My ex-boyfriend landed in my ward sometime ago. I wasn’t on duty when he was admitted. I came in the morning to find him covered in a sheet and peacefully sleeping. He had scrotal swelling. I looked at his face and smiled. Only God knows what was going through my head.

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A few weeks prior, we were a thing. I spent nights at his house, and he did the same. One early morning, when I closed from night shift, I decided to stop by his place and spend my day there while he went to work. His place was more peaceful than mine. I got there and knocked, but it took him forever to answer the door. I could hear his voice and movement in the room, but he kept asking me to wait. Several minutes later, he came to open the door.

Immediately I entered, he said, “I can explain.”

A lady was seated on his sofa, looking like she had just resurrected from the dead after three days in the tomb. You didn’t need any special intelligence to decode the situation. He said, “She’s not anything to me. She came to Accra from our hometown and got stranded, so I decided to offer her a place to sleep.”

I’m a lady. I didn’t want to act on what was going on inside me. I entered the bedroom, put my bag down, and sat on the bed. Exactly where I sat was a red panty. I lifted it up and showed it to the lady. She nodded and quickly came for it. My boyfriend covered his face with his palm. He said, “Yeah, she slept in the bed, and I slept in the hall.”

A panty tells a story without saying a word. It’s very easy to identify a panty that was patiently taken off and one that was taken off in a rush because something was about to happen. The latter rolls into the shape of an intestine. That’s exactly how I found this panty. I still didn’t utter a word. This lady hurriedly put herself together, all the while looking at me, maybe suspecting I was going to pull a foul play.

I watched while she did everything and left the room. When the two of us were left alone, he told me, “I don’t mind staying home today so we can settle this. I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.” I asked, “So you still insist she came from your hometown?” He answered, “Oh yeah, I can call Kobby so you can verify.”

I told him, “Since you’re so eager to prove yourself innocent, let’s make it easy. Show me the last chat between you and this lady. That’s the only way I can believe you.”

He looked up at the ceiling and then said, “Okay, you’ve caught me, but here’s the thing…” I didn’t let him say whatever he was planning to say. I said, “Just go to work and let me rest. We’ll talk about it when you return.”

When he left, I gathered my belongings, packed them in a small bag, locked his door, placed the key under his doormat, and left.

I sent him a message: “I’ve left your place and your life. Don’t bother because nothing will change my mind.”

Of course, he called. He texted and sent voice notes, but I didn’t turn back. If they do it to you once and you don’t show any form of pain, they’ll do it to you again. I handled the situation as if it wasn’t hurting, but my core was being ripped apart by what I saw. A few months later, he was in a hospital bed suffering from scrotal swelling. His scrotum had become so big he couldn’t walk without the world thinking he was hiding a ball between his legs.

When he woke up and saw me, he jerked off, like he was seeing a ghost. I asked how he was feeling, and he said he was better than the night before. I said, “Can I check?”

It wasn’t in my place to see, but I intentionally asked him to show it to me. He was uncomfortable, but I was in charge—the nurse on duty. I put my gloves on, held the thing, and pushed it side to side. I carried it in my palm and asked, “How does it feel?” He answered, “Painful!” I whispered, “It looks rounded like a tennis ball. Are you sure you didn’t do anything evil?”

After the doctor’s visit, I went back to his bed and said, “The doctor says you’ll be fine soon, but you need constant checking. Let me see again.”

I went through the same process again, weighing it and asking what the last thing he did before it swelled was. Until my shift was over, I was on him. When I was handing over to the next nurse, I told her, “Check the balls every few hours to see if there’s improvement.”

With my straight face and looking at the file, he didn’t suspect we were messing with him. When I was leaving, I asked if he needed anything, and he jokingly said, “Bring me light soup when you’re coming to work tomorrow.”

I did. I brought him a very hot light soup, just the way he wanted it. When I put the bowl of soup on his locker, I asked to see progress. Immediately after I touched it, there was an erection. I screamed, “Eiii bra, even in this your situation?”

Maybe he was embarrassed or didn’t care, but he didn’t utter a word. When I was leaving that day, I told him, “I’m hearing rumors you’ll have surgery if there’s no visible improvement tomorrow.” He said, “Ah, how come? I thought I was doing better!” I retorted, “Stop entering snake holes to save yourself, but you won’t listen.”

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He was discharged on my off day, so I wasn’t there to see him. He called to thank me. When I congratulated him, he told me he was still waiting for me to forgive what happened and be his again. “I thought I’d moved on,” he said. “But see what happened the other day when you held it. I missed those days.”

“The devil is deceiving you,” I responded. “Find redemption in the Lord, or the next time you come, I’ll cut it off.”

—Irene

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