“I Was Only 15 When My Dad Gave Me to His Friend — What Happened Next Broke Me Forever

When I was writing my BECE exams, I began to hear strange whispers between my parents. They spoke in low tones, thinking I couldn’t hear. One night, I overheard my mom ask my dad, “Has he agreed that Akosua should come to him?” My dad nodded and replied softly, “She will leave the house the same day she finishes the exams.” My heart sank. I didn’t understand what that meant or where I was going. My older brother seemed to know something, so he asked me if he was going with me. I told him I had no idea where I was going or who I was going with.

We had never really traveled anywhere far before. Our lives had always been centered in Asin Fosu. The only “travels” we ever did were visits to an aunt or uncle within town. That was the extent of our world. So when my dad finally said I’d be going away, a part of me was scared but also curious. I kept wondering where he was taking me and why.

When the time came, I gathered the courage to ask him directly, “Where am I going, Daddy?” He looked at me, smiled faintly, and said, “You’ll know when we get there. He’s a very kind man, and you’ll be able to continue your education when you stay with him.” My heart felt a mix of hope and confusion. I asked again, “So, I’m not coming back home again?” He replied, “You can come for visits, but that place will be your new home.”

We left early at dawn. I remember the road being long and endless. I watched through the window, reading every road sign that passed, trying to guess where we were going. Somewhere along the way, I fell asleep. When I woke up, the sun was already high, and my father said we had arrived. I looked out and saw a signboard that said Aflao. “Are we in Aflao?” I asked, but my father didn’t respond. He looked away, and that silence told me something was wrong.

When we reached the house, I recognized the man immediately. He was my father’s friend — a man who had visited us a few times before. He smiled and hugged me warmly. I smiled back, thinking maybe this was going to be a nice place. My father and the man went inside, leaving me outside to wait. I could see them talking through the window, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. That night, my father slept there. The next morning, I woke up and found out he was gone. No goodbye. Just gone.

The man’s name was George. He was a teacher and lived alone. The first few days were quiet and uncomfortable. Everyone around spoke Ewe or French, languages I couldn’t understand. I felt isolated and lonely. I couldn’t even tell anyone how confused I was or ask for help.

Then, a week later, everything changed. George started acting strangely toward me. He began saying things that made me uncomfortable. One night, he told me that my father had brought me to him to marry him. I was shocked. I told him I was too young and that my father would never agree to that. He smiled and said, “Your father knows. That’s why he brought you here.” My whole body froze. My heart was beating so fast that I thought I would faint.

That night, he tried to touch me, but I fought him off. He didn’t force it that night, but a few days later, when I kept saying no, he forced himself on me. I cried for days. I stayed in bed, too broken to move. He brought me food and medicine, pretending to care, but I knew he was the one who had broken me.

Days passed, then weeks. It happened again. I wanted to tell someone, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t speak the language, and everyone around spoke Ewe or French. I regretted not taking my French lessons seriously in school.

There was a woman nearby who had a daughter about my age. We couldn’t talk much because of the language barrier, but we exchanged smiles. Slowly, her daughter and I became friends, using hand gestures and a few English words. She was kind, and I felt a small spark of hope again.

George noticed that I was getting close to them. He began locking me inside the house whenever he went to work. He said, “You don’t need anyone. I’ll give you everything you need.” He cooked, bought me clothes, even acted nice — but it was all a trap. The emotional pain was unbearable. I missed home, my brother, my friends — everything I knew.

A year passed slowly. My BECE results came out, but I never even saw them. When I asked George if he had heard from my father, he said he wanted me to go to school in Togo, but that the academic calendar wasn’t right. I knew he was lying. Every night, I cried myself to sleep.

One day, while running an errand on the street, I met the woman again. This time, her older daughter, Lucy, had come to visit from Ghana. Lucy spoke English and even a bit of Twi. I was so relieved that I cried when she spoke to me. I told her everything. She was shocked. She said she would help me.

For a week, I didn’t see her again, and I lost hope. Then one day, I bumped into her on the street again. I poured my heart out to her. She told her mother what I said, and her mother was stunned. I told them I wanted to run away with Lucy when she went back to Accra. I didn’t care where I ended up — I just wanted to escape.

On a Monday morning, when George had gone to school, Lucy came. She helped me climb out through the window and threw my small bag over the wall. That was the day I finally escaped. I slept most of the journey — I was free for the first time, and it felt unreal.

When we reached Accra, Lucy told me, “Be careful. What if it was really your father’s plan to give you away? If you go back, he might send you there again.” But I didn’t believe it. I insisted my father didn’t know what George had done. She gave me her phone number and said, “If things go wrong, call me.”

When I got home, things did go wrong. My father beat me like I was a thief. He shouted, “Why did you run away? You think you’re grown now?” He said he would take me back. I cried and begged, but he didn’t stop. My mother tried to protect me. When things calmed down, I asked her, “Do you hate me so much that you sold me to that man? Do you know what I went through?”

She wept. She told me she hadn’t agreed to it and that she would talk to my father. They fought for days. Finally, she told me to run to my aunt in Mankessim before my father could send me away again. I ran away the next morning.

My aunt was strict but kind. She already knew my story. She told me, “If your father tries this again, I’ll hand him to the police.” Months later, my mother arrived in Mankessim with my brother and all her belongings. She had left my father for good. They divorced because of what happened to me.

Life started over. I went back to school, two years behind, but I didn’t care. I called Lucy and told her everything. She became like a big sister to me. She helped me with money and school fees, even taught me how to make a living. I went to nursing school but didn’t become a nurse because she introduced me to business.

My father is still alive, but I don’t speak to him. I have never forgiven him. I don’t even think about him anymore. In my heart, he stopped being my father the day he handed me over to that man. It took a stranger’s kindness to give me back my life. If he dies today, I won’t attend his funeral. He killed my childhood, and I will never go back to that pain again.