“Boys will not help you; they will end up impregnating you. And if you get pregnant, you will have to drop out of school. Boys will only destroy you,” Anita’s mother had warned her when she was in JHS three. The part of the warning that stuck with her and kept warning was: “Boys will only destroy you.” She had formed mental images of herself as a teenage mother, a crying baby strapped to her back, desperate and pitied. The piece of advice was timely; Henry, the School Prefect, with whom she had worked closely as the girls’ prefect could have ‘destroyed’ her. “Boys will only destroy you” remained relevant until she got to the University of Ghana.
It was at the Economics Department where Peter worked as a teaching assistant that they first met. As a first year student, she had been looking for an approachable person to ask for directions to the Language Centre until she saw him. “Oh! It’s not far from here. Ok, let me walk you there.” As they walked, she knew that there was an extraordinary connection between them. They knew they would take such walks again and again.
So through calls, WhatsApp messages and regular evening chats in front of the Balme Library, they succeeded in crafting something intricately beautiful; something they were enormously proud of; a delicate sculpture that they deeply cherished; a sculpture that encapsulated their humanity, their existence; a masterpiece they lived for.
Peter was her rock, her life. For two years, Peter made no sexual advances to her though they had lengthy hugs. Passionate hugs that were always warm and pleasurable.
Then suddenly Peter began to treat their sacred sculpture with less fervour. He was all too willing to let the artwork fall and shatter. Anita could not come to terms with it. What was the problem? Was it sex? It must be sex, she thought. They had agreed not to do it before marriage, but she could tell he desired her. Besides, her friends had told her that it was phenomenal that their relationship was ‘platonic’. “Are you sure he is not getting it from someone else?” they questioned. She couldn’t be dead sure.
She will let him have his way; God is not an inconsiderate God. And if intention equalled sin, then she was already guilty.
So on that fateful Friday, she went to the Vandal City ready for him. “Why do you want to kill me, Peter?” She hugged him as she sobbed. Peter was silent. She kissed him. He was soon inside her and she loved it; he was solid and pleasurably relentless. She loved it all, even the guilt afterwards.
But Peter sunk further afterwards. He paid no attention to their piece of art they hoped to fortify with sex. Every day, he made it drop a little lower to the hard floor until after a month, he smashed it on a rock. It was irredeemably over. It couldn’t be put back together. And they both knew this.
By Emmanuel Asakinaba