If being handsome was a curse, then God used me as the example. When God was giving people wisdom, money, and talent, He gave me beauty. Fresh boy. The type that makes girls forget their own names. Growing up, people kept telling me, “Yaw, your face will take you far.” But nobody told me that “far” could also mean the hospital bed.

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I’ve been broke most of my life. The kind of broke where having gari in my room felt like a huge blessing. I kept applying for office jobs, but nobody was taking me. One day, the owner of a company looked at my face, shook his head and said: “Young man, we can’t employ you here. If we do, you’ll finish the ladies for us.”

I smiled, but something hit—that at least someone had finally admitted what I always suspected. That women liked me a lot. That’s when I decided to diversify my romantic portfolio. I went for the kind of women who could take care of me, and I got them easily. Even when I had nothing, these women always found a way to take care of me. They bought me food, clothes, shoes, even paid my transport. I told myself, “Ah, so this is my gift. Let me use it well.”

Before I knew it, I was dating eight women. Don’t judge me. Life was hard. The economy was harder, but my looks were free. Two of the women, I didn’t even know their real names. I saved them as “Fair Girl Shoprite” and “Ama Spanner” because I met her at Spanner junction. Three others owned shops where I could walk in and eat like a king. The other three? They provided money, airtime, and emotional support depending on the day.

My life was set. Breakfast with one. Lunch with another. Supper with the third, and compliments from all eight. I was unstoppable until God decided it was time to humble me. One morning, I woke up and couldn’t stand properly. My legs were shaking, my body was hot, my stomach was fighting, my head was spinning. I panicked. With my history of “community service,” I thought it was one of those STDs. Then the worst happened.

I was in bed for weeks, so the women started visiting, but they started coming in pairs. Before I knew it, two of them had collided in my small room. Then confusion started. One shouted, “Who are you?” The other answered, “Who are you too?” It turned into a fight. I couldn’t take care of my own self, let alone shout at them to stop. They pulled wigs. Screamed. Threw hands. I was lying in my bed like a vegetable exposed to fire.

Then something happened that I will never forget. They began pushing each other, and in the process, they pushed me. I fell from my bed and landed on the floor like a bag of rice. Nobody even helped me up. They were too busy insulting each other. By the time the dust settled, all of them left with their gifts, their food, and their affection. Even the one who brought me waakye took her spoon back.

It was my parents and siblings who stood by me. When I got better, the sickness had humbled me so much that even my cheekbones resigned from their duties. My “fine boy glow” had vanished. That was when I learned my lesson: “When you play with people’s hearts for fun, the punishment that comes will humble your ancestors.”

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Now I’ve gotten a job, a real one. Not because of my looks but because of my CV and seriousness. Now I tell myself: “When you play with people’s hearts for fun, the punishment that comes will humble not only you but your ancestors too.”

—Yaw

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