When Emily received a random message about jollof, she never imagined it would lead to love, laughter, and a life built from unexpected moments. Sometimes, the sweetest connections begin with the smallest mistakes.
Read “The Wrong Number” — a true Ghanaian love story that proves fate might just be texting you
It started with a message meant for someone else.
“Hey, I got the jollof and drinks. Should I wait at the gate or come in?”
Emily blinked at the message, furrowing her brow. She didn’t recognize the number. Curious, she typed back:
“I think you’ve got the wrong number. But now I’m suddenly craving jollof.”
A few minutes passed before the reply came.
“Ah! My bad! 😂 But hey, if you’re nice, I might send you a plate.”
She laughed. Who was this stranger? Bold and clear. But kind of funny.
“Tempting. But I don’t accept food from strangers. What’s your name?”
“Jason. And now that we’ve exchanged names, we’re not strangers anymore.”
It was harmless at first. Emily was accustomed to working a routine as a banker in Accra, which didn’t leave much room for surprises. But something about this mistaken message amused her. Their chat continued that evening—playful, light. They discussed food, music, and weekend plans. By the end of the night, she realized hours had passed.
A part of her expected the conversation to fizzle by morning. But the next day, another message:
“Still not over that jollof craving?”
And so it continued. Daily texts turned into nightly calls. They never exchanged photos. They hadn’t even met in person. But something about their banter felt comforting. Natural.
Emily learned Jason was a graphic designer who freelanced from home. He’d recently moved back to Ghana after living in the UK for a few years. He spoke with a dry wit and had a laugh that made her smile even over the phone.
She found herself talking to him about her bad days at the bank, her dreams of starting a small bakery, and how lonely Accra could feel even when surrounded by people. In turn, he shared his fear of failing as an artist and his guilt over leaving behind a relationship that never really felt like home.
Three months passed before they finally decided to meet.
They chose a casual café in Osu. Emily wore a simple yellow dress and arrived five minutes early, nerves bundled tightly in her stomach. What if there was no chemistry in person? What if he didn’t look like what she imagined?
Then he walked in.
Tall, with kind eyes and a T-shirt that read “Design is my second language.” She knew instantly. He smiled. “Emily?”
She nodded. “So… where’s my jollof?”
They laughed, and just like that, the ease from the phone calls settled between them in real life too.
The first date turned into many. Beach walks, late-night design critiques, baking experiments gone wrong, and hours of shared silence that didn’t need filling.
A year later, they stood before friends and family at a small engagement ceremony, smiling through happy tears. Her father gave her away with a wink, whispering, “Imagine if he’d texted the right number.”
Their love wasn’t built on fireworks or grand gestures. It was slow and intentional. Honest and steady. The kind you grow into like a favorite pair of shoes.
Today, Emily runs a small bakery, and Jason designed the entire brand. Their home smells of fresh pastries, and the jollof joke lives on—a framed screenshot of the first message hangs in their kitchen.
Sometimes, Emily glances at it and smiles. “A wrong number never felt so right.”
Maame Akua Kyerewaa-Antwi