Superman and Sarah – A Struggle of Widowhood in Ghana

Introduction:

Superman and Sarah – A Struggle of Widowhood in Ghana. Discover the poignant tale of Sarah, a courageous young woman who faced heart-wrenching struggles of widowhood with unwavering determination. This modern heroine’s story reflects the struggles of love, loss, and the fight for autonomy against societal norms. Join us as we delve into the rollercoaster journey that was Sarah’s life, throwing light on the struggle of widowhood in Ghana.

Chapter 1: A Fateful Meeting in Adenta Housing Down

I made my way to Adenta Housing Down, a small house near the main road. Evans, an old high school classmate, accompanied me. He had told me about a fascinating tale of a young lady in her late thirties who had had a life-changing event, a story that prompted me to write.

A young woman opened the door after we knocked—someone I believe to be her cousin. We were ushered in and given a seat. She was carried in a wheelchair after being served water and waiting for thirty minutes. It broke my heart to see such a vibrant young lady in that predicament, in a wheelchair, with half of her body paralysed. I assumed she’d had a mild stroke.

Yet her smile remained radiant as she started to speak. In a heartfelt lecture, she shared her insights about life and the cruel society we inhabit. Deeply moved, I reached for my book and paper, ready to pen down her remarkable narrative, which soon had both of us in tears. And so, with unwavering courage, she began her tale.

Chapter 2: The Blossoming of Love

I’d always been a sucker for romance. I fell in love with my closest friend in my mid-twenties, and we dated for two years. Timothy was a well-devout Catholic, a mass server, and had never missed service. Because of his extensive charitable efforts and charity work, he was highly famous in his community. Timoo, as I affectionately referred to him, laboured for God and committed his life to helping Him and others. He was kind and polite. I knew I was dating a terrific and modest guy who meant everything to me. I loved him completely and unreservedly.

Timoo was more than simply a partner in my heart; he was the spark for my change. He ignited a fire inside me, igniting my ambitions and desires with his unflinching support. I got my first job at a major global corporation thanks to his unrelenting support. Timoo would swoop in like a real-life Superman whenever I was in financial trouble, saving me from my problems.

In his eyes, our future was destined for greatness. He’d say, “Dela, our children and their children will be blessed, just like God blessed Abraham.” It always brought a smile to my face, and he playfully called me Sarah sometimes, just like Abraham’s wife. His generosity knew no bounds, and when he got down on one knee on that magical New Year’s Eve, I knew without a doubt that he was the one. I eagerly anticipated the day I’d become his wife, knowing that with Timoo by my side, every chapter of our story would be filled with love and blessings.

Chapter 3: Meeting the Family

With anxious anticipation, the day finally arrived for me to meet Timoo’s mother, who resided in one of his houses on the outskirts of Accra. Timoo, a true mummy’s boy, had a special bond with her, being the only child she raised by herself after his father’s passing. My heart raced with both excitement and fear, for I was the first and only lady he had ever introduced to his mother as his girlfriend. Their bond was remarkable, and I couldn’t help but dread the encounter, worried that I might fall short of her expectations.

Well, I guess I was not wrong after all. His mother despised me. It was written all over her face. She greeted me with a fake smile on her face after Timoo introduced me as his fiancé. She asked me where I hailed from and further asked me about my parents and aunts. Honestly, I have never been to my hometown, nor do I know a lot about my extended family. I honestly do not know if that was the reason she had that disappointed look on her face, or the fact that she hated my tribe, or maybe she just did not think I was pretty enough.

A hurricane of ideas rushed through my head, leaving me uneasy. Timoo leaned forward, sensing my anxiety, and quietly whispered, “I think she likes you.” Though I knew he was trying to calm my nerves, I couldn’t picture the woman loving me given the circumstances. Nonetheless, I made a deliberate decision to ignore these concerns, refusing to allow anything to derail our upcoming wedding. I looked forward with renewed serenity and resolved to concentrate on the love we shared.

Chapter 4: Our Glamorous Wedding

The big day arrived, and I was buzzing to walk down the aisle. I was all smiles that morning as I put on my $1,500 gown. It was so beautiful, with diamond crystals all over. It was a sleeveless gown, tailor-made to fit my hourglass curves and bulging boobs. The makeup was on point, too. I had never before appeared so beautiful. I turned around and looked at Sharon, my dear little cousin, and watched a tear run down her left cheek. “Don’t do that, Sharon; don’t! You’re not going to make me cry.” She apologised, and we laughed about it. We were both feeling it—the absence of my mother. She had passed away a year earlier, and I could not help but reminisce about the times she would talk about my wedding.

I was ready and just about to hit the church entrance. All my nerves calmed the moment I saw Timoo near the pulpit, standing tall and looking so handsome in his white suit. I tried my best to just focus on him, but the hand waves and phone camera flashes distracted my focus. I glanced to my left and right and saw a slew of people, some I recognised and some I didn’t, all smiling and snapping photographs of me as I went, and I felt a sudden surge of sadness inside me. The last time I got that feeling was shortly before my mother died.

I tried to shake the feeling off. I paused for a moment and felt my knees tremble. Unaware of the reason for my unsettling emotions, it felt as if an impending catastrophe was approaching. “It’s okay, Dela; you’ve got this.” Uncle Sammy held my hand tighter, and his words helped me gather some courage to continue my stride. I looked at Timoo and saw the concerned look on his face. If he had the chance, that guy would have flown over to my rescue.

We exchanged vows amid tears of joy and laughter. Timoo had just pulled the most romantic stunt I’d ever seen when he snatched the mic and sang a song he had just written the night before. He took my hand and kissed it, and he promised he’d always be by my side, regardless of what the situation brought. “I love you, my Sarah.” I think I had ruined my makeup at this point with my tears.

Hand in hand, we hopped into the sleek SUV, our love radiating like a beacon. As the newest and most talked-about couple in town, we were ready to conquer the world together. Excitement filled the air as we bid farewell and set off for the reception grounds. However, little did we know that a surprise awaited us there—double the number of guests we had expected. We spent half of the journey kissing and holding hands. But while we were on our way, the car abruptly came to a stop, and both of our heads collided with the back of the front seats, causing me to black out.

Chapter 5: The Tragic Turn of Events

I found myself lying in a hospital bed, my head throbbing relentlessly under the weight of a heavy bandage. The pain made it almost impossible to open my eyes fully. Memories of the accident flooded back, and I knew we had been in a dreadful car crash. The lights of a large truck approached, followed by the sound of car horns. My head had apparently collided with the dashboard when the car suffered its serious impact, the agony of which remains fresh in my memory.

I attempted to slide the bandage off my head since it was obstructing my eyesight, but I found I couldn’t feel my right arm. Promptly, the nurse was called upon, and requested for my husband’s whereabouts. “We discovered that the nerves in your left upper body are unresponsive.” In other words, I assumed the doctor was telling me I had a minor stroke. But, strangely, I didn’t care; all I wanted to hear was how my husband was doing. The doctor kept avoiding answering my questions regarding my partner, which made me anxious. I just wanted to know whether he was okay.

I started screaming my lungs out and shouting at the doctor. Immediately, two other nurses rushed in to hold me. They kept telling me to calm down because everything was okay. Why did I feel they were lying to me? Why did I feel something had happened to my Timoo and they were covering it up? My shouts became louder until Sharon entered. She was still dressed in her wedding clothes, but her makeup was utterly damaged. She had clearly been sobbing for the longest time. Despite her sobs, she managed to say, “Timothy couldn’t make it, Dela; he’s gone.”

My early awakening had been clouded by a veil of darkness. That blackout had been triggered by the information that my newlywed spouse had died instantly in a car crash. I lay still on the bed while tears ran down my face.

Chapter 6: The Struggles of Widowhood.

Sharon put me in my wheelchair and drove me home. She flung open the door to the room, and I gasped. I requested some privacy and just sat there admiring how Timoo had arranged the area for me. I had to be pushed into the closet where I opened his drawers. Timoo had folded all of his garments properly, as I had instructed. I began to cry once again.

I then opened the compartment he left for me and saw a note. It read, “Welcome to your new home, Sarah! Open the bottom-right drawer for a surprise!” I quickly reached that drawer and saw a purple note with a BMW car key attached to it. It read, “Thank you for being my bride. Now grab the damn key and drive me crazy!” I immediately burst out into uncontrollable tears. I cried so hard that it felt as though my head was bursting out. I heard footsteps approaching but quickly hid the car key; my instincts must have prompted me not to start trusting anyone.

There was a knock on the door the following morning, which woke me up. The whole night had been filled by sorrowful screams while I was helpless.The knock got louder. Luckily, my cousin, who came to support them, was there to attend to them. It was my mother-in-law and some other people, whom I believe were relatives of Timoo. They called out for me and greeted me with a straight face. They declined when asked whether we could offer water. Their questions continued as I was wheeled into the middle of the living room. I became uncomfortable after realising I hadn’t had a shower or brushed my teeth.

One man stood up and began to walk around the house, looking around and whispering something to the others. After his quick stroll, she turned to look at me. “You came from nothing to marry our son, only for him to die a few hours after the ceremony. What were you aiming to achieve in this marriage?” I squinted my face at him as I was completely perplexed that such a question could come out of his mouth. Timoo’s mother added more salt to my injury when she shouted, “I know the Lord will disgrace my son’s killer very soon.” – What did she mean by that? Is she insinuating that I killed my own husband? This was just getting ludicrous to listen to.

There was no need to respond to them. These people came to my house to ridicule me, but I honestly didn’t have the energy to fight back.” As a widow, you must follow the following rules: The man, likely to be the leader of Timoo’s extended family, stated this while holding a large piece of paper. “You are to wear only black for the entire year, regardless of the occasion,” he read. You must also sleep alone on your marital bed for a year, and you must never ask anybody to sleep next to you. Third, you are not to attend any parties, whether or not you have been invited. You must also bear total responsibility for all funeral expenditures and support your husband’s family for a full year. This is usual and in accordance with our people’s laws.”

These folks didn’t even consider that my upper left half was entirely numb as a result of the accident. What is this dumb Ghanaian tradition? Why do we continue to live in the past, condemning people to horrible conditions in the name of tradition? But what other option did I have? I simply wanted to be free from all of this madness. Sharon could be seen upset at the far end of the room. “We also give you forty-eight hours after the funeral to vacate this house and hand over any property belonging to our dear son,” the douchebags continued.

I swear, I was on the verge of leaping from my wheelchair to smack the sh*t out of them. He must have been mad if he thought I was going to give everything up to them without a fight. He claimed it was customary for the man’s brother and mother to inherit everything. I sat in the wheelchair with tears in my eyes. It felt as though I was starring in a sorrowful Nigerian movie.

Chapter 7: Fighting For Justice

When the idiots departed, I immediately called my lawyer and alerted him of their terrible schemes and violations of my rights. But he warned me to maintain my calm since things may get out of hand. He also demanded all the necessary paperwork so that the collection of my late husband’s possessions and bank accounts could begin as soon as possible. He emphasised that inheritance court proceedings may be exceedingly time-consuming and irritating.

Three days before the funeral, there were so many visitors, and the house was filled with unfamiliar faces. As per custom, being a widow, I was obliged to accommodate my late husband’s relatives who travelled from the village. I provided shelter for seven of them in the house, having sent them money for their transportation. I diligently served them three full meals each day, with some requesting dishes I never even eat myself. It proved to be a frustrating week for me, especially considering my health condition. Initially, the doctor had advised me to take ample rest during the day.

Even before the funeral began, I was already overwhelmed and exasperated. My independence and rights were taken away by a feeling of worthlessness, and my opinions were dismissed as unimportant. Their orders were laws, and I had no choice but comply with them. I cried alone in my chamber for several hours every night, pleading for my deceased spouse to come to my aid. He had always been my Superman, rescuing me whenever I needed it.

On the night before the funeral, I was feeling extremely hungry and exhausted. Just as I managed to lie down on my bed to rest, a knock on my door interrupted me. It turned out that the head of the extended family wanted to see me in the hall. Sharon assisted me downstairs to the hall, only to have Timoo’s uncle raise his voice at me, accusingly, “How can you be so lazy? Your husband has been dead under very strange circumstances; we come here to support you, and on the eve of the funeral, you leave us to go and sleep? Do you have any idea what rites you have to perform before D Day? How dare you!”

I was boiling on the inside. I had never been that angry before. All the other family members looked on, some sucking their teeth at me, others shaking their heads. I tried to frown, but since the left part of my head was unresponsive, I began to cry again. That was the only way I could express the rage I was feeling inside. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside me.

The audacity of this man, who had no understanding of the pain and torment I had been going through, to accuse me of laziness and disregard for the funeral rites! I mustered up all the strength I had left and looked him in the eyes. “Sir, I understand the importance of the funeral rites, and I apologise if my actions seemed disrespectful,” I said, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and sadness. “But you have no idea what I’ve been going through. I lost my husband, the love of my life, right after we got married. I’ve been living in a nightmare ever since. The grief, the accusations, the constant pressure to fulfil unreasonable traditions—it’s all been too much to bear.”

The room fell dead silent for a while as everyone stared at me, taken aback by my outburst. The head of the extended family seemed slightly startled, but he quickly regained his composure. “Your best is not good enough!” He said. “You should have known your place as a wife. Now that Timothy is no longer here to protect you, you have no rights. You have no rights as a widow. You have to honour tradition and stop crying like a baby.”

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, stifling any response I might have mustered. My eyes darted around the room, searching for a glimmer of understanding or support, but all I encountered were stern faces and disapproving glares. He added, “You’re to sit next to your dead husband’s corpse all throughout the night with your back facing him, for it is customary according to the laws of our tradition.”

Feeling a surge of anger within me, I clenched my right fist tightly, my nails digging into my palm. How could they treat me this way? How did they succeed in reducing me to a mere relic of outdated traditions? The thought of spending the night beside my deceased husband’s body felt both degrading and utterly horrifying.

Chapter 8: The Scary Encounter

The body was laid out, and I gathered the courage to push my wheelchair right in front of it. I had my cousin accompany me to give me some support. She stayed seated on the couch in the living room, a few steps away from where I was. I sat facing the wall with the body behind me. I was to sit there until the break of dawn, for whatever stupid traditional reason.

It was past 2:00 a.m., and Sharon had dozed off on the couch after we had spoken for a while. My phone battery had also just died. That’s when I knew the most difficult period had beckoned. I just stayed there, staring at the wall and thinking about my life. I was freezing and needed to pee. Gosh, I wanted to just call my lawyer and sue all of them for a breach of my human rights.

But it was at that very moment that I thought I heard some footsteps behind me. “Who’s there?” I asked, but got no answer. My heart started pounding in fear, and I asked the second time when I felt a shadow move behind me. I was shaking at this point. Could it possibly be my husband’s ghost? As insane as it sounded, it made so much sense to me as I began to remember the countless stories I had heard about how the deceased always hover around their premises before they are laid to rest.

Even though I had my period that morning, I could feel a strong flow at the same time. Although I was quite uncomfortable and was aware that I had soiled the seat as well as myself, I was unable to get to my feet. My cheeks were reddened with tears, which I was unable to stop. Not only did I feel physically uncomfortable, but I also had a strong sense of being violated that crept into every part of my mind. At that heartbreaking moment, I felt like my basic rights had been taken away from me with a cruel lack of care. I felt like my very identity had been taken away.

A few minutes later, I felt a very cold sensation on my shoulder. It was as though something was resting on my shoulder. I tried to scream with all my might, but nothing came out of my mouth. I had completely lost my voice, and on top of that, it felt as though someone was holding my throat and preventing me from shouting. Then I heard a soft whisper in my ear from a very familiar voice, a voice I later recognised as Timoo’s. He said, “When you’re done, pack your things and let go!”

“Dela! Dela!” Two of my relatives helped me get up from the ground. I had a severe migraine. It took me about two minutes to realise I had fallen unconscious. I felt dizzy and lightheaded, and I realised I had indeed soiled myself. Sharon helped me into my bedroom to freshen up, apologising all the way about how she failed to be there for me when I needed her. But of course, those other idiots in the hall cared less. All I heard them say was, “This experience is very normal.” Others would say, “If the spirit did not fight her, then it is good; it only means her husband is not angry with her.”

We were finally done with the funeral. I decided not to think about all the disrespect I faced during the funeral. Not even about how I single-handedly financed the whole funeral without a single penny of contribution from Timoo’s family. I had had it at this point and decided to move on with my life. It was now time to focus on my plan of getting back all of Timoo’s property and starting my new life somewhere far away.

Chapter 9: The Breaking Point.

I had completely dried out of cash at this point and had been forced to resign from my job as a result of my condition. I called my lawyer to kick-start the procedures for acquiring all the property. ” Dela, I did not want to discourage you the first time we spoke about this because you were grieving. But truth be told, Timothy wrote a will some years ago. After consulting his lawyer, I was told he was in conversation with him to update the will once he got married. Unfortunately, Dela, at this moment in time, your dear husband has left everything in his mother’s name.”

Shook, I sat up from the chair in disbelief and shouted, “Whaaaat!” Apparently, since Timoo had no wife, siblings, or child, he decided to give his mother everything he had in appreciation for his upbringing. On my couch all day, crying, I started to accommodate suicidal thoughts. A feeling of extreme depression and heartbreak consumed me.

Just two days after the funeral, I heard a loud knock on the door. That knock sounded familiar and frightening. Sharon did me the honours, and guess who had just walked in with two police officers to evacuate me and my family from the house? Aside from all the days of pain and drama I had been through, this day was my most depressing. We begged her countless times to let us stay there for at least a year more until I found my feet, but she only grew more furious with us.

Here I was, completely broke with no job, unable to even pick myself up to walk. The car Timoo had gifted me had to be sold, providing enough for Sharon and me to secure a job, accommodation, and several months’ worth of meals. Countless nights were spent in tears, saturating my clothes. Amidst severe depression, a miracle was desperately needed. Countless nights, I would wake up in the middle of the night with a knife in my hand, trying to end my life. I wanted to just end it all and join my dear husband in paradise.

Chapter 10: A Glimmer of Hope.

Evans and I, by the end of her story, were almost drenched in tears as well. What a touching and sorrowful story. This woman had done absolutely nothing wrong to be subjected to such torture in her life. I felt so touched that I discussed with Evans the possibility of pledging an amount to give to her by creating a GoFundMe on her behalf. My plan was to get this story out on Facebook, get people’s reactions, and then come up with the best solution. I was very determined to help turn this woman’s life around.

We put together the story nicely, organised a GoFundMe, and were able to raise an amount equivalent to $7,300 for her. We had also spoken to two media houses about coming over to her place to broadcast her story on television as well. Since podcasts are also on the rise, we paid a local podcaster to tell the story on his platform as well. Last but not least, we spoke to a few churches that had offered a helping hand to Dela. They had requested that she come over to give her testimony and be a blessing to many.

We headed over to her house to give an account of all we had planned and had in our hands: $10,000, with the extra coming from our very own pockets. Sharon met us at the gate and immediately broke down when she saw us. She gave us a hug after we continually asked her why she was wailing. Without uttering a word, she ushered us into the house and straight into the bedroom.

Chapter 11: A Tragic End and a Legacy of Strength

I screamed when I saw Dela. She was confined totally to a bed now, and she looked completely different. Her face looked disjointed, and she realised she could only move her eyes and not her head. I called out her name and saw a tear run down her cheek when she saw me. She could not utter a word. I looked at Sharon for answers. “Did she suffer a complete stroke?” I asked her, and she nodded and sobbed.

“Dela was gradually recovering, and she started moving her left thumb just a few days ago. She woke up one morning and, for some reason, decided to use the restroom without her wheelchair. Sadly, she fell in the bathroom after flashing the toilet, and she’s been like this ever since. We took her to the doctor, and we were told she had suffered a severe injury to her spinal cord, which has made all her nerves completely numb. Dela is now partially dead as we speak.”

Dela’s days were apparently numbered. The damage to her nerves was gradual; it affected her lower limbs after three days, and now her entire body is numb. There was nothing we could do. I cried many nights, as if I were related to her. We tried our best to get her story across and get people to sympathise with her and pray for her. But my fear was not to come out as a blogger who just wanted to make money off her story.

I was in the middle of watching a World Cup match one Saturday evening, exactly a week after my visit to Dela’s. It was a text from Sharon, and it read, “She fought a good fight. Now she’s with the love of her life, in paradise, in a better place.”

Dela had apparently died that morning as she lay unresponsive on the bed. She died with tears in her eyes. A very sorrowful and heartbreaking end to a young and lovely woman’s life May her soul rest in peace, wherever she is. I know she is looking on and would be very proud of me for putting out her story at last. The story of Sarah and her superhero lives on in paradise.

In the touching story of Sarah’s life, we’ve looked closely at the struggles of widowhood in our continent. We’ve followed her amazing journey through the maze of grief, social standards, and personal change. Sarah’s unwavering strength shines through the darkest hallways of hardship, showing how hard it is to be independent in a world that often doesn’t respect it. Her story shows how strong the human spirit can be. It makes us want to rethink traditional rules, show compassion to people who are going through similar struggles, and find ways to strengthen and heal ourselves. “The Struggles of Widowhood” becomes a fascinating background against which Sarah’s legacy of courage and determination paints a vivid picture of endurance, grit, and the unstoppable will to thrive in spite of life’s hardest trials.