Our cousin Pomaa lived with us. Mother felt Pomaa had grown too big to be kneaded into her perfect model of a good girl. So, she sent her away. We were going to the city and a lot of old things and old ways had to be left behind.

Unknown to us, Pomaa did not go back to her parents in the village. She went to live with a man.

There are times a lady rebuffs the advances of a guy, but when she can no longer put up with fault finding parents, she’s sometimes forced to swallow her pride, give in to the advances in order to get a place she can occasionally escape to, from all the noise at home. But the warmth of a young man’s embrace are not for free. She has to give something for something. And in every transaction there’s a receipt. Pomaa got a receipt so big that, it changed how she walked, made her spit often, and changed her looks completely for the next nine months.

All this happened behind our back. My parent’s mistake was that they hadn’t called to inform Pomaa’s parents that she was returning to them and explain the circumstances surrounding her return home. They had assumed that Pomaa’s parents were angry, that was why they hadn’t called.

A few days to our send-off party, Pomaa’s dad arrived in our house, from the village. A very long journey. He brought with him yams, a cock, two guinea fowls, a bunch of plantains, smoked fish and some cassava. All this to help with hosting visitors to the send-off party. He heard that we were robbed, and together with some tribesmen, they made some contributions. Though it didn’t cover the lost amount, at least, it will help pay part.

“Here!” he said, handing the envelope to my parents, and rubbing his hands as he spoke.

“God bless you, Kwesi, for your kindness. This means a lot to us.” my dad said in appreciation.

“Ah, this is a lot oooo my in-law.” mother added, rising to shake Mr. Kwesi’s hand.

“Where is Pomaa?” Pomaa’s father finally asked.

He’s been glancing around ever since he arrived, hoping to see Pomaa pop up from a corner with joy, shouting, “Papa ! Papa !” amidst giggles, her usual fashion. And he would tease her fat cheeks and fat bums, adding, “Your friends in the village won’t recognize you if you go back home.”

Shame. My parents couldn’t talk. They sat there fidgeting, shifting from one end of their seat to the other, clearing their throat, searching for an opening line that never came.

Pomaa’s parents have always told them that they should take Pomaa as their own daughter.

“Cane her if she’s stubborn. She’s a child, and children can be foolish at times,” Pomaa’s father once told my dad.

Now what happened to all that advice?

Pomaa’s family sends us food from time to time from the village. But of late, things have been difficult for them. For almost a year, we haven’t heard from them. What were they to think now if they found out what happened to their daughter?

“We thought she was with you in the village..” father began in confusion.

“Yes, we thought she was in the village, my in-law…” mother repeated.

“In what village? Pomaa’s father asked, puzzled.

I walked away from eavesdropping on their conversation. I felt too ashamed to hear the rest.

These few days left for us to go to Accra have been filled with unfortunate incidents. Theft. Accident. Missing Pomaa. And a detective investigating the robbery incident at our house. Now, our transfer to the city was on hold till we were cleared.

People talk. Rumors were all over the place. That my parents were ungrateful. That they connived with the thief to take away the church’s money. That dad was using the money to complete the construction of his house in the village.

Some friends of ours stopped playing with us because their parents warned them that we would pollute their minds with the evil ways of our parents…