I was twenty-five. He was thirty-eight. I knew I shouldn’t marry him when I was wearing my wedding dress. The red flags were there, but I still went ahead, got dressed, and walked down the aisle with him.

He was someone my parents introduced to me when I was in my second year at the university. They said he had seen me around and had expressed interest in me through them. My parents loved his family background. They loved how much he had accomplished at his age, but I didn’t know him.

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When they called me to discuss him, I didn’t know what to say. I sat there and watched my parents decide my future for me. I didn’t have a boyfriend. It wasn’t part of my plan when I started school, but once my parents chose him for me, I believed he would be right for me.

He visited me at school. He paid my school fees, not because my parents couldn’t, but because he told them he wanted to take over that responsibility. He would come to school with gifts. He would take me out and ask for sex in his car. I declined. I told him I wanted our first time to be more dignified. I came home one day, and he took me to his house. That day, it happened. He said he wished I would get pregnant. I asked, “Even while I’m still in school?”

He didn’t care. He wanted a son as soon as possible, even though we were not married. He started dictating my life—where I should go, who I could spend time with, and even what I should do for my national service.

I had this Togolese friend in school, Mawiya. For some reason, she never liked him and always advised me not to end up with him. The day before our wedding, I called her. She asked, “Are you sure?”

I answered, “I’m not sure. Let’s just hope we’re wrong.”

She wished me well and apologized for not being able to attend.

Within three months, I was pregnant. He said it had better be a boy. I told him it could also be a girl, so he should broaden his expectations. I had a girl, and my husband’s attitude changed. He stayed away from us as though we were a plague. He never bought anything for the child. He never came home from work and asked how we were doing. We had a house help, an elderly woman. She became my companion.

I looked at all that and told myself I would never have another child for him. I went on birth control without his knowledge. He started becoming very demanding sexually a few weeks after I gave birth because he wanted a boy as soon as possible. He would take aphrodisiacs and stay on top of me for several minutes. He didn’t do it with love. He did it as though I had been bought and handed over to him.

I could be sleeping, and he would just climb on top of me and start doing whatever he wanted. It was so aggressive and loud that we would wake the baby. While she cried, he would continue and prevent me from taking care of her. He would ask me who was more important and whose needs came first—his or the baby’s.

I reported him to my mom. She said, “He’s a man. What do you expect? Would you rather he did it outside?”

My dad said marriage comes with challenges, and couples ought to manage them, so I should manage too.

A year after our child was born, he asked me why I wasn’t getting pregnant again and why I was delaying giving him a boy. I told him, “It’s your fault if we’re not having another child. I can only keep what you give me.”

He slapped me across the mouth. It was the first time he had physically abused me. My upper lip became swollen. I cried. I cried until I found myself calling Mawiya.

“I hate to say this, but you were right,” I said through tears. “He hit me today. My lip is swollen.”

She consoled me. She told me to take a break or report him to someone who could speak sense into him. I called his dad and reported what had happened. When his dad confronted him about it, it only made him angrier. He even traveled without telling me where he was going. The few days he was away were the most peaceful of my adult life. I slept very well without the threat of his presence. I slept soundly because he wasn’t there to interrupt my sleep. I finally had space where I could turn freely.

I never called him, and he never called me. He returned six days later and asked why I hadn’t looked for him.

“I could have gone missing. I could have been kidnapped. You didn’t care where your husband had disappeared to? Do you hate me that much?”

I didn’t dignify any of his questions with an answer. That evening, he forced himself on me again. The moment he penetrated me, he pulled back and slapped my face.

“Who did you sleep with while I was away? Why are you looser than when I left? Is that why you didn’t look for me?”

He kept hitting me whenever I refused to answer his questions. I pushed him off me and started fighting back. Our baby woke up and started crying.

I picked her up and tried to breastfeed her. Then a slap landed on my face from behind. It almost blinded me instantly. He screamed, “I made you who you are. I took care of you in school and fed you. Now you can cheat on me with someone who has a bigger manhood?”

The next morning, I called Mawiya. She said, “I have enough space here for both of us. Why don’t you come over?”

I didn’t think twice about it. I packed a few things and left with my daughter. When I got to Togo, I called my mom and told her I was safe so they shouldn’t look for me.

My husband barked over the phone when he finally got a number to reach me. He gave me three days to return or he would do his worst.

I said, “Do your worst.”

Last week marked my fought year in Togo. I started working here, worked for a year, and got my own place.

I Called My Girlfriend And Another Man Answered The Phone

My marriage was over the very day I left that house. I asked my parents to return his drink and dissolve the marriage. He wanted to hold on to the court marriage and claim we were still married. I called my cousin, who is a lawyer, and left the rest in his hands.

Before our divorce was finalized, I was already in another man’s arms, the love of my life. He makes life so easy that I wonder why I wasted years on something that almost cost me my life.

—Judy 

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