The One Who Holds Me (Sovereign Love #4)

34. Alex

34

ALEX

THEN

M y second night in Adabraka was a lot smoother than the first. With the A/C working again and me getting a full ten hours of sleep, I’ve finally overcome the jet lag. Excitement overwhelmed me as I got ready this morning and I could barely eat my breakfast.

But when Stephen reminded me of the long day we have ahead of us, I finished the bread and tea for my own good. After stuffing my backpack with cookies, plantain chips and bottles of water, we left the house at nine AM this morning in Stephen’s car.

Not far into our journey, I begged Stephen to stop when I saw street food vendors selling grilled meat. So far in my updates to my parents, I have left out the fact that we bought food at Makola Market yesterday, but if my stomach was accepting of the Hausa Koko and Koose , then I’m sure I’ll be fine with the chicken.

After stuffing my face with the spicy grilled chicken, I drink some water, sit back and settle into my usual routine of watching the passing world outside as Stephen drives us to the Sunshine Children’s Home in East Legon. This morning, Stephen asked more specific questions about our trip, but I calmed his curiosity with my vague answers. Well, at least I hope I did.

My Dad mentioned that East Legon, which is only an eleven-minute drive from the airport, is an affluent town in Accra, and home to foreign diplomats, members of parliament, international footballers and the wealthy Ghanaians who have returned from abroad to live in Ghana.

As we drive past some of the sophisticated, extravagant, and luxurious homes, I can say for myself that Dad was absolutely right. Twenty minutes later, Stephen turns left and stops in front of the ten-foot black wrought-iron gate of the children’s home. The compound has a ten-foot brick wall surrounding it and barbed wire at the top to deter any potential intruders.

Stephen and I step out of the car to speak to the security guard, a middle-aged gentleman in an all-black uniform. He steps out of his cozy-looking booth at the right-hand side of the gate and Stephen greets him in Twi. I introduce myself too, explaining in Twi that I called yesterday and spoke to the secretary who booked an appointment for me today.

The guard makes a phone call and after getting approval, he opens the gate for us and Stephen drives into the spacious compound, which has palm trees flanking each side of the sidewalk leading to the parking spaces in front of the main building.

On the far left of the compound, there’s a playground with kids on swings and slides while others are bouncing on a trampoline. As we approach the main entrance, I notice the signs pointing to the children’s living quarters at the back of the main building and I can’t help but imagine what my life would’ve been like living here as a child if Mom and Dad didn’t adopt me.

The automatic doors slide open as we walk in and head for the desk. After giving my name to the secretary, she asks us to sit in the waiting room. Fifteen minutes later, a stocky man in a blue suit and gray beard walks towards us. “Mr. Alex Obeng?”

Stephen and I stand up as the older man extends his hand. “Good morning, my name is Dr. James Boadu and I’m the owner of this children’s home.” He shakes our hands, smiling as a tinge of a British accent comes through. “Thank you for waiting. Please, can you come with me to my office?” He leads the way and I follow close behind him while Stephen stays in the waiting room. We walk past a few offices and storage rooms before settling into his office, and he closes the door.

“So, Alex. How can I help you today?” He adjusts his glasses and leans back in his chair.

I clear my throat. “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me. I’m looking for some information about a child who was brought here about twenty years ago.”

“Okay?” He tilts his head. “What is the name of this child, and why do you want this information?”

“Erm…because I am that child.” I fiddle with my fingers and lean forward. “I was only a baby when I was brought to the children’s home and I was adopted a few months later by Mr. Daniel and Abena Obeng.”

“Wow.” Realization dawns on Dr. Baodu’s face and he takes off his glasses. “You’re the little boy Daniel and Abena adopted?” A smile spreads across his face and I nod. “You’ve grown so big.”

“Thank you, sir. Please, do you have any information about my birth mom? My parents told me she left me in front of the gate in a basket with a note. Do you know who she is?”

Silence passes between us before Dr. Boadu walks up to the filing cabinet behind him and opens the bottom drawer. He goes through the files sorted in alphabetical order and picks out one before placing it in front of me. “This is all the information we have about your birth mom.”

My heart skips with joy as I reach for the file, hoping to find some name, address, or phone number that will help me find her. Inside the file is a document sleeve with a photo and a folded piece of paper. The photograph is of a baby wrapped in Kente cloth on a bed with a basket beside him and the note simply says:

Please take good care of him.

Maame.

Disappointment plunges into my heart, threatening to rip it apart as I turn the note over, looking for more clues. I lift my head to look at the older man sitting across from me with sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry, son. There’s nothing more I can give you.”

My stomach clenches as I stare at him. Surely I didn’t come all this way just for this. Surely he can dig deeper and figure out who Maame is. “Are you sure you don’t have any more information that could help me find her?”

Dr. Boadu sighs and shakes his head. “I’ve been running this children’s home for long enough to know that when babies are brought here the way you were, it’s usually because the parents don’t want to be found.”

My eyes widen and I shake my head, waiting for him to say he’s just kidding, that this isn’t the end of the road and that he can help me. But he only sighs and says, “I’m sorry, Alex.”

I drop my gaze to the floor and take a deep breath before responding. “Okay, thank you, sir.” I take the file with me and walk back to the waiting room to meet Stephen.

“You’re done already?” he says, looking over my shoulder as if expecting someone else to come with me. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

When we get to the parking lot, I open my mouth to speak, but can’t find the right words. How can he be so sure my mom doesn’t want to be found? How does he know he’s not wrong?

“Alex?” Stephen’s voice drags me out of my thoughts.

“This is all he could give me.” I place the file on the roof of the car before leaning my back against it.

Stephen picks up the file and opens it, inspecting the photo and the note. “ Eii , Charley, is this you?” he asks before reading the note. “Who is Maame, please?”

I swipe away the unexpected tears under my eyes before turning to Stephen. “Yes, it’s me and Maame is my birth mom. She left me in a basket at the gate when I was born. This is the only information they have of her.”

Stephen pauses for a few seconds. “Okay, but it’s still something. We have a name at least. Maybe we can work with that,” Stephen says, and I scoff.

“I’m trying to stay positive right now, but having the name ‘Maame’ will not help. Do you know how many Maames are in Ghana or Accra alone?”

“Did you say Maame?” A voice comes from behind and we turn to find the security guard walking toward us, a bottle of water in his hand. “I’m sorry, I was just passing by and I heard you talking about a baby who was left at the gate in a basket by a woman called Maame?”

Stephen sends a stern look my way, cautioning me with his eyes not to say anything, but I have no other option. I’ll take all the chances I can get.

“Yes, that’s right,” I respond.

The man sighs, places one hand on his waist and shakes his head. “And are you the baby who was left here? Twenty-one years ago?”

I nod and walk toward him as Stephen tugs on my arm. “Yes, I am. My name is Alex Obeng. I was adopted as a baby and I grew up in the US. Do you have any information about my birth mom?”

The man smiles and rubs his stubble. “Yes, Maame was my friend. Please, promise me you’ll keep everything I tell you to yourself.”

“Yes, sir. Please tell me everything you know.”

The man steps closer and lowers his voice. “My name is Joseph Ofei and your mom’s name is Maame Mensah. She and I were friends, and I liked her very much. I convinced myself I would marry her someday, but she was never interested in marriage, which is why I was surprised when she told me she was pregnant. She never mentioned anything to me about the father, but because she was struggling financially and trying to set up her hair salon here in Accra, she didn’t have the money to look after the baby.

“Since I was already working here when she gave birth to you, she brought you here and asked me to make sure you were well taken care of. She also begged me not to reveal her identity to anyone. After that day, she left and changed her number, so I haven’t spoken to her since then.”

“Please, sir. Do you know where she is now?”

He shakes his head. “The last time I saw her was in Legon two years ago, and her business was doing well.”

“Legon?” Stephen and I ask in unison.

“Yes, she finally opened her hair salon very close to the University of Ghana, so the students in that area make up her loyal clientele. I can give you the address of where I saw her. I don’t know if she’s still there, but?—”

“Yes, please give us the address,” I cut him short as excitement builds in my chest again. “We’ll start from there. Thank you so much, sir. You have no idea how grateful I am. God bless you.”

The sun is setting in Legon by the time we get to the address Mr. Ofei gave us. The hair salon can’t be mistaken, as the name Maame’s Hair shines bright in white letters above the front door. We park outside, and I wait for a few minutes to calm my erratic nerves.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Stephen asks for the umpteenth time as I stare at the front door.

This is it. This is the moment I’ve been looking forward to for the last three weeks. I’ll finally understand why she left and never tried to look for me.

“Alex?” Stephen’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah. I can do this on my own, thanks.” I glance at the front door one more time, let out a deep breath, and get out of the car.

Inside the hair salon, there’s one customer getting her braids done, another one having her hair washed at the sink, and another sitting in a chair with a baby on her lap. Mr. Ofei was right when he said her business was thriving, because the spacious hair salon with a long row of good quality sofas and equipment speaks for itself. The women all turn to look at me as I walk in.

“ Agoo,” I greet before switching to English because I know my nerves won’t let me sustain a conversation in Twi. “Good evening, ladies. I’m looking for the owner of this place—Maame Mensah.” I hope she still has that last name.

The stylists glance at each other before turning to me. “Who are you, please?” The stylist at the sink asks, but her use of the word “please” doesn’t wipe away the skepticism in her voice.

“Oh, forgive my manners. My name is Alex Obeng. I just need to speak with your boss. Is she around?”

“No, she’s not. You can come back tomorrow, please.” The stylist doing the braids responds before the girls whisper among themselves. I’m about to open my mouth to speak again when an older woman steps out from the back office.

“What’s going on here?” she asks her girls before turning to look at me and my heart recognizes her. All my life, I believed I was one of those children who didn’t share any physical traits with their parents, but now I know that is not true.

The woman standing in front of me is wearing a beautiful Ankara skirt and blouse with braids that trail down to her waist. Her hands are covered in gold bangles and rings. Even though she is wearing makeup, I can still tell we have the same dark complexion, the same smile, nose, and eyes.

“How can I help you?” she asks, smiling.

“I…I need to speak to you, please,” I start, before realizing I’ve been bitten by the “please,” bug, too. “My name is Alex Yaw Obeng. I’m here to find my mom—Maame Mensah.”

Her smile fades away, and a frown quickly replaces it. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve come from Sunshine Children’s Home in East Legon and I met your friend—Mr. Joseph Ofei and he…”

“Stop.” She raises a hand before looking at the stylists who have their eyes on the clients, but whose ears are surely listening in on the conversation. “Follow me,” she says before walking back in the direction she came from.

When we get into an office space, she doesn’t offer me a seat, but she paces the length of the room as I stand awkwardly next to the door, watching her chest rise and fall as she punches one fist into her palm.

“Why are you here?” she asks when she stops pacing.

I frown. “Erm…to meet you, of course. I came all the way from the US to find answers. I need answers. Mom .”

“Don’t call me that . ” She wags a finger at me. “I am not your mother. Your mother is the one who has raised you, so go back to her.”

I take a step back as my muscles go weak and numb. A mixture of shock, anger, and confusion surges through me as I try to make sense of her reaction. “Why are you doing this? I thought you would be happy to see me. All I want is to get to know you.”

“Why?” She leans against her desk and crosses her arms against her chest, her bangles clinking. “The last time I did my research, I found out that the family who adopted you are wealthy. Did you not have a good life?”

My eyes well up with tears as I soak in the anger in her voice. “Yes, I did.”

“Did you ever lack anything?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“So, why are you bothering me?”

“Because I deserve to know who my real parents are.” I raise my voice. “Because I have the right to know where my father is.”

She lets out a hysterical laugh and I frown before swiping my tears away. “You can never find him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know who he is or where he is,” she retorts. “He doesn’t know you exist because you were a mistake, okay? It was one drunken night at a club in Kumasi and all I remember about him is that he was a married man. I don’t even remember his name and I was so drunk I won’t be able to point him out to you in a crowd. I never wanted to have children. Didn’t Joseph tell you that when he was running his mouth?

“The only reason I went through with your pregnancy was because I found out when I was already five months gone. This place right here is all I care about and you won’t be replacing that. So my advice is that you go back to the US and be content with the life you have rather than dreaming about something that can never be.” She walks up to the door and holds it open for me. “I can’t help you, Alex. Please show yourself out when you’re ready. I’m a very busy woman.”

My chest tightens as her words stab at it like a dagger. My heavy legs stand there for a few seconds, waiting for the moment where she’ll burst out laughing and tell me this is a prank, and she’s really happy to see me. I wait for her to tell me she has been thinking about me too and waiting to finally hold her son in her arms.

But that moment never comes, so I head toward the door. Outside her office, I turn around one last time to look at her, but she averts her gaze and shuts the door, leaving me out in the corridor. As I make my walk of shame through the main salon and back to Stephen’s car, a dark cloud hangs over my head, tears blur my vision and all the hope I had disappears.