I was seventeen when he found me. What we had didn’t have a name, but we did everything that had a name. He came to help me get a part-time job while I waited for my WASSCE results. He didn’t get me the job, but he got me. I would go to his house and help him clean and cook. He was a good cook, so I learned from him. He touched the fish, squeezed the vegetables, and ended up squeezing my body. The first time it happened was in the kitchen when he hadn’t proposed to me. I asked him, “So who are we now?”

He laughed it off. “We are funny,” he seemed to say.

I was home with him when Alice visited. I was in the kitchen cooking. I overheard him telling Alice, “My sister is cooking something for us.” Alice came to the kitchen to see me. She was so excited she told George, “Oh, your sister is beautiful.”

My heart was burning. I was young and in love with the man who came to save me. This same man was hurting me with his saving hands. I cooked for them, and they ate. They entered the bedroom, and I didn’t see them again until late. I went to knock on the door and told George I was leaving. He responded in his throat. He didn’t even come out to see me off. I cried on my way home.

When we talked, he told me, “You’re too young for us to date. I’m dating this one until you grow up to become my girlfriend.”

Something about that made me happy instead of feeling disrespected. For the first time, he had used “girlfriend” and “me” in the same sentence, so though it hurt to see him and hear him sleeping with Alice, I consoled myself that it would be my turn when I grew up.

For over two years, Alice came in and went out at will. She became my friend and bought me gifts. When she came around and I wasn’t there, she left the gift with George to be given to me. I blessed her for that and cursed her for taking my place. I was bitter and sweet at the same time.

I went to school; George ensured that because my parents couldn’t do much financially. While my parents tried, George’s support was immense. I would leave campus to spend the night with him. He would give me money and take me back to school.

“Is Alice sleeping over tonight?” I asked him. He responded, “Alice and I broke up. It’s only you now.”

I’ve never celebrated a breakup like I did that night. “Finally, it’s my turn,” I told myself. I was twenty years old and at level hundred. Because I knew he was alone, I visited often. I spent the night often. We made love often. It was different. The feeling, the euphoria, the fact that I was alone in his life made me let my guard down. I got pregnant by him. I wasn’t sad or shocked. I was happy to bear his child, but obviously, he said no, so we let it go.

It broke my heart to let a piece of him that I owned go, but I had to. He said I should because of school, and I obeyed. While in pain and grinding my teeth on his sofa, I heard a knock. A lady entered. He held her hand and brought her to where I was sitting. He said, “Meet my junior sister. She’s in school. She came to visit.”

We shook hands, and they entered the bedroom. My pain skyrocketed. I was still bleeding and fresh off the doctor’s table. He didn’t consider that. He used that moment to introduce me to his new girlfriend. I complained bitterly. I cried while beating his chest, “I’m twenty. I’m no longer a kid. You promised me. You did, so why get another woman?”

Gina came and went. Sophia passed through. Rebecca stayed for a year. And then Amina too. I watched from the periphery. It no longer hurt from the third woman. My heart was used to the pain. I concentrated on my books and completed school with good grades. He was there at my graduation. I didn’t have a father. He stood next to my mom as if he was my father.

When I was doing my national service, he broke up with Amina. I couldn’t care. He told me I was his all. I couldn’t feel happiness, but I saw a difference in effort and commitment from him. For the first time, he introduced me to a friend as his girlfriend. He came to my village often, bringing groceries and many good things. I could see I was all he had. That year was supposed to be the best year of our lives, but my heart was dead while his was alive.

I’m working now. Again, he made it possible. We’ve dated for nine years. He proposed marriage last year. I told him I wanted to save something and be my own woman before I could take that step. The truth is, I have no desire to marry him. I’m with him currently as a form of gratitude. I wouldn’t make it permanent. I would like to marry someone new, someone whose past I don’t know,  someone who hasn’t dated a multitude while keeping me in the dark. It still hurts, the things he made me see with my eyes.

I Never Paid Fees Again Until I Completed School

So I’m waiting for the right time to tell him, “Marriage won’t be possible, but I don’t mind hanging around until you find your next girlfriend. You’ve done a lot for this girl here today. I won’t leave you dry, but I won’t make us permanent either. Thank you for everything, but I can’t be your missus.”

He’s a strong guy. He’ll take it very well. I’ve never seen him hurt, so I won’t bank my hope on this one to get him hurt. Or will it? Only time will tell.

—Henrietta

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