Entangled: A Little Too Many, A Little Too Close Read online

  Based on a True Story

  To God, the One who is always with me

  To Dad, blood is thicker than water. #iamawriter

  To Mom, Valuable and valued.

  To Jay, connected and committed to you.

  To Shemaya, Numero Uno.

  Thanks to all who helped proofread Entangled. I really appreciate your support:

  Joycelyn Igiri

  Daniel & Xolase Ayittey

  Chidi & Ijeoma Ukandu

  Dorcas Sina-Olulana

  Korkor Korletey-Sackey

  Acknowledging Josh Seas for the Photos

  Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Entangled in a web of women,

  I did not know how strong the strings were

  Until I had to choose one of them.

  I felt always young, yet was growing older

  It was inevitable. I realized that at some point

  I could no longer remain ... Single

  Contents

  A Friendly Gesture

  Friends at First Sight

  More than a Week

  Boundary Lines

  The Reason Why

  The Car is Mine

  Clash of the Concubines

  Bullseye

  The Day After

  Guilt and Shame

  The Other Side of the Story

  Shocker

  Forgiveness

  Repentance

  Epilogue

  Appendices

  This page is Intentionally left blank

  A Friendly Gesture

  “Do not be one of those who shakes hands in a pledge,

  One of those who is surety for debts;” Proverbs 22:26

  “Hello…”

  “Hi Philip! It’s me, Hassan. Hassan Garba, Methodist Boys”

  “Wow! Great to hear from you. How have you been?”

  “I am doing well Philip. But I hear you are doing much better. How is Accra?”

  “Ha ha ha ha. I see word has travelled quickly.”

  “Of course. Good news travels fast. How is your new place? I hear there is regular power… what a refreshing experience it must be.”

  “Ha ha ha… Hassan truly I say unto you, we have power 25 by 8!”

  Both men burst out laughing. Philip and Hassan had been fellow prefects at Methodist Boys’ High School, Lagos Nigeria. They had not been very close for a while, but Philip was on good terms with everyone and Hassan felt comfortable calling him to say hello and ask a favour. Philip was approachable. He somehow always felt the need to lend a helping hand whenever he could to whoever needed such help. Kind-hearted or people-pleaser, you could choose what you wanted to call him; maybe even phlegmatic or just plain naïve. Whatever you chose to call him, that was just the way he was and those around him knew.

  Philip Ezeani had just moved to Accra. A plum job with a Graphic Arts company was the result of months of prayer. His Facebook profile location change made a month or so previously had triggered a plethora of congratulatory messages not to mention requests for assistance. The resumes, the questions about what Accra was like, the requests for airport pickups and on and on. He always helped except when it was really not convenient for him. Philip loved two things most in life: God and work. He loved his family too somewhere in between those two.

  Hassan continued. He chose to speak to Philip in Pidgin English, probably an effort to engage more intimately.

  “Phil e get wetin I wan ask you o”

  “Go ahead.”

  Philip understood Pidgin English well, but he was not so good at it. Some people considered him very British in his behaviour and command of the English language. He did not have the Welsh slur though, but he seemed to pronounce every word correctly, as all the major dictionaries prescribed. He mostly responded in correct English whatever brand of English was spoken to him.

  “My cousin wan come do masters for Ghana. I been think say she fit perch with you for one week. After that she go get her own place…”

  “She? She is a girl?”

  “Ah. Philip no cause for alarm. She be correct girl. No problem. And she dey go church well so…”

  “She goes to church?”

  “Yes Sir”

  “But she is your cousin?”

  “Yes. Her father is a Christian. She is a very serious Christian herself. You know say my family na big family. Some of us are Muslims but some are Christians. But she is my cousin and I know her well.”

  Philip took it all in with a pinch of salt. A Muslim Hassan with a Christian cousin who wants to stay with a strange man in Accra. Alarms went off in Philip’s mind. He was living alone in a three bedroom, fully furnished flat in faraway Accra doing his very best to keep aggressive young ladies away from his middle-aged body not to mention his house and car. It was more precarious because he had spent most of his early adult years teaching young people that an unmarried couple should not live together under any circumstance.

  Hassan knew Philip was a Christian. He knew some Christians did not sleep with girls before they were married. He also knew some did. Besides, he did not really believe Philip had not slept with a girl at thirty-three. That was in no way possible in the twenty-first century. It was difficult to believe even with a Catholic Priest! Besides, it was a good deal if at some point Philip found that he liked Zainab and wanted to marry her. He was rich, a Christian and a great person to have as an in-law.

  And why would such thoughts cross Hassan’s mind? Maybe because most people who belong to one Church or the other give the impression that more things are permissible than actually are. After all, there is no verse in the Bible that explicitly states that living with a lady is wrong, or even fondling or kissing her. After all, avoiding fornication as the Bible prescribes does not mean one cannot sleep on the same bed with a lady, does it?

  “Hassan, you know I am a Christian…”

  “Oh, Philip I know now. I tell you say she be Christian too. She is a nice girl o, there is no cause for alarm. “

  “Hassan, I am not so sure…”

  “Philip, it is only for one-week na. She will be OK. In fact, I should have told you; she already has a place, it is just that they want to do some repairs in the house which will only take a few days. You know these landlords. It is just like in Nigeria. They want to use people’s money to complete their houses!”

  “So why does she not get somewhere else?”

  “Bros… you know now. The place is close to the school and it is students’ price…”

  “OK. Hassan. Let’s do this. Can you call me back later in the evening after work, so we can talk more about this?”

  “OK. No problem bros. Thank you so much. I am counting on you ooo”

  “Alright. Later then”

  “OK. Have a great day. No forget us in your kingdom o”

  Philip dropped the call. He paused a few seconds and stared at the clock. A few minutes after seven o’clock. He had spoken to Hassan for almost fifteen minutes. He looked back at the bed, unkempt as usual. He would leave it that way till he was ready to use it again. No one was watching after all. No one? He hurriedly tucked a few parts in and spread the blanket out neatly. He dashed to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of boxers and a vest. In twenty minutes he was out of the bathroom, still thinking about the discussion with Hassan.

  Why was the decision difficult? It could have been sorted out with a simple ‘NO’ but Philip was not one to say ‘NO’ too often, he would rather inconvenience himself than someone else.

  FLIRT

  The office was busy as usual.
Philip filled up every minute of the day with something useful to the company or useful to himself. Social media were completely out of the question during work hours. As friendly as he was, he hardly paid attention to office chat between 8:00 AM and 6:00 PM except some went out of their way to speak directly to him. Once in a while a specific person did: Helen Eduful. She was Fante. The Fante tribe was arguably the most sophisticated of Ghana’s top four tribes. The Fantes were considered to have fraternized most with the Europeans in the colonial era. The mid-morning tea tradition could still be observed among elderly women living in remote villages. Fante single ladies were often the high fliers in the corporate world. Philip Ezeani was strongly attracted to high-flying, aggressive women.

  Helen was outgoing, intelligent, and popular in the office environment. She did not have the wide hips typical of certain Akans and Krobos; neither would she particularly appear in the top five runners-up in a Miss Ghana pageant but her high shoulders, tidy bust, flat tummy and spotless finesse with spoken English made her very attractive. She happened to choose Philip as her ‘Office Husband’. She called him ‘Husby’. Philip did not call her Wify but he did not object to being called by the suggestive name.

  “Husby, Eti seyin[1]?” she started with a giggle, breaking into Philip’s thoughts. He was not really in the mood for a chat, but he could not ignore her.

  “εyε[2]”, he responded, staring at his laptop screen for a few more seconds before turning to her. She giggled harder.

  “You are improving o,” she placed her left hand on his shoulder, “Aren’t you going for lunch? It is past one o’clock”

  “O… is it? Are you ready to go?”

  “Yup. Would you like to come keep your wify company?”

  “Ha ha ha ha ha...”

  Philip tidied up a bit. He rose slowly while locking his screen and ignoring a few glances from his colleagues. In a minute he was stepping out of the glass cubicle built for four. Helen took the liberty of hanging her left hand on his right forearm, chatty as ever.

  Lunch was the usual. No one was ever happy with the idea of having to stand in line for food even if it was for just a few minutes. Variants of Rice; Banku with Tilapia and Fufu stared at Philip and Helen from the serving tables.

  “What are you having?” asked Helen.

  “Oh. Jollof… what else is there?”

  “Oh, you are so boring…,” laughed Helen “Try the Fufu or Banku. Don’t be so unadventurous”

  “Unadventurous. Ha Ha. Please let me be safe. Besides, I do not like eating with my hands in public”

  Helen roared with laughter.

  “Self-consciousness. Who is looking at you? Your numerous girlfriends eh?”

  “Ha ha ha. I don’t have any ooo. It’s just that I do not want that smell of whatever “swallow” it is on my hands...”

  “What! But you can wash your hands now.”

  “One wash never does enough cleaning”

  “I hear you. So, you have a bath after each meal at home, right?”

  Philip almost hit the lady behind him laughing. Eyes were on them. Most of their colleagues had noticed the brewing love affair between ‘those two’. Helen chuckled easily with almost any man but there was something special about the connection with Philip. It could be the Nigerian-ness, the thought of being with a foreigner, the adventure of something different. Helen loved adventure, the sanguine in her was strong ever seeking new thrills and often getting them. Philip on the other hand was never too sure what to make of their friendship. Would it be a nice idea to ask her out? It was typical of him to be very hesitant with relationships anyway: the perfect melancholy. He had never been too sure what a woman’s advances really meant. In the past, he had often come to the wrong conclusions or maybe he had just concluded too soon or even concluded wrongly.

  Philip Ezeani was not a flirt but he was very good with ladies and they loved being with him. Who wouldn’t love a well-behaved, well-spoken, intelligent, rich young man. Some had concluded he didn’t know what he wanted in a woman simply because he did not want them or could not make up his mind whether he wanted them. Maybe they were right. What did he really want? At thirty plus, he had never really successfully defined a relationship with a lady as a romantic one. Maybe he could have made a strong flirt if his humanity had been more pronounced than his Christianity.

  About six pm Philip got another call from Hassan. He had to ask him to call back. “I am driving… can we talk later this night? About 10:00 PM?” He still wasn’t sure of the answer he would give. Was he going to let a lady stay at his place for a week? How would he explain that to the numerous ‘disciples’ he had raised back on campus if someone in Nigeria heard? Even if nothing happened, it would still seem an appearance of evil, wouldn’t it? The neighbours would see, and tongues would wag. He had never preached to them, but they must have heard his late-night prayers during his weekends. Besides, he almost never missed Sunday and Wednesday services. They knew he was at least somewhat serious with his faith unlike most rich young men. They probably wondered how come he often kept such late nights … safer to be with ladies in public?

  “Penny for your thoughts?” asked Abena.

  “I am Pan-African!”

  “What?”

  “I do not take foreign currencies…”

  “Nonsense. You think I do not know you are paid in dollars. Ha ha… what are you so lost in thought about, don’t try to dodge the question.”

  “Nothing serious”

  “Out with it. What are friends for?”

  Philip paused a bit while taking a left turn at the National Arts Theatre headed straight for Afia African Village on the outskirts of North Ridge. He had been introduced to Abena by a colleague. She worked at a bank a few blocks from his office and they got along quite well. She was the go-getter type, very smart and serious minded, never giving away her emotions. At thirty-one she did not seem particularly bothered about marriage and relationships and as far as Philip was concerned she was satisfied being a good friend.

  Once in a while they spent time eating out after work. It was often spontaneous. Philip had some unexplainable spontaneity about him and whenever he asked she never said ‘no’. She lived alone like himself and was never in any particular hurry to go home after work. Neither of them ever really thought about those outings as a date… another undefined relationship for Philip; good company for Abena Adjei-Antwi.

  “One of my friends in Nigeria wants me to host his cousin for a week…”

  “OK. And?”

  “She is a lady…”

  “Ohhh… I see. He is sending you a wife…” She looked out the window and smiled mischievously. Philip glanced at her from the corner of his right eye trying to interpret the look on her face: surprise? Jealousy? Disgust? Joy? He could not tell. He often considered himself some sort of pseudo-psychic or prophet, able to discern people’s feelings and personalities just from the look on their faces. There were some people he simply could not read. He was fascinated with such people and felt even more drawn to them especially when they were ladies. The marriage issue was something he often avoided. He hardly encouraged conversation in that direction though he thought about it a lot as he did Amarachi Onuoma. He applied one last burst of force on the accelerator as they approached Afia, an expression of the turmoil his memories had brewed in his soul momentarily.

  They both stepped out of the car. It was a Volkswagen Toureg. He had to help her step down, she still being in her heels. The SUV was about a foot higher than the floor. She held on to his hand as they walked into the lounge. The off-white lights were warm. Both stopped momentarily to smile back at the ladies at the reception. Had he been alone, he would have chatted a while, but he had some respect for the lady he was with whenever he was with one. They helped themselves to a soft double couch still holding hands. A few other couples were sitting around drinking and chatting in the lounge. They could feel the breeze from the beach beside which Afia stood. The breeze was so tempting. H
e imagined cuddling up in a soft chair with someone.

  “So, what would you like?” Philip asked

  “What are you having?”

  “Oh, for me it is always pineapple juice. Theirs is nice. I have one every now and then”

  “So how often do you come here?”

  “Oh, not very often. I come when I need a quiet place to retreat to. There are other places though. I prefer quiet outings any day. Have you been to Weija Dam?”

  “Nope”

  “Great place too. You could take a good book there and just relax a Saturday afternoon away”

  “I see. So, who do you go with?”

  Abena gave him a certain look. She made a face that told Philip it was not really a serious question, but he wanted to answer it seriously anyway. He never liked being perceived as some player.

  “Often alone,” he smiled.

  “I see” Abena looked around at the other couples in the lounge. There was a group of white young people just outside the lounge. Afia had a sitting area made of very hard wood just outside the lounge facing the ocean. Beside this was a wooden staircase that led to a narrow walkway which ended up at the seaside. The beach was lovely: summer hats, palm trees and pure white sand. A barricade cordoned off the ocean itself and one had to open a small gate to get a feel of the mighty white ocean itself. Sitting around a summer hat and feeling the breeze was enough for most people. Each summer hat had a dim light bulb which exposed only silhouettes of holiday makers in a variety of outfits ranging from bikinis to blue jeans and T-shirts.

  “Would you like to come with me sometime?” Philip asked, breaking into Abena’s thoughts but not looking at her.

  “Of course,” answered Abena “… you know it is amazing the number of spots you know in Accra. Who takes you to all these places?”

  Philip burst out laughing. If he didn’t know better, he would have concluded that Abena was getting very curious about his personal life and other ladies in his life lately. Was it interest or just curiosity? It would not be farfetched if it ended up being interest. It had happened before; more than once or twice. He meets a lady and assumes she is just a friend then over a few months he is no longer sure where the lines are, the lady is dying for him to make a move, but he is not so sure what to do next.