Working Girl


The beginning of December had been chilly, the air crisp and a clear reminder that it was winter.
We were just winding down from a hectic, but very productive year. Everyone including the French corner had pulled together to generate fantastic figures for the year . We were still in our early days as a company,  the brainchild of two very ambitious young men from two different countries and it worked like a charm. An advertising agency with a twist. That was the name we had earned in the last year, post nominations for the Clio Awards. What a privilege. As head of Communications, I had put in everything even neglecting my personal and social life. I was sure my husband would understand, having on many occasions ditched me for a conference or two. All in all it seemed that everything work wise was great at the moment.
I was actually due to attend a PR conference in Malaysia the following week however,  I wasn’t particularly interested in travelling that far away and especially so close to Kaleb’s birthday. I had hoped to persuade him to come along so we could stay an extra couple of days, but he declined stating that they too were hosting some clients from Germany.
There was only so much I could do. Lately we had ventured into a weird zone with very little communication ironically and I was not happy about that. I was preoccupied with work and hoped whatever it was would sort itself out.
KK and I had been married for four years, actually three years and ten months. We’d met through our friend Kwame and got on right away. I shared my world of art, music and travel with him and he opened up his very tightly closed world of mechanics with me. He was a very private person and only kept a small group of close friends all of whom he had known for years. He was smart, very smart and had in fact built his business up from having only a handful of clients to investors and he had achieved all this single handedly. I admired him and looked up to him in many ways. We were what I called a pair of old socks,our relationship wasn’t perfect, but we complimented each other quite well.
KK was an old romantic, always had something planned for us and always made sure I enjoyed whatever it was as much as he did. I on the other hand had more of a carefree way about me. I loved my music especially rustic sounds from classical jazz to neo classical African beats and I was always keen to check out the latest jazz bar. I too had a closed circle of friends, but they were quite the opposite to Kaleb’s friends. Still these days on the rare occasion that we found ourselves together it was wonderful.
I admired my husband, his drive and his tenacity was inspiring. He tells me his father was just as (if not even more) tenacious, his insatiable appetite for success was an overbearing statement in Kaleb’s childhood. Growing up in Congo he was always provided for however, the long hours had cost his dear father his marriage. His mother having moved back to Ghana allowed Kaleb to connect with his mother’s family too and became known to them as little KK. Kaleb was determined not to walk in the footsteps of his father, although lately I’d have said that he was going in that direction. Then there was the issue of children, KK often talked about how he would love for us to start a family. He was very much in tune with my monthly periods and was always excited to know if we had been blessed with a pregnancy. It was so endearing, but I couldn’t bare to tell him that I wasn’t interested in having children just yet. Naturally,  when I saw my periods in the months to follow a part of me was relieved, the other part very sad for my husband. I knew that I’d be on the same page as him one day, whether that was sooner or later was ambiguous.


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