My girlfriend was living in Kasoa and working in Tema. Anyone who knows the distance between these two places can imagine what she went through every day. Sometimes, she would leave home before 4 a.m. and still struggle to get to work on time. I was living in Madina, so I suggested that she move in with me during the week. Madina to Tema was still far, but it was better than travelling all the way from Kasoa.
She agreed. Fortunately, a friend of mine also worked in Tema. He had a car and didn’t mind giving Kate a lift in the mornings. He would drop her off along the way, and she would continue to her office. That arrangement made things easier for her.
She stayed with me from Monday to Friday and returned to her place in Kasoa on weekends. Then one day, Kate told me she had met an old friend who wanted to give her accommodation closer to her workplace.
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According to her, this friend had a boys’ quarters in her house that nobody was using. She had offered to let Kate stay there, but she needed to discuss it with her husband first.
I was happy for her. Although she was staying with me, the journey to Tema was still stressful. I encouraged her to pursue the opportunity until, a few weeks later, she came home excited. She said her friend had spoken to her husband, and he had agreed to let her stay in the boys’ quarters.
That weekend, she packed everything she had brought to my room and moved out. I helped her with some of her bags. I wanted to accompany her to the house, but she said it wasn’t necessary. According to her, because the couple was doing her a favour, she didn’t want us to inconvenience them with unnecessary visits.
Sometimes, she came on Friday evening and left on Sunday evening. I occasionally asked about her friend who had given her the accommodation. Kate always spoke highly of her. She said the friend treated her like a sister and that her husband was also a good person.
For almost a year, that was our arrangement. Then Kate started talking seriously about marriage. By that time, we had dated for over four years. She told me we had been together long enough and needed to make concrete plans for our future. I agreed with her.
She took me to visit her parents and introduced me as her boyfriend. They welcomed me. Her father asked a few questions about my work and family. Her mother wanted to know when we intended to perform the marriage rites.
We had a good conversation, and they gave us their blessings. We later obtained the marriage list from her family and started buying the items. Everything was going well for our hearts and relationship until one evening, Kate called to tell me she was pregnant.
I didn’t know whether to be happy or worried. She seemed more concerned about what people would say. She told me, “If we don’t want people to suspect anything, we should get married quickly.”
I agreed. After all, we had bought the majority of the things we needed for our wedding. We discussed the situation and decided to bring our wedding date forward. Our plan was to complete the premarital counselling required by our church and marry immediately afterwards.
She spoke to her pastor about it, and we started the counselling. I remember sitting beside Kate during our first session and thinking about how much our relationship had changed over the years. I was happy and was also praying that the pregnancy wouldn’t grow to the point where everyone would suspect us.
We had attended counselling for only one week when I received a phone call from a woman. She introduced herself as Efe. She asked, “Are you Kate’s boyfriend?” I said yes.
She said, “The baby she is carrying might not be yours. She gave it to my husband first before you.”
I couldn’t understand what she meant. I asked, “Madam, who are you?” She answered, “I’m Kate’s friend. The lady who gave her the boys’ quarters to live in.”
I was at work when she called, so I walked outside quickly so I could speak to her properly. She told me Kate had been having an affair with her husband. She asked whether I knew Kate was no longer staying in their boys’ quarters. I told her I wasn’t aware. She said, “My husband rented another place for her three months ago. You don’t know?”
I couldn’t speak.
According to her, she started noticing unusual things between them. She said she later discovered messages between them that suggested their relationship was beyond normal. It was through those messages that she found out her husband had rented another place for Kate.
I asked how she got my number. She said that wasn’t important. I should rather thank her for showing me who the woman I intended to marry truly was.
A few minutes after our conversation, my WhatsApp started receiving messages. There were screenshots of conversations between Kate and Efe’s husband. There were voice notes and even photos. I sat down and went through everything.
I started feeling sick. I called Kate immediately. I asked whether she was having an affair with Efe’s husband, and she got angry. I started narrating everything Efe had told me, including the messages that showed she had first told Efe’s husband about the pregnancy.
She said, “It’s not what you’re thinking. Efe is framing me because her husband got me a new place.”
I asked why Efe would make up such a story, and she started crying on the phone and accused me of believing a stranger over the woman I had dated for four years. I screamed, “She came with evidence. Screenshots. Your own voice notes talking romantically to another woman’s husband.”
For days, I couldn’t concentrate. Our conversations became arguments and serious fights. She kept apologising to me and telling me not to call off the wedding because that would embarrass her family. I called the pastor and told him what had happened. He begged me to come for one more counselling session with her, but I declined. “Nothing will come out of it. I’ve decided not to go ahead with it again.”
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We stopped attending the premarital counselling and suspended all the wedding arrangements. She begged me not to tell her parents. She said she was going to handle that part herself, but I told her dad. The man opened his mouth and didn’t close it for several seconds. “This far, and this is coming up to destroy everything? Her own friend’s husband? Is my daughter well in the head?”
I haven’t completely cut the cord between us. I talk to her sometimes because of the pregnancy. We’re waiting for her to deliver so that we can arrange a paternity test to know who the father of the child is.
If the child turns out to be mine, I’ll take responsibility. If it’s not mine, I will do the sign of the cross and go my way. Our situation is currently the talk of the town. They laugh at us, especially me, for allowing another man to impregnate a woman I was attending premarital counselling with. It’s only time that will determine who has the last laugh. I pray it’s me.
—Bafour
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