I was at the roadside traveling to the village where I was posted to do my national service when this man called and asked if I was going to the same village he was going to. I nodded, and he told me he could drop me there. He was on his way to the village and thought I needed help. I was scared, thinking of jumping into a stranger’s car. He mentioned that he worked in the village and had always done that for people he found at the station because sometimes it was hard to get a car there.

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I was exhausted. I had been at the roadside for almost an hour and didn’t get a car. I joined his car and started texting a friend, giving her the car number and the colour, and even took a photo of his legs and sent it to my friend. I couldn’t take his face; he might have seen it. He said he was Philip and thanked me for accepting to serve in the village.

He drove me straight to the house where I lived and asked if he could visit sometimes. He wasn’t a young-looking man, maybe in his late forties. I was only twenty-three. I thought he could be my elder brother in the village and, since he had a car, I could rely on him when traveling back home got tough. I nodded. “Yes, you can visit. I’m always here after work.”

He would come, and we would sit in his car to talk. When he was going out of the village, he would ask if I needed something. The first time, I listed all the grocery items I needed, and he bought them for me. When I tried paying for them, he pushed back. “You’re a service person. How much do you have? Keep it. It’s my gift to you.”

Sometimes he would come with packed food from a restaurant. Sometimes, he would pick me up and take me to a restaurant in the next city. He was older, but he made himself fit into my perspective. I grew fond of him and started telling him everything. He didn’t propose the way it usually happens. He kissed me in his car. He took me to his place, and sex happened. I asked who I was to him that he would do that with me, and he answered, “You’ve always been my sweetheart.”

My name changed from Christabel to “Chris Babe.” That’s how he called me. Our relationship became so intimate I left my house and went to live in his. Sometimes I would be gone for a week. Sometimes I would forget I had my own house. He traveled out of the village a lot. Sometimes he would be gone for days, and I would live alone and miss him. He came with gifts for me. He came with joy. His presence was always enough.

A few months into dating, I discovered he was a married man. He was talking to his friend on loudspeaker, and out of the blue, his friend asked, “So how’s wifey and the kids? It’s been…” He turned off the loudspeaker and walked out of the room to continue receiving the call. I wasn’t surprised at all that he was married. My instincts had been nudging me, especially the way he ignored me when he traveled out of the village.

When he came in, I didn’t ask him any questions. I pretended that conversation didn’t exist, but he acted guilty and walked suspiciously around, hoping I would ask questions and he would explain. A week later, he was traveling out of the village. I said, “Going home to your wife and kids?”

He stood still like a statue. I walked out and came back in, and he was still standing there. “I don’t even know how to explain this. When I return, we’ll talk about everything.”

I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t hurt. I didn’t think of leaving him because of that. I just went on with my life as if I didn’t know anything. He went and came back, and because I didn’t ask, he also didn’t talk about it. The most important thing was I knew I was dating a married man, and that was okay. I would finish my national service, leave the village, and never look back or find myself in his life again, but life has a funny way of twisting the symphony of our stories.

Eight months into my national service, I got pregnant. I told him, expecting him to say we should get rid of it. No, he didn’t say that. He was rather happy and started making plans for us and the baby. I asked him, “How about your wife? Wouldn’t this destroy your marriage?” He answered, “Why would it destroy my marriage? Are we not going to give birth to a human being?”

I told him I was not going to have it. I cried that my dad would split me into two halves if he discovered I was pregnant. “I’m only twenty-four years old. This is not how I fancied my life to be. No, I can’t have it.”

That night, in my room, he cried and begged me not to do that to his baby. “What if you’re going to give birth to someone great? What if you die while doing it? It’s a seed God has planted. You can’t uproot it just like that. Allow it to grow.”

So we decided we were going to have the baby, but how to announce it to my parents was the problem. He wanted to go home with me and tell my parents about it. “You’re married. How do you want them to see me? No, that won’t happen.”

We couldn’t agree on how to rope my parents in. I told him to let nature run its course. What would happen will happen. My service was almost coming to an end. I went home and told my parents that the place where I was working was going to maintain me, so I might not come home after service. Come and see praises and singing that their daughter had been able to land a job right after service.

I stayed for days, scared they might notice my pregnancy. I was careful about how I carried myself and careful with what I said. I left them knowing I would return carrying a baby in my hand. It didn’t make sense. It broke my own heart, but there was no other way to do it.

I now have a baby boy. I didn’t go back home again. My mom called. I gave her excuses. They even wanted to visit, but I told them my job wasn’t at one place. I traveled to different places to work. I learned how to be a true liar to be able to hide my pregnancy from them. My boy is currently three months old. I’ve been home once. I thought I could tell them, but I couldn’t.

My siblings, my friends, my parents—no one knows I have a baby. They don’t even know about Philip and the secret life I share with him. I don’t have a job too. That’s not even a problem because Philip has been a great provider. I haven’t needed anything he couldn’t provide, but this secret life scares me to death sometimes. I’ve cried while my baby is crying. I’ve asked what the future holds.

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In our last conversation, I told Philip it was too late for my parents to know, so I would keep the lies going until further notice, maybe find a job, settle on my own, and later decide what to do. But in my mind, I’ve decided to run away at some point and leave the baby with him. I would go home and begin life again until courage would find me.

I don’t know which one is right, but time will tell, and I hope when it does, it speaks in my favor.

—Khadi

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