Saying Her Name – Fiction by Ghanaian Writer Charlotte Derby

Two years after breaking up, you would find your ex in the front seat of a Madina-bound trotro, and a quizzical frown will pop up on your face making you wonder why your paths have finally crossed after what looked like an eternity. Your heart would skip a beat. You would make an attempt to say her name but it would feel clogged up in your throat like a stubborn phlegm refusing to come out.
This was my predicament on one of those Saturday afternoons when planet earth felt like venus. The sun was at its peak and I dabbed my face towel over my face intermittently to wipe away the beads of sweat breaking on my forehead. As I adjusted my cap to clean my forehead I saw her. She was on her phone with a white air pod in her left ear. In a fit of pique, I wanted to tap her but I held back. What if that was not her, I thought.
In the front seat of the trotro was Dede. Her hair was in blonde-coloured box braids beautified with bronze-coloured hair ribbons. I sat in the seat right behind the driver’s seat in a pensive mood. Thank God for the cap I was wearing, which would make it less easy for her to recognize me immediately. I prayed silently too that she would not look in the driver’s mirror and notice me.
I sat still remaining cool and not fidgeting. A bottle of water would have quenched my vociferous thirst but I could not risk calling any iced water vendor, lest she recognizes my voice and turns her pricking eyes on me.
“What was she going to do at Madina?” I rummaged through my thoughts for answers. Was she paying a friend a visit, attending an event or… or what else? The last time I spoke to her on her birthday, I was inquisitive to know how life was treating her. She was managing her dad’s graphic design business after her national service. Relationship-wise, she had moved on. She was dating a guy in his mid-thirties who was into designing. He had worked briefly for her dad and had set up his own business co-owned with his friend. There was more to this new guy but I couldn’t remember anything else.
On her lap was a mini-sized woven basket with a napkin covering its contents. Tilting my head a bit I saw what she was wearing. Miniskirts were her go-to options and today like no other she was in something similar. She was in denim shorts with an oversized white tee and a dark shade of spectacles hanging on the neck of her T-shirt.

“Should I say her name?” I wondered. Probably in her bewilderment, she would ask “Eei borga so you are in town or “Jude did you bring me some dollars?”
This was public transport and I did not want people poking their noses in our conversation. I sat cool not letting my eyes off her for even a second.
“Madina last two, last two” the conductor shouted interrupting my thinking when in fact there were actually eight more people needed to fill up the seats.
My thoughts went back to Dede. I remembered our final moments together in my hostel. It was our mutual agreement to break up after three years of dating. We did it with a little pomp, sipping some wine and feasting on some beef jollof after which we exchanged parting gifts. She gifted me a Calvin Klein wrist watch and I gave her a cologne from the Ted Baker brand.
My brother in Kuwait had secured a job deal for me to join him and I could not let that slip out of my hands. I was most likely to be back in the country only after eight years. Things went south when I got jerked by a fake connection man. Right at the airport my visa was declared to have been fraudulently procured. I was hit in the jaw, and my dreams of travelling abroad were shattered. Nevertheless, I managed to get some pictures from the departure hall to update on my socials. To most friends, they believed I was out of the country.
Dede on the other hand had the tribal issues eating her up. Her dad had warned her not to bring home a guy from a “certain ethnicity”. I happened to be from the “certain ethnicity”. Our relationship was absolutely on the blind side of her parents. The first time I was in her house, she introduced me to them as a coursemate. It hurt, but a man in love would always take even the worst of pleasantries with a broad smile.

The bus was full after about twelve minutes of waiting. My thoughts were back to Dede. She was now on a call with someone and her smooth voice sent my heart palpitating. Should I pay her fare? After all, an ex is never an enemy.
I disregarded the thought. I watched her pay her fare and I noticed her beautifully manicured nails, the very thing that drew me to her the first day I saw her. This time they had red nail polish that absolutely complimented her fair and soft-looking palms. Three different rings adorned her fingers and there was a silver bracelet on her wrist too.
I began to worry. If I got off the bus before her, she might see me. I prayed that she got off before I did. About sixteen minutes into the journey, the conductor began calling out the various vantage bus stops.
“Fitting junction” he called on top of his voice.
“Bus stop” she responded in her most angelic voice.”
Ohh gosh, such flawlessness in the tempo of her voice!
“Fitting junction”, I thought. What was she going to do around that side? Adjacent to the fitting junction was the footpath leading to the estates. It then dawned on me. I could now connect all the dots better. That was where her new guy lived.

Dedeee! I wanted to alight and find answers to my curious thoughts. But that would be the most foolish decision. A woman in love is hard to convince, but a woman taking a basketful of gifts to her lover is harder. My eyes followed her as she got off the bus and headed for the estate road; her braids dangling graciously to her waist. She walked briskly and increased her tempo as though she was going to catch a train and might miss it. “Ohh Dede, my heart longed for her. Seeing her two years after breaking up, I wish I could say her name and hear her reply softly, “Yeees my Juuu!”