Chidi looked better when Sarfoa and I went to see him in his house after school. He and his dad were leaving Ghana that night. There were three suitcases by the front door. Chidi’s play station had already been packed but his laptop was still in the table. His room looked emptier than before. Sarfoa had more drawings for him, and she told him a new Kwaku Ananse story. Dad came to pick her up and they left us alone. I gave Chidi the solved Sudoku puzzle.

He shook his head and mumbled, “Type A.” He checked it. “I’ll have to borrow one cedi from my dad,” he said looking through his wallet. He took my hand and held it. “Gyikua, I need to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I know I should have told you earlier. I’m sorry I didn’t. I wanted to feel like a normal teenager. People have treated me like I was infectious since I was twelve. My friends just drifted away, and it was just left with me and my dad. I was in and out of hospitals for three years—the drugs made me more sick than the disease, and made all my hair fall off. On days that I felt better I couldn’t even get out of bed, all I could do was watch an episode or two of National Geographic.

“And then I went into remission and I went back to school and tried to pretend that the past three years hadn’t happened. Then early last year I relapsed and they started treatment with a different combination of drugs, but my immunity was down so I got lots infections and had to be in hospital for most of the year. I drew up a list of things I wanted to do when I got better. It was a wish list. So I could put anything I wished on it. I showed it to Dad. I didn’t think he’d actually get me a car or take me to Egypt or to Kenya or bring me here.”

His voice broke but I was the one who had tears in my eyes.

“When I got better Dad took a sabbatical and we started doing things on the list. I crossed out kiss a girl before I came to Ghana because I never dreamt it would happen. I mean none of my female friends would even speak to me after they found out I had leukaemia—which one of them would have kissed me? And then we came here and I met you. I don’t even know how it happened. I mean one day I was pissed off at you because you could have helped me but didn’t, and then when I saw how people treated you at school, I could relate to that, and I thought the least I could do was be your friend. And that was it, Gyikua, that was it. I didn’t see you and think she’s friendless, so I’ll become her friend and try to kiss her. It was just that one minute you were this girl whom I was just trying to be nice to and the next I was totally, completely, hopelessly in love with you. I don’t even know how it happened. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I’m sorry I over-reacted. It’s just that with what everyone thinks happened with Paapa, I’m a little paranoid.”

“I’m glad I came here. I’m glad I met you.”

“This year, only one two things will be on my list.”

“What?”

“Relocating to Ghana when I get better.”

“I like that. I like that one very much,” I said.

He smiled.

“What is the second?”

He shook his head, brought our clasped hands to his lips and kissed my hand. “I can’t tell you that yet.”

I shrugged.

“I’ll call you every day if I can but some days I’ll be too weak to talk.”

“We can skype or whatsapp video call.”

He grimaced. “No video calls. Those cancer drugs are poison. I’ll look like a bag of bones and my hair will fall out. I don’t want you to see me like that.”

“I don’t care what you will look like.”

“Well I do and I don’t want you to see me like that, okay?”

“I read you could also do a bone marrow transplant.”

“That will only work if they find a donor whose genes match mine. I’ve been on the waiting list since I was twelve.”

“But you might get a match?”

He just shrugged. “I might. How was school today?”

I knew he was changing topics and I didn’t push it. “The usual. We start our last mock exams next week.”

“You’ll blow the mock and you’ll probably get straight A’s in the WASSCE.”

I didn’t tell him I wasn’t so sure. I hadn’t opened a book the entire week. “I’ll help you study for your WASSCE next year.”

“Cool.”

Chidi called at 2 a.m.

“Hi,” I said.

“This is worse than I remember,” he sighed.

“Sorry.” I’d gone online and read about acute leaukaemia and chemotherapy. The side effects of the drugs were terrible. Chidi’s strength and resilience continued to amaze me.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know but I’m still sorry you have to go through this.”

“Talk to me about something else please.”

So I told him about Edward, the contestant who had won the fifty thousand cedis jackpot on ‘Who Wants to Be Rich’. He was a twenty-five year old teacher from Sandema in the Upper East region. He’d been too shocked to say anything. When Kafui Dey had asked for a comment, the man had just kept shaking his head. The show ended with the audience cheering, Kafui Dey smiling and Edward holding his cheque and shaking his head. Chidi and I spent the next hour discussing how we would have spent that money if it was ours.