When Online Connections Fail: Being Ghosted in Real Life

The online world is a whole different realm where you can be whoever you want to be. I met my friend there, who I’ll call “the one.” 

When the selection board sent me an email notifying me of my acceptance into the exchange program, I felt both thrilled and scared. My heart raced with excitement for the new adventure, yet trembled with nerves at the uncertainty ahead.

Leaving behind the place I had called home for years, the culture I had deeply understood, I stepped into a land I had only seen in movies. A place where the language was still new to me, just beginning to take shape on my tongue.

Sharing this news with those close to me made me realize something. When I told people I was moving abroad, they saw me as the lucky one. They imagined my excitement, picturing a life filled with endless opportunities and luxury once I arrived.

In many ways, they weren’t wrong. Life does improve almost effortlessly when you move to a more developed country.

Yet, expressing my fears to my friends felt difficult. I worried about how the journey would unfold, where I would live, who I would meet, and even what I would eat. So, I turned to the internet, searching for others in the same boat. I hoped to find a sense of familiarity in an unfamiliar world.

I had to put on a brave face for my Kenyan friends. However I let my worries show online. I searched for people who could help me navigate the city that would soon become my home.

That’s how I stumbled upon “the one.” She answered all my questions with warmth, patience, and insight, always offering alternatives and reassurance.

Thanks to her, I felt hopeful, at least for those first few days, I knew I’d be okay. After all, I had someone to turn to, even for simple things like finding the nearest street food spot.

We spoke multiple times, and she even offered to pick me up when I arrived. On the bus, I clung to a weak free Wi-Fi connection just to stay in touch, even snapping a photo of the bus to send her. I kept her updated on my journey, how far I was and how soon I would arrive.

Let me tell you, when I stepped off the bus, the lingering summer heat wrapping around me, I bumped right into her. I smiled, hoping she’d recognize me since she had already sent me her photo.

Our eyes met, and then, without a word, she took a step back, flashed that forced, plastic smile almost everyone in France wears, and walked away.

Everything happened so fast that I barely had time to process it. As I scrambled to gather my luggage, make sense of my surroundings, and figure out where she had gone, I struggled to believe what had just happened. She had ghosted me, right to my face.

That’s when it hit me, I stood out. My deep black skin was unmistakable in this old town, where almost everyone was white.

Maybe it wasn’t racism, but in that moment, it sure felt like it. Because she ghosted me right then and there, and I never heard from her again.