Like every other Saturday, Kanyiti roamed the Makola market in Accra in search of affordable ripe tomatoes, bulbous onions that would sting her eyes as she sliced them for her stew, and goat meat to add a rich, savory flavor to the light soup she planned to prepare for the weekend. Receiving nudges on her sides, being shoved in the face by aggressive shoppers and getting her feet stuck in mud wasn’t as heinous as the market women trying to sell every item for twice the original price. One market woman called her stingy after she refused to buy five pieces of tomatoes for thirty Ghana cedis and another told her that her big eyes were useless if they couldn’t identify items that were of good quality and worthy of purchase at an exorbitant price.

Kanyiti’s shopping bags were soon filled with the groceries she had noted on her shopping list and the ones she hadn’t. As she drifted away from the smell of salmon, from men balancing brown sacks on their heads and screaming at her to get out of their way, and from sweaty bodies grazing her arms and face, Kanyiti smiled and exhaled softly. The air felt fresher with each step she took and the sight of the trotros at the nearest bus stop elated her even though people grappled at the entrance of each bus, fighting to secure a spot before the golden sky turned dark, leaving them stranded and weary. When she could no longer bear the ache in her arms, she dropped her bags on the ground, wiggled her arms and stooped to pick them up again when someone shoved her bottom, and pushed her to the ground.

“Ma’am, are you okay? I’m so sorry,” a young woman bending over Kanyiti and stretching a hand to her, said. She was as thin as the cane Kanyiti used in scaring her ten-year old whenever he threw tantrums and her dark, shiny skin looked like it had never suffered a scratch. Kanyiti glared at her, hissed and stood up on her own. While wiping dust off her hands and clothes, she darted her eyes from side to side, wondering if anyone was watching her. No one was, and for once, she was grateful for not being the center of attention. She picked up the bags and headed to a trotro that had just arrived.

“Madam, madam, don’t you remember me?” the young woman asked.

Kanyiti squinted and furrowed her brows. Shaking her head, she said, “No. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“I’m the waiter who served you and your boyfriend at the restaurant last night. You were our last guests. I wanted to thank you both for the huge tip you gave me, but you left before I returned from the kitchen,” the woman said with a grin.

Kanyiti blinked and tilted her head. The last boyfriend she had became her husband over a decade ago, and they were both at home the previous night, tending to their restless three-year old who was down with a fever. Whoever sent the young woman to ruin her day, surely paid her well, Kanyiti thought. She raised her left hand, pointed at her wedding ring and said, “See? I’m married and I don’t have a boyfriend. You’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“No. I’m sure it was you. You verbally referred to the man as your boyfriend. Your voice sounds same and you were wearing the same braids you have on now.”

Kanyiti patted her red, long braids. She got them two days ago and they still hurt. Running late and with nothing else to say to the woman, Kanyiti walked away, convinced that she was delusional.

At home, Kanyiti burnt everything she put on fire. Things slipped from her hands and words spoken around her sounded muffled and distant. Her conversation with the young woman earlier that day replayed in her mind more than the Kakalika song that trended all over social media. She barely said a word to her husband, who was visibly worried and watched her as she wandered around the house like a lost soul and emerged from every room empty-handed.

“Honey, is everything okay?” her husband, Safo, asked. His skin grew paler each day as if he bathed with ashes and the cracks on his lips were deeper than the cuts Kanyiti made in the fish she marinated. The big container of shear butter she bought for him had been left untouched ever since he scooped a portion in his hand and claimed that rubbing it in his palms was harder than kneading dough.

Kanyiti placed a hot bowl of rice on the dining table, wiped her hands against her apron and said, “Yes, I’m fine.”

Safo turned off the television which displayed the football game he had been looking forward to all week, and moved closer to Kanyiti in his wheelchair. He held her hand, stroked her slender fingers and asked, “Are you sure?”

Kanyiti shook her head. One thing she never succeeded in doing was lie to or pretend around her husband. A man whose kind eyes looked at her the same way ever since they met and which still sparkled regardless of the overgrown sideburns and mustache surrounding them. “Was I with you the entire night yesterday?” Kanyiti asked.

“Of course. You slept after we finally put Nafi to bed. That was around 12.am. Why do you ask?” Safo responded.

“Uurm..someone claimed they saw me. But don’t worry, it’s nothing. How are you feeling though?” Kanyiti asked. She stooped beside him and rubbed his thighs. He had been one of the best runners in the country and had won many national and international championships until his car accident four years ago which left him paralyzed. With the help of physiotherapy, he began learning how to walk again even though he preferred to stay in his wheelchair whenever Kanyiti was at home. Having his wife watch him walk like a toddler taking his first steps was more embarrassing to him than having her solely fend for their family. No amount of reassurance from Kanyiti could soothe his wounded pride and he had already resolved to repay her for every burden she had shouldered once he began working again.

“I’m ok. Just that my legs ache. It’s as if I ran a marathon last night. Which is impossible, right?” Safo asked, his eyes, hopeful.

“Well, I’m certain that you would run again. But I’m not sure you did so last night. Like you said, we were both home,” Kanyiti responded, choosing her words carefully. “How about we visit the doctor on Monday to get your legs checked and then go to the barber shop? You need some serious work done.”

Safo laughed and nodded. However, the response from the doctor during their visit was the least he had expected. After examining him, she explained that the ache he was feeling may be due to the pressure from his exercises at therapy and it would take a bit longer before he could walk or run like he used to.

“Don’t pay any attention to her. You will recover faster than you think,” Kanyiti said to him after they left the doctor’s office. She didn’t like how the doctor smiled at her husband anyway and if their savings were as big as Safo’s dream of winning another international championship, she would have changed doctors.

While hanging wet clothes on the clothesline weeks later, Kanyiti’s nineteen-year-old neighbor, Araba, emerged from the other side of the wall separating their houses, craning her neck like an ostrich and beckoning Kanyiti over. Her forehead gleaned under the hot sun and her face was fairer than the last time Kanyiti saw her. Just like her mother, Araba knew every neighbor’s history and secrets and Kanyiti envisioned her working for the BBC or CNN by age thirty.

Kanyiti dropped the damp shirt she was holding into the bucket beside her and approached Araba. “What is it again, Araba?” she asked.

“Eeii Sister Kanyiti, I never knew you could dance like that oo,”Araba said with a chortle.

Kanyiti frowned, threw her head back and asked, “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you at Kidi’s concert last night with one fine man like that. You didn’t mind me when I called you, so I figured you needed some privacy,” Araba said, then whispered, “Does uncle Safo know about him?”

“Me? At a concert? Araba, you’ve come again with your nonsense eeehh?” Kanyiti said, wiggling a finger at her.

“I swear. I saw you. Even my friends were crushing on your boyfriend…eeii… I mean, your friend. I must say, his bald head suits him well pa pa but why is he so slim like my finger,” Araba asked, shaking her index finger, “doesn’t he eat?”

Kanyiti’s eyes widened. The description Araba gave matched someone she knew. Someone she hadn’t spoken to for years and wasn’t certain even lived in the country. Still feigning a lack of interest in Araba’s information, Kanyiti asked, “Does your mother know you weren’t in bed last night?”

Araba gasped. “Abeg oo. Don’t tell her, else she will kill me,” she said, and disappeared behind the wall.

A strong, whistling wind swept through the clothes on the clothesline, swaying them gently. Kanyiti stared blankly at the clothes as if the face of the man she had locked away in her past was printed on them. If two people claim they saw her with another man who wasn’t her husband, it was time to acknowledge that something strange was indeed happening to her.

The supposed meetings she had with this man certainly wouldn’t have happened without prior arrangements. Therefore, her phone was one thing she could depend on to prove Araba and the young woman she met at the market, wrong. Scrolling through her text messages revealed how much she depended on her sister for solace and mental balance. Her sister’s chat was the only current one on the list and the rest were from MTN, her bank and fraudsters. She skimmed through Facebook Messenger and though there were messages from men asking her out, she never responded to any of them. WhatsApp was where she thrived. On that app, there were no messages she missed, no messages she ignored, every status update she viewed amused her and the lives of most former classmates were on full display for her to see.

So, when she found no chats with the strange man, she smiled, proud of being the loyal wife she had always aspired to be. However, her smiles were brought to an abrupt end when she saw an archived chat she had missed. It wasn’t saved with a name, and the profile picture was an empty street. Kanyiti read the messages in the chat which started six months prior and her eyes grew wider with each message she read. What shocked her were her own responses. They looked nothing like her. She had never even confessed her love for her own husband with such passion and flowery words. But in this chat, she went beyond that, sending sexually provocative pictures to this man. As she scrolled upward with her fingers moving quickly across the screen, she saw the messages about their plans to meet at the restaurant and at Kidi’s concert. She panicked, scanned her bedroom to confirm if there was anyone else there aside from her, and stared back at her screen. With quivering hands, she tapped the call icon and after a long ring, a husky voice answered. Kanyiti dropped her phone with a yelp, trembling. Her last chance to prove her fidelity had failed. She hadn’t expected anyone to answer the call so that she could convince herself that everything happening was nothing but an illusion. But the voice sounded real. So real that she couldn’t deny it was Puumaya, the man she thought of every year, every month, and each week. The man she had broken up with years ago but still imagined herself in his arms. Raising his children. He loved her once and she loved him back, but when he asked her to marry him, a wave of fear washed over her, dampening her love for him. A fear she couldn’t explain. Brokenhearted, Puumaya cut contact with her and left the country eventually. Kanyiti wasn’t aware of his return and couldn’t remember when they reestablished contact.

Safo rolled in like a race car driver, alarmed. “Honey, are you okay? I heard a thud,” he said.

Kanyiti stared at him, her lips shaking and her words failing her. She nodded and forced a smile. Safo had been dealing with issues of his own—waking up every morning drenched in sweat, complaining of intense aches in his legs and looking exhausted all day even when he did nothing. Bothering him with something she couldn’t even explain was the last thing she wanted to do.

Kanyiti woke up in the middle of the night that same day, parched and groggy. Croaking frogs had decided it was the best time to unleash their unrhythmic tunes and her neighbor’s German Shepherd proved once again with its loud barks that it had no respect for serenity and no sympathy for sleepy residents. Kanyiti gulped down a warm glass of water from the kitchen and when she returned to her bedroom and stood at its entrance, she felt a piece of her was missing. The light from the living room, cast its brightness into the dark bedroom, yet, Kanyiti couldn’t find her shadow which always hovered before her in cases like this. She wandered around the room like a lost person, hoping it would appear from wherever it was hiding. It didn’t. Being an overthinker never bothered her until that moment and to prove to herself that she wasn’t insane for worrying over something that sometimes scared her at night, she went back to bed, thinking of the long day she had ahead.

Her chat with Puumaya was updated the next morning, apparently, they had met again, at a Karaoke bar the previous night. An event she couldn’t remember. Kanyiti wasn’t gripped by fear this time but by curiosity. Something triggered these supposed meetings with Puumaya. Meetings that weren’t an illusion like she first thought. When she stepped outside, she found her shadow behind her. But that night, it went missing again, and so did her phone. She searched for it in her drawers, under her bed, under her children’s bed, beneath the sofa in the living room, and in the kitchen, but found nothing. Even Safo, who put it on charge every night, didn’t know where it was. Kanyiti blinked away every trace of sleep that night, her fears returning. These strange occurrences were weighing heavily on her shoulders, yet she didn’t know who to turn to. Anyone would think she was mad. When she woke up the next morning to her phone lying on her nightstand, she screamed and clutched Safo’s arm.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes, searching her face in an attempt to save the last piece of sanity she had left. He had noticed how distant she had become. How she forgot important details and roamed the entire house before remembering things she was looking for. Her temper was quick and her smiles, brief. Sometimes, he believed she even forgot who he was from the way she stared at him for long with her head tilted before flashing him a smile.

“Should we see a doctor?” Safo asked.

Kanyiti jumped out of bed, wiped her face with her hands and said, “A doctor? Why? No, no. I’m fine. I don’t need a doctor. I have just been exhausted lately that’s all.”

Safo remained silent, unconvinced. And it hurt her that he didn’t believe her. Things got worse from that day. Her shadow disappeared often and more people claimed to have seen her at places she never visited with a man whose description vividly matched Puumaya’s. Meeting Puumaya herself was one way she considered putting an end to whatever was going on, but that would only confirm what those people were saying, so she didn’t.

These incidents happened especially when memories of her past with Puumaya filled her mind and when she created scenarios of being married to him and bearing his children. On days that she was so busy to think of anything else but work, her children and Safo, her shadow stayed with her throughout the night, and she met no one the following day, claiming to have seen her with Puumaya. When this pattern became visible to her, she sent Puumaya a message which read, “Never contact me again. Whoever you were meeting all this while, wasn’t me.” She blocked his number right after and deleted it from her phone. She disposed of everything that triggered memories of him—the heart-shaped key chain he gave her years ago, his handwritten letters and poems, and the bracelet he personally made for her, engraved with her name. Safo met her discarding a tin of Peak Milk they had just opened that morning and asked, “Why are you throwing that away? We barely used it.”

“You remember the tommy ache I have been complaining about?” Kanyiti said and Safo nodded. “According to my doctor, this milk caused it. I’m thinking we should switch to Ideal Milk,” Kanyiti said, and for the first time, she felt no guilt for lying to her husband. It was best he didn’t know that Peak Milk was her favorite because it was Puumaya’s favorite and it was the reason why she kept buying it though it was expensive compared to other milk brands.

Everyday seemed brighter to Kanyiti now. She no longer had to wear dark sunglasses and walk hastily in public, afraid of being recognized by a random stranger. Memories of Puumaya were permanently chained and locked away in her past. Her love for her family replaced them all.
While having drinks with her husband one weekend, she watched him wince and rub his legs. He still complained about the pains he felt every time he woke up in the morning and the sweat that drenched his side of the bed. Kanyiti hid her smile behind her glass of coke. She may have been able to solve the mystery behind her shadow’s the random disappearances, but her husband hadn’t. His shadow was still at work, fulfilling his desire of ever running again, while he slept. And whether to explain this to him or not, was a decision for another day.

Copyright © Nasreen Tamaa Zankawah, 2026

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