Hello, my name is Dede Nyansapo. I am an entrepreneur who also participates in Accra’s burgeoning gig economy.
My love for meeting fascinating people and my curiosity about how they think usually places me in the midst of some very entertaining conversations. Invariably, these conversations lead to some key learnings that may be useful to anyone on their business journey.
The day had already been long, even though it wasn’t even 3 o’clock yet. I was sitting in traffic, again, crawling through the usual mess that is Accra roads. It didn’t help that my mind wasn’t really on the driving.
I kept thinking about Araba and everything that had happened over the past few weeks. She was always on my mind these days, and it was exhausting. I could feel it—like a weight pressing down on me, something I couldn’t shake off.
My passenger, Dr. Theresa, was quiet in the backseat. She seemed nice enough when she got in, a calm presence. She mentioned she was going to the University of Ghana for a talk on mental health. Maybe that’s why I felt so comfortable with her from the start.
Something about her just made me feel… safe, I guess. Like I could talk to her. I didn’t want to at first, though. I tried to keep it casual, asking about traffic and making small talk. But I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone. Not her, not myself.
“How are you doing today, my dear?” she asked, her voice gentle.
I tried to put on my usual smile, the one I used with passengers when I didn’t want to get into anything heavy. “Oh, I’m fine,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Just the usual—traffic.”
But Dr. Theresa wasn’t buying it. I could feel her eyes on me from the rearview mirror, and somehow, it made me feel seen. Really seen. That’s when I knew something was going to come out. I just didn’t know how much.
“Sometimes, it’s not just the traffic,” she said, her voice soft but direct. “You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”
I hesitated. She was right, of course, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready to spill it all out to a stranger. Then again, maybe that’s exactly why I felt like I could. She didn’t know me. She didn’t know Araba. Maybe I could finally say what I’d been holding inside for so long.
“It’s my friend,” I started, my voice quieter than usual. “Her name’s Araba. We’ve been friends for years. Since we were kids. She’s always had these big dreams…”
I paused for a moment, not sure where to begin. How do you explain someone like Araba to a stranger? She was complicated, and I wasn’t sure I could do her justice. But I tried anyway.
“Araba was a child prodigy. Everyone thought she was going to be a superstar, and for a long time, she believed it too. But then, she got pregnant at 19, and everything changed. She spent her 20s raising her son while all her friends—our friends—went on to achieve what she wanted for herself.
It was hard for her. I know that. But now… she’s almost 40 and still chasing that same dream, and I don’t know…”
I sighed, my grip tightening on the steering wheel as I tried to put my frustration into words. “She gets these opportunities, really great ones, and then she just… lets them slip away. It’s always something—she delays, she doesn’t respond, or she acts like she’s entitled to the help people give her. And then, when it falls apart, she complains that the world is against her. It’s exhausting.”
I could feel Dr. Theresa listening. Not just hearing me, but really listening, like she was piecing together everything I was saying.
“That must be hard for you to watch,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” I said, letting out a deep breath. “It is. And the worst part is, I don’t know how to talk to her about it. Every time I try, she gets defensive, like I’m attacking her. I don’t want to lose her—she’s one of my closest friends. But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep listening to her complain about how unfair life is when she’s the one sabotaging herself.”
The words hung in the air for a moment, the weight of them finally out in the open.
Dr. Theresa was quiet for a few seconds, and then she asked, “What happened recently? It sounds like something specific triggered all of this.”
I nodded, feeling my chest tighten as I thought about the most recent disappointment. “A few weeks ago, she got this amazing job offer. It was perfect for her. All she had to do was accept it. But she kept putting it off, acting like the offer would just wait for her. And then, of course, they gave it to someone else.
She called me, upset, talking about how unfair it was, but I just… I couldn’t listen to it anymore. I don’t know how to keep supporting her when she’s the one causing the problem.”
Dr. Theresa nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It sounds like Araba is stuck in a pattern—one that’s hard to break. But I’m hearing something else from you, Dede. It sounds like you’re not just frustrated. You’re scared.”
Scared. That word hit me harder than I expected. I hadn’t thought about it like that before, but she was right. I was scared.
“Yeah,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared of losing her. If I tell her the truth, if I say what I’m really thinking, she’ll push me away. She’s done it before with other people. But I can’t keep quiet either. I’m tired.
I’m so tired of being the one who has to listen to her play the victim. It’s like in her head, she’s the main character in some movie, and everyone else is just here to support her.”
There was silence again. I stared out at the road, though I wasn’t really seeing it. My mind was too full of Araba—of everything we’d been through, everything I was still holding onto.
“It sounds like you’re carrying a lot,” Dr. Theresa said gently. “It’s hard to be a good friend when the relationship becomes one-sided. Have you ever thought about what it would be like if you did lose her? If, in trying to help, you said something that pushed her away?”
The thought of losing Araba made my chest tighten even more. I hadn’t wanted to think about that, but here it was, staring me in the face.
“I’d be lonely,” I said quietly. “She’s one of my closest friends. Losing her would hurt. But I also can’t keep pretending everything’s okay. I can’t keep being her emotional punching bag.”
Dr. Theresa nodded, her expression understanding. “It sounds like you’re walking a fine line—trying to protect her, but also trying to protect yourself. That’s not easy.”
“It’s not,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t want to lose her, but I also can’t keep watching her self-destruct.”
Dr. Theresa smiled kindly. “It’s clear you care deeply for her, but you’re allowed to prioritize your own well-being too. Friendship is about balance, and it sounds like this relationship has lost that balance.”
I nodded, knowing she was right, but it didn’t make it any easier.
“How do I tell her?” I asked. “How do I make her see that I’m saying this because I care about her?”
“You speak from a place of love and concern,” Dr. Theresa said. “Let her know you’re worried about her, not judging her. People are more likely to listen when they feel understood, rather than attacked.”
I thought about that for a moment, my grip on the steering wheel relaxing just a little. “And what if she still gets defensive?” I asked, my voice soft. “What if she pushes me away?”
“Then you’ll have to accept that as a possibility,” Dr. Theresa said gently. “You can’t control how she reacts, Dede. You can only control how you express your truth. If she values your friendship, she might be upset at first, but she’ll come around. And if not… then maybe it’s time to reevaluate what this friendship means to both of you.”
Her words hit me hard. I hadn’t thought about it like that—about the possibility that maybe it was okay to put myself first for once.
As we neared the University of Ghana, I felt a strange sense of relief. The problem wasn’t solved, not by a long shot. But at least now, I knew where to begin.
