I was at a job interview some years ago. One of the ladies on the panel asked me, “What have you done recently to show strength?” I answered, “I forgave a cheating wife.” They were all silent for a while. That wasn’t the answer they expected, I knew it but that was the only thing that came to mind when she asked me that question. The two women on the panel had smiles on their lips. The man—the only man among the women had a stern look on his face trying to remain indifferent. He said, “Can you repeat what you said?” I said slowly, “I forgave a cheating wife.” The woman said “Wow…” The man asked, “So, you’re still living with her?” I said, “Yes. Yes. We are still together.” He said, “Wow.” I nodded my head as I looked forward to the next set of questions.

It was an interview for a very important role. They didn’t care about my marital life so they didn’t probe further to know what happened. But since this place is not an interview session, let me share the details here with you. 

I and my wife were schoolmates. We completed the same year and were out there looking for a job. Those days we posted letters. You go through the newspapers, find a job that suits your qualification and apply. You’ll write a letter and enclose it with your CV. You’ll pray over the letter before you post it. Not all letters got into the hands of the people who needed them. You prayed and said, “God I need this job. Don’t let my letter get missing in transit. Don’t let my letter get into the hands of the cleaner. This letter is not for him. Don’t let this letter get into the hands of an angry manager. Those guys usually throw things away. Let it get into the right hands. The hands that can pull the strings to get me employed. Amen.”

After praying that lengthy prayer, you kiss the letter and slide it through the post office inlet. I wrote several letters and got nothing back. Matilda, my girlfriend then wasn’t good at writing application letters so I did it for her. I sent only three letters in her name. Out of the three, she got two interviews. Out of the two interviews, she got a job. When she got her letter of appointment, she ran to my house, screaming out of joy, “They gave me the offer! They gave me the job!” 

I took the letter from her hand. I read it. I read the terms and I read the salary portion. Everything looked good. I said, “Congratulations. I’m damn happy for you.” I was happy for her but it didn’t stop me from being jealous of her feat. I was the one writing the letters for her. We were living in Potsin, a little village closer to Winneba. I had to travel to Winneba to post the letters I wrote for her. I had First class. How come she got a job first? Isn’t any justice in the world? But she was my girlfriend. I had nothing but goodwill for her. 

When it was time for her to travel to Accra to start working, I was the one who carried her things to the station. Months later, I had an interview in Accra. I went to where she lived for the first time and said, “How were you able to rent this place?” She said, “Me? Rent this place? Where is the money? It came as part of my employment package but someone had to leave before I could have it.” She was living the dream while I was home praying over letters before posting them.

But one thing I will always give to her was her commitment to our relationship. She had a job but didn’t look down on me. She didn’t decide on anything without consulting me. Whenever I traveled to Accra and stayed with her, she treated me with respect and the care I deserved. I had nothing. All I owned was a black trousers and a blue shirt and a red tire I wore to all the interviews I attended. But this girl didn’t look at that. She was exposed to better men who had it all and had good fashion sense than I did but she stayed committed to the love we had.

Two years later I had a job. Yeah, it took two years before my letter got into the right hand. The offer wasn’t good. The pay wasn’t great. It was just something to help me break even. I was underutilized and underpaid but it was better than nothing so I took it. The work was in Accra. It meant I would be closer to Matilda. It was also one of the reasons I took that job. 

At first, I stayed with my uncle in Fadama. My office was in Adabraka. From my uncle’s home to the station was a ten minutes walk distance. By the time I get to the station, my black shoes would be looking like brown shoes. The dust was the enemy. So I had a shoe polish in my bag. Every morning when I sat in the trotro, I will take off my shoes and shine them again before putting them on. I was damn poor and it affected my confidence. Tilly didn’t give up on me. I worked. I saved money. Two years later I rented my own place. Two years after I moved out, I married Matilda. We dated for nine years. It wasn’t my fault. It was the fault of the system that refused to reward me with a good job. 

When we got married, we put resources together and rented a comfortable place, where we can start our new life as a married couple. Matilda was earning better than I was earning. She provided for most of the things in the house without complaining. Whenever I went on my knees and prayed, I said, “God, thanks for the gift of a woman who understands what it takes to be a wife. She’s the reason I’m staying afloat, She’s the reason I can afford sufficiency. Bless her. Bless her work. Bless the owners of her company who are making this possible. Bless your boy too with a new job. I need it.” 

Somedays Matilda came home late. I mean very late that it made me unhappy. I couldn’t complain a lot. She said it was about her job. Sometimes she had to do overtime. Sometimes she had to travel with her manager and they don’t get back to Accra early. I complained it would affect her health. I told her to take time off. “If you’re doing it for us, then it’s ok. I’m happy with what we already have. Stop killing yourself for us.” I told her.

She returned from work one late night. She wasn’t looking happy. I asked what the issue was but she said it was just tiredness. I knew Matilda. She was a working horse. Nothing could make her too tired to look that dull. But she wasn’t ready to talk about it so I left it there. One early Saturday morning, I was changing gears in my sleep when she tapped me on the shoulder to wake up. I turned on my left and said sluggishly, “Can’t it wait until I wake up?” She said, “I’m seeing another man.” My sleepy eyes got cleared. I got up immediately and sat at the edge of the bed. I asked, “What did you say?” She said, “I’m seeing another man.”

“Tilly, it’s too early for such jokes. You’re seeing another man? What is that supposed to mean?”

It turned out that “I’m seeing another man” was the short version of her story but since the longer version always makes sense, let’s get into that one. 

After the interview that got her the job. One of the panelists got closer to her and promised to give her the job if only she could open up to him. So that very day, he took her home and asked her to come around anytime she was ready to take the job. The job looked good. She thought about it for days and decided to go for it. The man slept with her that very day but it wasn’t something the man intended to do it once. He wanted to keep her as a girlfriend but in her mind, she wanted to go through once and get the job then leave him dry. 

She got the job but she never stopped talking to the man. The man kept throwing good things her way just to keep sleeping with her. Do you remember what I said in paragraph six when I first went to her house? She told me her accommodation came with the offer, you remember? It was that man who rented the place for her. And then we got married. She thought the man would leave her alone but he kept coming. He kept asking for more. All the travels she told me were with her boss were lies. She was traveling around with that man. When she regained her senses and wanted to run from it, the man threatened to reveal her deeds to me if she tried. So she stuck around until the weight of her guilt weighed her down.

I packed everything I owned (not a lot) and left the house for my uncle’s place in Fadama. I told her, “This marriage is over. You’re a snake under grass. How could you do this to me? What did I do wrong to deserve this? Do you think confessing your sins turns them from scarlet to snowy white? You’re a devil, Tilly. We are over.”

She watched me rant for several minutes while she sat there sobbing. She didn’t try to stop me from leaving. She didn’t say a word after the confession. She watched as I packed my blue shirt and black trousers into a tiny bag. You’ll think dating someone for nine years is enough to know them in and out. You’ll think if she’s good to you she won’t cheat. You’ll think if she treats you with all the respect in this world then she’s an angel. You’ll think your marriage has a firm foundation because you’ve never fought. It takes just a day. A morning when you are still asleep. It takes just a tap on the shoulder for you to lose all that perception because life isn’t the vibrant colors of the rainbow. 

I sat in a Fadama bound trotro and I cried. If someone I knew saw me he would have said, “Today you didn’t polish your shoes. You chose to cry instead.” Life throws lemons. In my case, life threw onions. I cut them and then I shed tears. My uncle wanted to know why I’d return. I only cried. His wife asked if my wife was dead. I only cried. I stopped going to work. I stopped going out. I stopped eating for days. I kept myself in the room, forgetting the world outside. In the morning, the sunshine seeped through the little spaces in the window. That was when I realized it was a new day. Everything faded. When I gathered the courage to discuss the issues with my uncle and his wife, they asked what I was going to do. I said, “What do you mean by what I’m going to do? The marriage is over.”

“Take your time,” my uncle said. “Heal first before anything. And don’t tell anyone about it until this whole thing ends where it would end.” My uncle knew my wife very well. He liked her. I sensed his bias but I wasn’t falling for it. My wife came around often, asking me to forgive. She spoke through my uncle and spoke through my uncle’s wife. She asked for permission to talk to me. I told her I wasn’t ready to talk. Three months later, in the presence of my uncle and his wife, my wife asked for forgiveness. She talked about the regret and said, “I will do everything to have a second chance. Don’t forgive but give me the chance to earn your forgiveness.”

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Her voice started penetrating the walls of my defense. She was a good woman. She had become everything to me. It was the reason why it hurt the way it did. Slowly, I welcomed the idea of forgiveness. She didn’t give excuses. She didn’t assign blames. That did it for me. My uncle’s voice too. It echoed behind that of my wife, asking me to forgive; “She confessed. That means more than what she had been through. Look how remorseful she appears. Temper justice with mercy.” 

The road to forgiveness was shorter than starting all over again with someone new. So I laid down my demands. What I wanted to see and what I wanted to change. She said, “If you want me to leave the job and stay home, I will.” The job wasn’t the problem because the man wasn’t working there. I told her to cut links with anything that has to do with the man but also give me space to heal completely.

We started all over again. I never thought I would ever trust her again but as time went on, the heaviness on my heart got lighter. She did what she said she would do and was always where she could be seen. Slowly the pain faded. Slowly the love crept back. Slowly the trust walked in through the back door. It’s been fourteen years and counting since that incident. We’ve been happier. Our kids have never seen us fight. It’s something I pray they take into their marriage. They don’t know the full story yet. We don’t intend to tell them. Instead, we teach them what it means to forgive.

My job wasn’t paying well, remember? I only complained but did nothing to make it better. After the cheating incident, I accepted that I needed a new job. If I was going to be the man of the house, I should be the one to have a better job so I can own my position in the house. I started applying for jobs. I started attending interviews. It was one of those interviews that I was asked that question. The answer I gave was honest. If you’re able to go through the pain of forgiving a cheating partner, feel free to add it as an achievement on your CV. It’s not an easy feat. 

Weeks later, I got a call from HR. He said, “Forgiving husband, we are glad to tell you that you got the offer.” My finances changed. No, our finances changed. I got my confidence back. I became the man I should have been right from the start.

–Acheampong 

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