Letter to My Future Wife

Dear wife,

You probably wouldn’t be reading this by now, but I want you to know something bit about our future as a couple.

Growing up, I counted the number of hours my mum used to spend washing our dirty articles of clothing. On every typical day, before the cock crows, she had to wake up as early as 4 a.m. to make sure she completed all her load of washing before we woke up. The uniforms of my siblings and I will be neatly ironed by her hoping that they wouldn’t return in the same dirty manner by evening. In a situation where she oversleeps and wakes up late, she had to pack the dirty clothing somewhere and make sure we were well-fed and ready for school. Our school was a bit far from where we stayed. In a situation where we would miss the bus, she would have to take us to school before she returned home to complete her daily manual washing. This was like business as usual for her, after which she could also attend to other personal assignments of hers.

After school

The legends (my siblings and I) will return from school, looking like they are returning from the mines. A sight to behold- dirty as you can imagine. My sisters mainly were looking a bit cleaner than my brother and me. After all, they don’t have to chase after a paper-ball during break times on that sandy playing ground. With a frown on her forehead, she will take off our school uniforms and fetch us another cleanly washed shirt from the clothing lines, after which we will be offered a hot meal. When energy is regained, it is time to visit our other friends to play football where the natural “dirtiest meet the dirtiest “. Oh! a white shirt will turn into the colour of the football field (red in most cases), a black one will blend in nicely but with shades of pales, etc. Most of my friends will receive a resounding beating from their parents for soiling their shirts to that extent. But my mum will only ask you to undress, shower, and wait for your father. “The sound of wait for your father” is mostly understandable and common in most Ghanaian homes, and it could send shivers through your body. Well, grudgingly, she will serve us our dinner and voila! We will go and sit down to perform our various school-giving homework.

Dad returns home

Gracefully, she will even forget to tell my father how dirty we looked when we returned from school and even if she does, my dad will go like: “ This is your last warning, If you guys dare come home like you were dug from the ground, you will face my wrath”. Funny enough, the same mother will interject and plead on our behalf. In reply, she will retort: “ that’s how kids are, leave them “.

When we are about to retire to bed, you will see her again gathering all the dirty clothing together into a pan of water to soak it. She said this made it easier for her to wash in the morning. At times, I watched her and felt sorry for the bales of clothing all gathered to be cleaned by her alone before she could retire to her bed. Notwithstanding, we couldn’t sacrifice our afternoon games, neither could we stop coming home looking like a legend (dirty folks). Yh, I know, it sounded selfish but hey! We were kids, after all.

So dear wife, I promise not to see you use your hands to do any manual washing. You don’t have to go through what my mum went through at the hands of her kids. I will do better!

Yours ever,

Husband.