One of the things that surprised me most about living in Ghana was how, on a daily basis, random people (and I mean really random—taxi drivers, hotel receptionists, bartenders, etc) felt absolutely no hesitation in asking me, “How old are you? Are you married? Why not?” (See why I felt right at home?)

In Africa, I was proposed to at least twice a week. Not asked out. Proposed to. My suitors included businessmen, taxi drivers (one asked me to give him my cell phone and when I refused, he wondered if I’d consider marrying him instead), college students, and even boys so young, I’m fairly sure I’d be in an African jail had I taken them up on their offers.

I would try to come up with a new reason every day as to why I’m so old (I’m 26!) and still unmarried. I’m sorry to say that I wasn’t able to come up with even one that worked. Apparently, like in India, “I don’t want to be,” isn’t good enough.

Didn’t stop me from trying though.

**

“I’m interested in someone back home.”
“Is he white?”
“Uh… yeah.”
“He won’t marry you. I’ll marry you.”

(White man I know and like who (presumably) will never get married vs. African guy I’ve met five minutes ago who’ll get married right away. See how tough my life’s choices are?)

**

“Why do you want to marry me anyway?”
“You beautiful. You give good baby.”
“Wha… wow.”
“Yes, your face and my personality. Good baby.”
“What if it’s your face and my personality? You’ll be sorry then, won’t you?”

(He actually went into silence after that one. I’m trying very hard not to see it as a reflection on my personality.)

**

“I’m sorry, I simply can’t marry someone who’s religious. Because I’m not.”

(This person never spoke to me again.)

**

And my all-time favorite:

“Dude, you don’t even know me!”
“I know you.”
“Yeah? What’s my name?”
“I don’t know. What’s your name?”
“Mridu.”
“So your name is… uh… Mreembu? See now I know you.”