The sun is blazing. I can feel its rays even through the canopy above me. The sweat from my legs is starting to pool on the chair and I can feel it soaking through my shorts. I’m enjoying my coffee and book despite the heat.
A very handsome young Ghanaian man sits down next to me, unannounced and uninvited.
“Hey. What’s your name?”
“I’m Leah.”
“I’m Justice.”
“Justice, is it? It’s nice to meet you.”
Justice is wearing a pinstriped Oxford shirt, unbuttoned to show a nicely developed and muscular chest, underneath a black blazer and matching trousers.
“Do you have a boyfriend Leah?” He asks bluntly.
“Yes.”
“Are you married to him?”
“No. But we are engaged.” I lie.
“Oh that doesn’t matter.”
“Oh it doesn’t? I think it does.”
Ignoring my question he asks, “So I would like you to go out with me sometime. I want to be your friend. Your forever friend.”
“My forever friend huh? Well I can take your phone number if you like.” I had learned from similar past experiences that it is better to take someone else’s number than give out your own to avoid incessant calls at all hours.
He ignored my offer.
“So where are you from?”
“The United States.”
“Ahh. The States. I want to go there. But I don’t want to live with the bad boys. Wherever they are. I don’t want to be with them.”
“There are bad people everywhere. Why do you want to go to the states?”
“I want to do business. I want to marry an American woman and go into business. How much money do you think I could make in a month?”
“I have no idea. The economy is not very good right now so probably not much. I really don’t know”
“I want to be with you in the United States.”
“With me? No, I’m sorry, I told you, I’m engaged.”
“That doesn’t matter. You are different. I want to be with you.”
“What are you talking about? How am I different? You don’t even know me.”
“I can tell. Just by looking in your eyes I can see the type of person you are. I can see that I should be with you. All these other girls that I am friends with, they are not like you. They are all gold diggers.”
“How do you know I’m not a gold digger? How do you know that my fiancé isn’t filthy rich and I’m just marrying him to get some of his money? You don’t know that, do you?”
He shook his head.
“I’m also not a Christian,” I say. The religion thing usually strikes a chord with Ghanaians. I figure this will probably make him go away.
“You’re not a Christian?” he says, slightly in disbelief, “Well then, what are you?”
“I don’t believe in God.”
I truly thought this one would send him for a whirl. He paused for a moment and said,
“I don’t care about that. I just want to be with you because you are you.”
It’s starting to get really difficult to stifle my laughs.
“I’m a singer you know. I love music. I sing R&B. I rap a little. I can fill an entire book of empty pages with my songs. Do you want to hear me sing?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, but you can’t look at me---don’t look at me!”
I look at the ground.
He sings a couple bars of some R. Kelly slow jam and looks down somewhat embarrassed. He really is very attractive.
“You’re very good. You have a really nice voice.”
“Thank you… So can I please take you out sometime? I would really like to lunch with you, or go somewhere so we could chat.”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t think my boyfriend would like that very much.”
“That doesn’t matter! You should be with me.”
I shake my head and try not to laugh. This guy sure was persistent.
He grabbed my right hand and saw the ring on my ring finger, automatically assuming it was an engagement ring.
“Engaged huh?”
“Yup. I love him very much.”
Looking disappointed he said,
“I should go. Do you want me to go?”
“I don’t care. You should probably go.”
Without saying goodbye he got up and walked back in the direction he came from. I resumed reading only to feel his hand on my shoulder a mere three minutes later. I turn and look and see him slowly trying to kiss me as he creeps around my chair.
“No! Stop. Don’t do that!” I squirm away from his face closing in on mine.
He sat back down, “Why do you hate me? Is it because I’m black?”
“No! Of course not. The color of your skin has nothing to do with my feelings about you. I already have a boyfriend who I love very much and I am not looking for someone else. And please don’t ever touch me or try and kiss me ever again. That was completely inappropriate and disrespectful to me.”
He looked slightly ashamed after I had reprimanded him. One thing Ghanaian men hate is having their ego deflated.
“Have you ever dated a black man?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because there never have been a lot of black people in my life.”
“Leah, you should be with me. I need to be with you. I am in love with you.” I can hear slight desperation in his voice.”
“No you are not.”
“Yes I am.”
“No Justice.”
“Please…”
He was literally begging me to take him. Part of me seriously wondered how he would react if I actually said ‘yes’.
“No. You seem like a very nice man. But no. You don’t know me and I don’t know you. I already have a boyfriend whom I love very much and that I’m going to marry. I’m sorry. That is that.”
“So are you really a gold digger?”
“I guess you’ll never know”
He smiled and looked down at his shoes.
“I should go.”
“Yes you should.”
As he’s getting up he adds, “Oh wait, let me give you my number.”
“Okay,” I respond, “to be honest, I’m not going to call you, but I’ll take it. Do you still want me to take it?”
He really can’t believe what he’s hearing. He pauses for a moment, then nods. He gives me his phone number, checks to make sure its correct, and sets off.
Now I’ve gotten marriage proposals before, particularly from Ghanaian men, but never have I ever had to deal with such persistence and fervor. Justice really must be desperate for some Oboruni loving for not giving up that easily. I definitely give him points for his gusto and perseverance. It takes a lot to be rejected that many times.
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