Looking Through the Window, A Missing Child

This was about 2009, when I was in Morning Star School. I remember at that time we had just moved to the Eastern Region, about a year after moving there. The cars my mom had managed to get to send me to school had all broken down, so getting to and from school had become a problem.

My little sister had been taken out of Morning Star School because she was quite young, so finding a new school and class for her was easier. But I had already entered junior high school, so my mom thought it would just be fine to let me finish since I had about a year and a half left.

There was this day when my cousin, who was in the same school as me but about two years ahead, was going home. That day, my mom had asked me to take a trotro home, and I was not really certain about the route. So I decided that when I saw my cousin’s driver came, I would join them, go to my uncle’s house at East Legon , and then call my mom from there so she could pick me up after work.

In my mind, it was innocent. I did not think it would be a problem for my uncle. I mean, that is family. That is my uncle, my relative, and my cousin. I did not think it would be an issue.

So I joined them. My cousin did not speak to me, and the driver as well. Even as a child, I remember that the atmosphere in the car was tense. At the time, I thought maybe it was because it was my first time going home with them, and that the feeling would go away over time. But the truth is, the tension I felt was real, and I would later understand why.

When we got to my uncle’s house, his wife welcomed me warmly. She had always liked me, even when I was younger. She hugged me, asked me to drop my bag, took me to the kitchen, gave me food, water, and a drink. She really made me comfortable.

When my uncle got back from work, I remember clearly that he was very cold towards me. Even as a child, I felt it was strange, I did not understand it and I brushed it off.

Later, when my mom came to pick me up, she told me to get into the car. I saw her having a tense conversation with my uncle, and I was wondering what was going on. I was about 12 or 13 years old at the time, so I was confused.

When my mom got into the car, I saw that she was very quiet, her face red with tears in her eyes. Before I could even ask what was wrong, she parked the car and, in a state of rage and deep frustration, began to beat me. I do not want to go into detail, but it was painful and heartbreaking. I did not understand what I had done wrong.

When I asked her why, she said, “Listen to me. Never, ever sit in that car again. Do you hear me?! Never sit in that car again. I will find a way for you to get to me, even if you have to wait at school until very late for me to come and pick you. Or I will send a driver with your photo. But do not sit in that car again. Do you understand me?”

At that time, I was very young, so I just said, “Okay, mom.” I cried so much that day. I cried myself to sleep. I was confused.

The next day after school, I took my bag and went to a teacher my mom had spoken to. He was my former class teacher. I went to his classroom in the Class 6 block and sat with him, waiting for him to finish so he could help me get a car.

From his classroom, you could see the school gate. As I was sitting there, I looked through the window and saw my cousin. The driver had come to pick him up. They were rushing. I saw my cousin standing at the gate, looking left and right, as if checking if someone was watching. I saw the driver doing the same thing.

That was when I understood.

After my teacher finished, he handed me over to the headmaster of the junior high school. The headmaster lived at Adenta, so he held my hand and we stood at the bus stop, waiting for a car to 37.

We took a car to 37, and when we got there, the line to get a car to Madina was very long. You have to get to Madina before you can get a car to Adenta or Aburi. We stood in line for a long time. By the time I boarded the bus, it was around 6:30 p.m.

I did not know that my mom was already looking for me.

I got to Madina after heavy traffic, around 8:30 p.m. Then I joined another line for Aburi. By the time I boarded that bus, it was around 9:15 or 9:30 p.m.

I thank God for trotro drivers in Ghana. They really show care to students. I experienced it firsthand. I got to Aburi around 10 p.m. I told the driver where to drop me, and from there, my aunt’s house was about a three-minute walk.

So I walked there. My plan was to tell my aunt that I was tired and ask her to call my mom to come and pick me up.

But when I got there my aunt and uncle running towards me. They were hugging me, touching my hair, asking if I was okay. They were crying.

They called my mom and said, “She has been found.”

That is when I realized that I had been missing. They thought I was missing.

My mom came to me, her eyes swollen from crying. She said, “I love you. I am sorry for what happened. Forgive me.”

Later, she told me they had been looking for me everywhere. When she got home around 6 or 7 p.m. and did not find me, she started calling people and searching. They even drove back to Morning Star School but could not find me. You may be wondering how they managed to get home before me, even after going back to morning star to look for me. That is the reality of sitting in a private car versus public transport.

They went to my uncle’s house, thinking I might have gone there again. He said he had not seen me. My big sister told me that when they got to uncle’s house and I wasn’t there my mum almost fainted. She apparently told him that everyone in the family knows her pain, what would it take to help her a little and that now her baby is gone.

Now that I am older, I can never see him the same again.

It is not by force to take care of anyone’s child or help anyone’s child. That is true. But what annoys me is how quickly people forget and begin to praise people who, through their actions or inactions, may have caused pain and hurt to someone else.

Then the victim is expected to smile, interact, and behave normally. And if you do not want to engage, they say you are doing too much. They say, “But he is your uncle.”

If everyone gets to do what they want then I too should be allowed to do the same.

What makes it even more frustrating is that people blamed his wife. They said she was the reason behind his hostility that day when, in reality, she was the kindest person to me in that house.

I remember when my mom was speaking to him before she got into the car crying. I remember the look of disappointment on his wife’s face. She was actually the one who suggested that I should join them going forward. She looked happy to see me, while he had a visible frown on his face.

Even as a child, I could tell something was wrong from the atmosphere in the car. After their conversation, everything became heavy. I remember seeing his wife tell him not to do that. I remember how coldly he reacted to her words.

At that age, I did not fully understand what I was witnessing. But now that I am older, everything makes sense.

It was later in life that everything made sense.

I have come to understand that not everyone who is family wants to deal with you or has your best interest at heart. As a child, you do not see that. You believe family is always safe.

I pray he never stands anywhere to say he is proud of his niece.

Looking back now, I realise how young I was, how much I went through, and how much could have gone wrong. But somehow, I made it through.

For years and years in my life my tears have watered the gardens of heaven. Heaven knows my tears.

Imagine having to go through all of these things as a child at home, and then going to school only to be bullied by very mean children.

I once said that I hated a number of people from my year group in Morning Star, and I was told that hate is a strong word. Maybe it is. But sometimes people speak about childhood pain as though children do not experience emotions deeply.

Then you grow up and finally talk about what happened, and people tell you to just forgive and let go, as though it was never that deep.

But it was deep.

When you are a child, you do not yet have the emotional tools to process rejection, humiliation, fear, hostility, confusion, loneliness, or cruelty properly. Those experiences sit somewhere inside you for years.

So yes, people move on. Life moves on. But sometimes your mind still remembers exactly how certain people made you feel at a time when you were too young to protect yourself. And when you become an adult and aware it takes a lot of prayer to get that pain out of your heart.

I do not blame my mom. I cannot be angry at her. She was a single mother raising four daughters, trying to manage everything. There was and still is room for mistakes and A LOT OF ROOM.

I thank God this was not a situation that turned into something worse.

And now, I think about my life and realise I have never been alone. Even in moments like that, there was protection over me.

The scripture that says, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,” always comes back to me.

Because truly, I was carried through it.