my tears—no way was I letting her see me cry. That would make me look weak. But her face… her face looked familiar.

“She’s not one of my JSS mates. She’s not from my church either. But… why does her pretty face feel so familiar?” I muttered.

Not This Time, Love Pt 3

Before Lucy’s mum left my room, she handed me an envelope. “Keep this on you,” she said, “and use it when you get to school.”

I thanked her profusely, convinced it was money—plenty of it.

When she finally left and I was alone, I opened the envelope carefully. What I saw nearly stopped my heart. Money. Not just money—a thousand cedis. Gh₵1000!

I counted and recounted, refusing to believe it at first. Then I spread the notes across my bed like a brand-new bedsheet and lay on them. I rolled from one end of the bed to the other, laughing to myself. That was when I realized the truth: money is sweet. Very sweet.

I was still “swimming” in my pool of cash when my mum walked in.

She didn’t look surprised. She didn’t even flinch. She just ordered me to arrange the money neatly and put it back in the envelope. I obeyed quickly. But just as I was about to slip the envelope into my school bag, she said, “Hand it over.”

Wait. What? That was my money. Lucy’s mum had given it to me. Why should my mum take it away? Did she think I couldn’t keep that much on me?

But I didn’t argue. I handed it over.

She took the envelope, pulled out Gh₵50, and gave it back to me.

“Take this. Manage it well, because you won’t get a pesewa from me until you vacate. If you lose it, that’s all you have for the whole term. I’ll keep the rest.”

And with that, she left the room.

My head buzzed with unanswered questions, but my mum wasn’t one for “unnecessary” questions. Not when she had made up her mind.

I sat on the bed, sulking, then drifted into thoughts of what secondary school life would really be like. I had heard too many stories—how seniors bullied juniors, how some boys went to wild lengths just to impress girls.

I had promised myself never to fall in love again—not with anyone apart from Lucy. But could I keep that promise? Especially after Lucy’s mum had reminded me that there would be “beautiful girls” waiting at school.

The more I thought about campus life, the more tense and confused I became. Eventually, I collapsed on the bed and drifted into sleep.

About an hour later, I was jolted awake. My mum was standing in the room, shaking me.

Not This Time, Love Pt 2

I sat down and cried. Not just a few tears—real, chest-aching sobs. I couldn’t believe I wouldn’t get the chance to learn in the same school as my friends. JK, EK, and MA had all been accepted to OWASS, while Frank was off to Prempeh. And me? I had been thrown into ADASS. ADASS! A school I hadn’t even heard of before.

Shame washed over me. I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. I didn’t want to lie either, so I chose silence. I locked myself in my room and refused to speak to anyone—not my mum, not Frank, not EK or MA, and not even my pastor. I felt cheated. Yes, cheated.

Frank and I had the same grades, so why did he get into Prempeh while I was pushed into a school I didn’t even know? To make things worse, I hadn’t been placed in Science, the program I had chosen. Instead, I’d been dumped into General Arts.

My mum was worried. I heard her outside making calls, probably summoning another person to come talk to me. Meanwhile, I stayed inside, crying over everything I had lost. Not just the school of my choice, but also the only girl I had ever loved, the chance to talk to that beautiful girl who had helped me find my post office key, and now, the closeness of my friends. Our bond—our mischief, our laughter—would be scattered. I would have to start all over again in a mixed school when all I had ever wanted was a single-sex environment. If that wasn’t an invisible hand trying to make my life miserable, then I didn’t know what was.

Just then, I heard a knock on the door. Someone called my name. It wasn’t my mum. The voice belonged to someone else.

At first, I ignored it, but the knocking grew persistent. Finally, I opened the door just a little—and froze.

It was her. The last person I expected to see. My mum must have been truly desperate to convince her to come. I hadn’t even known she was back in the country. This was the first time I had seen her since the day I spotted her in a car months ago.

Why was she here? What was her motivation for showing up at my door now, especially after sending Lucy abroad to continue her education? Wait—was Lucy back in Ghana? Had she come with her?

The thought made me fling the door open wider. She stepped inside, smiling warmly, as if she was genuinely happy to see me.

I wanted to ask if Lucy had returned, but the words stuck in my throat. She sat on my bed, while I stood there awkwardly in my boxer shorts and singlet, wishing she were Lucy herself and not Lucy’s mum.

“When your mum told me you’ve been acting strange because you didn’t get into your school of choice, I became worried,” she began. “I couldn’t even finish my food. You know, Lucy used to do the same thing—lock herself in her room for days. It took so much pleading to get her to open the door. Honestly, I’m glad her dad came for her. She was becoming uncontrollable.”

I sat beside her, listening quietly. Her words were meant to comfort, and in a way, they did. She convinced me that going to a mixed school wasn’t the end of the world. But the part I didn’t like was when she mentioned I’d have the chance to make both male and female friends.

If only she knew what I had vowed. I had promised myself never to fall in love again. Not after Lucy. No one else could ever compare.

What I really wished was for her to bring Lucy back to Ghana. But from what she said, it would take nothing short of a miracle.

A miracle? Yes.

The question was—how do I make a miracle happen to get Lucy back?

Not This Time, Love Pt 1

When Frank, the new guy, told me he had received his admission letter from Prempeh College, I was certain mine would also come from the same school. Without wasting time, I grabbed our post office box key and dashed to the post office.

I was so nervous I missed a step, tripped, and landed hard on the ground. One of the women selling by the roadside screamed,

“You are the fourth boy to fall at that spot today! What is wrong with boys these days? Do you always have to stare at my sweet granddaughter? Can’t you just glance at her once and move on?”

I hadn’t even noticed the girl she was talking about until I got up and saw her laughing uncontrollably at me. For a moment, I thought about explaining that I wasn’t staring at her granddaughter, but I decided against it. Better to smile, keep quiet, and walk away quickly. I promised myself not to pass that route again. After all, our elders say, “It is only a fool whose testicles are stepped on twice.”

But wait a minute—who was this girl? She was genuinely beautiful, the kind of beauty that makes you wonder if heaven had a second banishment after the one that expelled Satan and his angels. Surely, a face like that didn’t just belong to our small town. Was she here on vacation with her grandmother?

I wished I could see her again, maybe even talk to her, but I had already sworn not to take that path back. All I could do was hope that one day, somehow, I’d get another chance.

At the post office, I reached into my pocket for the key—only to realize it was gone. Panic hit me. The only explanation was that it had fallen out when I tripped earlier. I didn’t like the idea of going back, but I had no choice.

When I returned, the woman was gone, but her granddaughter was still there. I explained about my missing key, and she kindly offered to help me search. After a few minutes, she found it. Just as she was about to hand it to me, her grandmother suddenly appeared.

“You again? What do you want from my granddaughter? By the time I count to three, you must be gone!” she barked.

Not wanting any trouble, I snatched the key, mumbled a quick thanks to the girl, and hurried off.

Back at the post office, I opened our box and found several letters. My heart raced as I grabbed them, hoping one would carry the name Prempeh College. Sadly, none did. Then I remembered: I hadn’t used our post office number. I had used the one for my church.

I rushed to the mission house, but before I could even enter, the pastor’s son met me at the gate. Without a word, he handed me a letter.

This had to be it. My friends EK and MA had already been accepted to OWASS, so I was sure mine would confirm my admission to Prempeh College.

But when I looked at the back of the envelope, my stomach dropped. The letter wasn’t from Prempeh—or even OWASS. It was from a school I had never heard of in my life.

How on earth could I be posted there?

Can you guess where I ended up?

Kofi Anan

Bosommuru Kofi Anan
Dammirifua due,
Due, due, due
Due ne amanehunu

Yɛwɔ barima, ɛnna yɛwɔ barima
Tweaduampɔn kyɛɛ yɛn Kofi
Ɔde no kyɛɛ yɛn no nso,
Kofi ammɔ yɛn aborɔ
Kofi Kyini de ne nyansa ne nimdeɛ
Kyinkyinii amanhodoɔ so
Pataa ntɔkwa brane a, mmarima
Akantinanwam mpo suro sɛ wɔbɛkɔ ho.
Mente -me-ho ase ne atirimka,
Menasepɔ ne anantitwitwa
Wati-me ne waka me
Ɔtan ne nitan
Sɛ Anan duru hɔ pɛ,
Na ne nyinaa anane.
Barima bɛyɛɛ bi
Na wammɛyɛ ne nyinaa
Kofi due
Anan due
Bosommuru due
Due ne amanehunu.

The girl I never had Pt 23

The headmaster sat in his big chair with five teachers squeezed into the too-small office. The air felt like a cooking pot; everyone was sweating, JK included. He was soaked through and crying like I’d never seen before. Truthfully, seeing that ugly face tear up made me wince — pitiful, but satisfying after what he’d done to me.

There were no chairs for everyone, so I stood with the senior boys’ prefect. I didn’t enjoy being there. The memory of my last trip to that room rolled across my mind like an old film.

“Are you the senior on duty?” the headmaster asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re in JK’s class. Tell me what you know about the theft.”

I swallowed. “Erm, sir—I didn’t see him take it. I was outside with the juniors and only came back when class started. It was during the lesson that the girl said her purse was missing, and later the purse was found in JK’s bag.”

“Do you think he stole it?” the headmaster pressed.

“Sir—well, I don’t know. People steal when times are hard. He could’ve.” I kept my answer vague. He stared for a beat, then dismissed me.

I stayed just outside the door to listen. From inside I heard the headmaster lash out at JK. I stood there, enjoying the sound a little too much, until a teacher’s voice called my name and I ran back to class.

By the time I got there, everyone crowded around me, hungry for details. I told the story, stretching the part about the caning a bit for effect. My mates vowed to make JK pay. The headmaster then walked into our classroom, flanked by the teacher from earlier and JK himself.

“Stay calm,” he told us. “We must finish our investigation.” He warned us not to jeer or call names—any conclusion would wait until the facts were in. I hated it. Why give JK the benefit of the doubt? If it were anyone else—would he be so patient?

The headmaster told JK to sit. He left the class, and tension broke loose. EK shouted, “How can we sit with a thief?” Support rose around him. JK couldn’t stand the insults; he rose and left, weeping.

“Now!” I hissed at my friends. “Teach him a lesson.” They ran out. I was about to follow when someone grabbed my shirt.

“Leave go,” I snapped.

“If you go out, I’ll let the cat out of the bag,” a girl hissed into my ear.

Her words hit me like ice. Had she seen the purse move? Was she the one who planted it? I sat down hard, fear cold in my gut.