Tell me.

I was thinking if we can Skype one of these days. I will like to see you and we can chat.

But of course! I would love that too.

My laptop is not working so well, but my brother is fixing it so in a couple of days we can do it. I will let you know.

What about doing some video calls on WhatsApp?

Oh, sorry—my camera phone is very bad, so you won’t see me well. I’m saving up for an iPhone, but for now I think Skype will be okay.

Sure, Gordon wrote. I look forward to it.

That was how Gordon remembered his last Thanksgiving as so special. It marked the beginning of his profound love affair with Helena. Since then, they had been in almost daily contact with each other through a combination of WhatsApp and Skype. The video connections were often unreliable, given Ghana’s network challenges, and sometimes the audio and images were out of sync. Nevertheless, Helena enchanted Gordon and continued to do so. And now that she was calling, he needed to cut his Messenger chat.

Gordon picked up the line. “Hi, Helena. Can you hold on one second? I’ll be right with you.”

Can I catch up with you later? he typed to Frank.

Of course, buddy. Thanks for having my back.

Gordon went back to his phone. “Sorry about that. How are you, love?”

“Something terrible has happened,” she said, her voice trembling. “Stella has been in a bad accident.”

“Oh no.”

“Last night while coming home with some friends, a drunk man came driving on the street the wrong way and hit the car. One friend died on scene and the other one survived okay, but Stella is hurt very badly, in the ICU right now. The doctors have done one operation to stabilize her, but they say she has internal organ injury, so they need to go back for a second operation.”

“I’m so sorry,” Gordon said. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay. But the problem is the doctors need to get paid first before they do the second operation.”

“What? How so? Isn’t it an emergency?”

“You don’t know how Ghana is now, my dear. You knew the old Ghana, now everything is money. These hospitals and doctors are not in the business of charity.”

Gordon was about to get on a moral high horse about the Hippocratic oath and all that but quickly checked himself. It was a separate discussion and unhelpful besides.

“So, are you going to be able to pay?” he asked. “How much?”

“Five thousand cedis to start. My extended family are trying to scrape the money together.”

About a thousand dollars, Gordon thought. Not pocket change, but not that much by American standards either. “Let me help, Helena.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I don’t want to use you that way. That’s not fair.”

“How is it using me?” he said, but gently. “It’s not as if you’re asking me to buy you jewelry. This is a matter of life and death. This is your beloved sister, worth every penny and much, much more.”