I was dating Nathaniel and had a beautiful relationship with him when, out of nowhere, my mom came with a man she said wanted to marry me. I looked at this man and wondered if he wanted to marry me or if it was my mom he wanted to marry. He looked older than my mom, and both of them were single, so I wondered, why me?
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I didn’t say much in the man’s presence. I only laughed at their suggestion, making it look like I had taken it as a joke. When the man left, I asked my mom, “Who does he want to marry, you or me?” My mom called me crazy and told me he was our ticket out of poverty.
“Look at your brothers,” she said. “They need to go to school, but where’s the money? If you give this man a chance, we are never going to be poor again. He’s a kind man, and I know his wealth will trickle down to us if you marry him.”
For weeks, it was a battle of words between me and my mom. I asked what I should do with Nathaniel. She told me he was good for nothing because he couldn’t provide for our family. When I continued to fight her, she told me, “Fine, then leave this house and go and marry Nathaniel. You can’t stay here and tell me nonsense.”
It was very hard for me, but I had to let Nathaniel go. He was heartbroken for days. He kept asking why, and I couldn’t tell him. I was too embarrassed to say I was going to marry an old man because of his money.
Even after I let him go, we still met once in a while and got intimate. We were struggling to let each other go, but we knew we ought to.
I dated this old man who insisted I called him Felix whenever I called him Dad. We dated for a couple of months before he told me we should marry so he could take me to live with him in Accra. The marriage ceremony was very small—a traditional one. I was so ashamed I couldn’t even invite my friends to the occasion. The two families met, and a few minutes later, the marriage was done.
A week later, I moved with him to Accra. His house looked like a museum. He had photos of his children, who were even older than I was, and also photos of his wife, who he said had died five years earlier. There was a house help and a few other people who came and went from time to time.
To be honest, he treated me well. He bought whatever I wanted and told me I didn’t need to work. But the woman in me wanted to have something going for myself, so he opened a big shop in town for me. Even then, he employed two ladies to work with me.
Four years later, we still had no child. I thought the problem was me because this man already had children. I took medicine and visited clinics to check what was wrong with me. They said I was fine. My mom would call every morning, asking me what I was doing to give this man a child. She even sent me herbal medicine from our hometown. That aside, she would visit and ensure I was taking the herbs the way they had been prescribed.
One late night, my mom called. She asked, “Where’s that Nathaniel boyfriend of yours? Is he still in town?” I was surprised she was asking about a guy she herself had forced me to leave.
“Why do you want to know?”
She whispered on the phone, “He can be useful in this situation. Think about it.”
So I went back home to see my mom, and she laid out her plan. The bottom line was that I should sleep with Nathaniel, get pregnant, and give the child to my husband.
“Mom, what are you saying? Do you want to destroy my marriage or what?”
She said my husband was old and the only thing that would make him stick to me and leave me his properties was for me to give him a child. “Without a child, you don’t have a legitimate stake in his life,” she said.
I kicked against the idea at first, but as time went on, it became clear to me that it was an option I could explore.
So I started talking to Nathaniel. I didn’t have to struggle at all to make him miss me and the things we used to do when we were together. I told him, “We can do it again. You know I never moved on. You’re too hard to forget.”
We met, and we did it. It happened a few times before my dream came to pass. When I confirmed that I was pregnant, I ran to my husband, showing him the pregnancy kit. “I’m pregnant! At long last, I’m pregnant!”
He wasn’t enthused. He looked at the kit and asked, “Are you sure?”
I answered, “What do you mean, am I sure? Look at it here.”
He went quiet for a while before he said, “We thank God.”
I didn’t understand his behavior. I asked if he was not happy. I asked if I had said anything wrong. He answered, “I need to speak to my doctors first.”
Later, he apologized to me, telling me the news had taken him by surprise and he didn’t know how to react. He took me shopping to show me how sorry he was. He celebrated with me and told my mom he owed her a big cow for the happiness I had brought into his life.
A few weeks after delivery, my husband asked me, “Who is the father of this child?” Even before I could say a word, he pulled out a paper. “Read it. These are the DNA results. I’m not the father, so who is the father?”
While I was struggling to get pregnant, I thought he didn’t care about why we were not getting pregnant. Not knowing he was also visiting his doctors to check what was wrong with him. He had a very low sperm count and had been put on medication. Just around that time, I announced to him that I was pregnant. That was the reason he wasn’t enthused at first.
After talking to his doctors, they advised that it could be possible, but he should wait and do a DNA test to confirm it. And he did the DNA test right after delivery. I didn’t know he had done it until he showed me the results. I fought against it. I was that shameless, but deep down I knew what I had done.
He called my mom to tell her what had happened. The same woman who came up with the plan pretended she couldn’t support me but rather threw me under the bus, calling me names and telling him she regretted having a child like me.
So I confessed to him and told him everything. I didn’t mention my mom’s name. I admitted my mistake and asked for forgiveness. He asked me what he should do, and I said, “Nothing will make you keep me, I know, but please let me keep the shop. You know it’s the only thing I have in this life without you.”
It was bitter. It was very rough, but I bore the shame all alone while pleading with him not to hurt me or take my livelihood away from me. He listened. He asked me to keep the shop and also some of the few items he had bought in my name. I knelt before him and thanked him. “I owe you my life, and I hope someday I’m able to repay you.”
Once the dust settled, I cut off my mom. She doesn’t know where I live. She doesn’t know my number and doesn’t know anything about me. Even my siblings have been cut off.
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One day, Nathaniel contacted me on Facebook, telling me my mom had told him that my child was his, so he should come and claim the child. I told him to ignore my mom because she was going mad. I blocked Nathaniel too.
So in this life, I live on my own, making my own decisions and steering my life where I think I will end in grace. I forgive my mom. It’s not entirely her fault. I had the right not to listen. I’m also grateful for where I am currently. There’s more room for growth, but it’s not a zero life. Everything I own now are things I could only dream about before. For that, I’m always grateful.
—Efe
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