When I met Jane, she was struggling with accommodation. She had been living with her elder sister, but when her sister got married, she had to leave. She moved in with a friend who was renting a very small room in an obscure part of town. I visited her there a few times. The room was so small that whenever one person wanted to move around, the other sometimes had to shift things out of the way.

Jane didn’t have a well-paying job, but she was hardworking. She saved whatever little money she made because she wanted to rent a place of her own. I helped her financially whenever I could. Eventually, she raised enough money, with my contribution, and rented a modest room.

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Our relationship continued to grow, and about a year later, I rented a bigger apartment. By then, we had started discussing marriage. I suggested that when her rent expired, she should move in with me. But before we did that, I wanted to speak to her parents. I didn’t want her family to think I had taken their daughter to live with me without their knowledge.

So I went to see them. I explained our plans and assured them that we weren’t moving in together simply because it was convenient. We intended to get married within a year. Her parents listened and gave us their blessing. They advised us to take our marriage plans seriously and warned us against getting pregnant before the wedding.

When Jane’s rent expired, she moved in with me. We arranged the house together, bought a few things, and started enjoying life as a couple. Sometimes, I’d return from work and find her watching television in the living room. Other times, she’d be cooking, and I’d join her in the kitchen. We were that comfortable.

We also continued preparing for our marriage. We discussed the knocking ceremony, the expenses involved, and how we could organise everything without putting ourselves under unnecessary financial pressure.

We had been living together for almost a year when the first crack happened without a sound.

I work as a lab technician at a hospital, so sometimes I do night shifts. One night, while things were quiet at work, I decided to call Jane. I was bored and wanted us to gossip until something came up at work. I called several times. She didn’t answer. The following morning, she told me she had been sleeping.

It happened again. Then a third time. Each time, she had the same explanation. She was sleeping and didn’t hear her phone ringing. One morning, when I returned from work, I checked her phone. My missed calls weren’t on her screen. That only meant she had used her phone after I’d called but didn’t call back. I said, “You were sleeping when I called, right?” She asked me, “You called?”

She then picked up her phone and said, “Oh, you called three times. I was sleeping ooo. Next time, let me know earlier if you will call so I don’t sleep.”

A few weeks later, I called during another night shift. She didn’t answer. This time, I asked permission to leave work briefly and went home. I opened our living room door and saw my girlfriend sitting on the lap of our landlord’s eldest son in the middle of our living room.

For a few seconds, I didn’t know if what I was seeing was real. Immediately they saw me, they jumped apart and started scrambling to put their clothes back in place.

All I could say was, “In my room? Jane, in my room? In my room?”

I nearly collapsed.

I knew that guy very well and knew how many women I’d seen him walk into the house with. He wasn’t even working. He lived in his father’s house and depended largely on his father’s money. Whenever we met in the compound, we greeted each other. Sometimes, we exchanged a few words about football or something happening in the neighbourhood. I had never considered him a threat to my relationship.

Why would I? He knew Jane was my girlfriend. He knew we lived together. He knew we were preparing to get married. His father accorded us the same respect he gave to all the married couples living in his house.

Yet there he was, sitting with her in my living room while I was supposed to be at work.

I screamed so loudly that I frightened myself. “In my room? Jane, you brought him into my room?”

She started shivering and crying. The landlord’s son tried to speak, but I shouted at him to keep quiet. I couldn’t even form proper sentences anymore. I was shaking.

My shouting woke people in the house. Doors opened. People came out to find out what was happening. Our landlord also came downstairs. When he entered and saw his son standing there with Jane, he stopped. He looked at his son, then at Jane, then at me.

He asked what was going on. I couldn’t explain calmly. I was shouting, pointing, and repeating the same things. He was shocked. My landlord knelt before me. He said, “Please, I’m begging you. For my sake, let them go. Calm down and let them go.”

Jane was crying and begging me to forgive her. The landlord held my hand and pulled me out before the two of them could leave the room. She ran out without packing any of her belongings.

The following morning, my landlord called me. He had already sacked his son from the house. He said, “Find another place and relocate. I’ll pay for it and also refund your rent.”

I told him he didn’t have to do that. He explained, “He’s my son. I can sack him today, but I know he might come back. I don’t want him returning while you’re still living here.”

I understood what he was saying and thanked him. A few days later, while I was at work, Jane came to collect her belongings. By the time I returned, her clothes, shoes, and other personal items were gone. We had spent more than a year sharing a home, making plans, and preparing for marriage. Yet that was how she left.

For the next few weeks, I concentrated on finding another apartment. A month after the incident, I got a new place and was ready to move. My landlord paid the rent for my new place and also refunded my old rent to me.

On the day I was leaving, he called me aside and said, “You gave her a place to sleep and made her comfortable. You were preparing to marry her. But in the end, she cheated with a jobless man who can’t even afford his own meals. Think about this before you enter another relationship.”

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I didn’t ask him to explain. I thanked him and left.

It’s been some time since that conversation, but his words have never left me. Anytime a woman comes close to me, I think of Jane and think of what my landlord told me. I can give someone a comfortable home, help them through difficult times, and make plans to marry them, but I still cannot make that person faithful.

I think about this and ask myself, “Can she be faithful?”

I tell myself, “I may never know,” and then move away from her to continue enjoying my single life. I’m not shutting myself out of love. I’m only doing what my landlord asked me to do, and I know that question will one day lead me to a better place.

—Bros  

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