When we had our second child, I was teaching in the Eastern Region. My husband would travel every single weekend from Accra to make sure I had enough time to rest before another demanding week began. He would usually order soups and stews from Accra for me because he understood how exhausting it was to care for two toddlers almost single-handedly. He would come around and help with the washing and cleaning to give me a break. It was the way we had always lived, and we were comfortable with it. But not that lady, my landlady.
One day, my landlady made a rather disturbing comment. In her words, “Your husband has really made you a lazy wife. What kind of woman are you? You have turned someone’s strong man into a woman.” All because my husband helped around the house.
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I wondered why she couldn’t be happy for me. This woman, I heard, was trapped in a very toxic marriage. Her husband used her face as a punching bag. Many times, he had dragged her out of the house naked.
She would call my husband aside and tell him to show me that “women are built to endure hardships. Show her you are the man. Show her.”
So, one day, after I had had enough, I walked to her door, knocked and gave her a very stern warning. “I am not the one who made you suffer in your marriage. Leave me alone.” After that confrontation, she stopped speaking to me, and I didn’t mind.
One of my son’s socks went missing days later. I assumed we hadn’t washed all the pairs. He was six months old and was already sitting and trying to stand. But then, all of that stopped. He wouldn’t even crawl or sit. My mother’s instinct told me something was wrong. I took him to the hospital, but after examining him, the doctors couldn’t identify anything wrong. A few weeks later, I took him to Koforidua St. Joseph’s Hospital for another examination. Again, they couldn’t find anything wrong.
As soon as we got to the hospital, our son would suddenly appear perfectly fine. He would play, crawl and even pull himself up to stand. The doctors would see this and ask me to stop worrying. To everyone, we were just being paranoid. So, we started taking videos of him lying there as if he had no bones in his body. Those videos were going to be our only proof.
I wasn’t able to sleep. Fear gripped me, so I shared the problem with a colleague of mine at work. She introduced me to a woman herbalist.
I decided to visit the woman without my husband’s knowledge. Knowing that he came from a strict Christian background, I was certain he wouldn’t agree to it. Before I even got the chance to explain why I had come, the woman interrupted me and said she already knew the reason for my visit. She revealed that someone had filled my son’s sock with ashes and that the person was trying to cripple my child.
She bathed my son with herbs and gave me some to sprinkle behind my window. “The person who stole the sock will bring it back.” I did as I was told.
My husband arrived very late that Thursday evening. He told me he had felt a strong urge to come and see us, so he decided to make the journey.
What happened the following Friday morning was something else entirely. Our landlady woke us up with a barrage of insults. Remember, this was a woman who hadn’t spoken to me in almost three months. Suddenly, she was shouting my name, calling me a witch and accusing me of wanting to make her mad. She accused me of trying to disgrace her.
Initially, we weren’t even sure she was referring to us. But when she started banging on our door, we knew something was happening.
My husband opened the door, and we found our son’s missing sock lying right in front of it. The sock was so dirty that we didn’t think it belonged to our child. I warned my husband not to touch it and called the herbalist. We poured urine on it and sent it to her as she had instructed. She bathed our son with another set of herbs, and she asked us to burn the sock.
My husband was completely unaware of everything I had done. He was clueless. It was only after we returned from the herbalist that I confessed everything to him. I am a mother, and I wasn’t going to let anything happen to my son.
A day or so after we burnt the sock, my landlady stopped walking. There was no news of a stroke or any other health issues. She simply woke up one day and couldn’t move her legs. To this day, she hasn’t been able to move them on her own. That was what she wanted to do to my son.
When A Man Cheats And Doesn’t Disrespect You, It Should Be OK
When all was said and done, we went to show our appreciation to the herbalist and moved out of town, far, far away. We left the town in 2022. Then, in 2025, I received a call from one of my former colleagues, who told me that my landlady was looking for my number. Whatever she wants to tell me, I am honestly not interested.
One thing that experience taught us is that we have never been comfortable leaving our clothes, especially our children’s clothes, hanging outside unattended. To this day, we make sure our clothes are within our sight. Some experiences stay with you forever.
—Amy
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Hmmm, this is the second time I’m reading such a story within the week on this page and it’s kinda worrying. May God protect His children and expose the evil ones.