He Left Me- A new novel by C. M. Jones

Introduction

“I need ice, coffee, and milk, and don’t forget the chopper, Jessu.”  It’s the middle of the summer in Ghana, West Africa and boy is it hot today. It’s almost 38°C. Although, yesterday wasn’t so bad, it was only 32°C.

 I made coffee cakes early this morning before the sun became too hot and boy am I glad that I did. More than that, I’m fortunate that at 32 years old, I am so skilled in the kitchen. Not because it’s uncommon amongst my people, because in Africa before you become a married woman, with five children such as myself, cooking is only one of the many things that you’re able to do well.  I’m fortunate however because my mother passed away when I was 13 years old, she had HIV. She died five years after she was diagnosed. Here in Ghana we just didn’t have the medication to help her live with the disease. Losing my mother at an early age did not leave much time for me to practice the skills that she’d taught me relating to cooking, cleaning and the proper ways of a Godly woman.

Like many families in my village, my family doesn’t have much money but we are satisfied by our care for one another.  We have clean water and fresh food to eat and when the weather is good we have good we can make more trips to the water well and we have more time to plant fruits and vegetables.  Dinner usually includes some kind of fish or chicken dish and rice or bread.

My oldest daughters, Emoni and Jessu will usually walk to the chicken farm near our village to get what we can afford. My oldest son, Kenu Jr. often goes fishing and brings back whatever he can catch. I walk to the fields each day, which is a 3-mile walk each way, and pick vegetables and fruits.  Taking that walk is how I stay so slim. I am 5 feet 8 inches and my body is shaped like the bottle of a soda beverage.

I also make dresses for the ladies in my village on the weekends and teach school at my home during the weekdays.

We live in a small village and our home has no cool air but it’s ok. One day we won’t live here. I am saving all of the money I make from my clothing sales to purchase a one-way ticket to America for my children and me.  We are going to make a new life for ourselves there. I have high hopes of opening a dress boutique and maybe even braiding hair in my own salon.

My husband, Kenu, Sr., went ahead of our children and me to America so that he could prepare a home for us. He had a little problem getting documentation at first but he’s there now and has found a job. He has been gone for 6 months. It’s hard being without him especially for the kids, but they get happy just thinking about going to America to be with their father. The total cost to purchase our tickets is $10,000.00, and we are half-way there.  I hope to have that much saved by the end of the year. With Kenu sending money back home to us, we should all be back together as a family in no time. He writes me letters at least once a week and calls twice a week.

Kenu’s voice is very enticing. When we are on the phone I can just imagine his full lips moving when he is talking to me, up and down as they complement his cheekbones and beautiful brown eyes. He is tall and dark, just like me and such a strong man. My husband is very intelligent and the fact that he has moved so far away to work so that we can have a better life, only makes me love him even more. Although, we are his family and he should help us, but I never have to remind him that we should be his first priority and that is what’s so attractive about his actions.

Kenu has told me many times that the American women are different from African women. He doesn’t say how just that they’re different. I’m ok with his explanation, I guess, he tells me all the time that he is just trying to stay focused on getting us there with him and I believe him.

Today is Sunday and Kenu usually calls on Sunday’s so after church I will be looking forward to his call.

 “Mother, are you ready to walk to the temple?” Emoni yelled.

“Yes. Emoni get your brothers and sisters and let’s go so that we are not late.”

When we arrived at the church house the music had already started and we were lucky to get a good seat. Our church was the most popular one in our village. It was only because our Preacher did a really good job with teaching the word because we had dirt for floors just like the rest of the churches. However, we did have stools for each person to sit on, unless you arrived too late, where most of the churches in our village and Ghana as a whole had to have their church goers stand for the entire service or sit on the ground.  Not having a place to sit never deterred us from worshipping the one true God. The service was usually about two hours long, one hour for the praise and worship and one hour for the preaching.

The preacher spoke about long suffering that day. He gave examples of people dealing with the hard times in order to get to the good times. I was excited about the sermon because it made me think about Kenu and how great our love must be that we could endure such a period of long suffering in order that we may have a better life for our family.

Kenu and I united through an arranged marriage, but, we fell in love instantly. He was always such a handsome man and he always loved the Lord. He also felt that education was very important. He described it as the one thing that no one could take from him. I’d always wanted to be a teacher, so as we grew together we had much to discuss. He always told me that he loved my eyes and my cheekbones; we both had the dream of having a large family and one day moving to America to go to college and open our own businesses. We were perfect for each other and my parents knew it before I even told them. She and daddy said the ancestors told them we would be.

My mother and father worshipped the spirits of their ancestors and Jesus Christ. They said that is was ok because God had given them those people anyway. Kenu never did approve of it and he was never shy in expressing his disapproval of me sharing that tradition with our children. He would say that I was continuing a foolish tradition, one that made no sense to him. Kenu did not understand that my choice to share that with my kids was the only way that they would get to know their grandmother.

 Church lasted two hours as expected and the kids and I walked home hungry for dinner and anxious for Kenu’s call. It was Jessu’s turn to cook so I had time to prepare myself for the next day while she cooked us all a delicious meal. We ate chicken, peas, rice and mangos for dinner. After dinner we played a few games as we waited for the phone call. However, that Sunday Kenu called later than expected, six hours later. I was worried. Had something happened to him? Was he with another woman? All that talk about American women being different was starting to get to me. I was making myself sick just thinking about it. Kenu and I had been married since we were 13 years old, just a month before my mother died. I had never been with another man and I didn’t want to be.

I had to stay calm for the kids because I didn’t want them to know that I was worried.

“Mom!” Kenu Jr. called out. “Father is on the phone.”

At the sound of those sweet words my world was suddenly bright again and all ill thoughts left my mind.

“Hi, sweetheart, I was worried about you, its six hours past the time you usually call is everything ok?”

“Yes everything is fine here. America is great and the food is good but I miss the kids so much.”

“We all miss you too. How is work are you able to send money to us this week?”

“Well work is fine but I am not making as much as I thought so I am going to have to skip sending money this week.”

“What Kenu? Why? You did not send any money last week either! What is going on?”

“Tete, listen to me I said that I am not making as much as I thought now keep your voice down. I am going to send money as soon as I can.”

“No, Kenu, something is wrong and I know it! You are not telling me something. I have to go, I have to teach school in the morning, talk to Jessu she wants to tell you about the dinner she made today.”  I don’t know what is happening in America but I do know my husband and he is lying to me about something.

Nothing Is Too Hard For God,

is now available for sale