I sat in a man’s car, and we became friends. He would pick me up after work because his office was close to mine. He would drive me to where it was easier for me to get a ride home. When he got my number, he called often, and when I sat in his car, no topic was out of bounds. I liked his vibe, and each day brought us closer.
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One day after work, he said, “Today, let me drive you to your house. I want to see where you live.”
I screamed, “No, you don’t have to. Where I live is very far and also in the bush. The road is so bad you may need to send your car to the repair shop after taking me home.”
I wasn’t lying. I lived on the outskirts of Pokuasi, a new site in the armpit of Samsam. It was never easy to access the road there, so we mostly made do with motorbikes. And in the evening after 7 p.m., it was very hard to get a motorbike home. I tried to stop him, but he was eager to take me home, so I allowed him. That day, he met my mom, and she thanked him. I’d already mentioned him to my mom as the man who gave me a ride from work.
My life story is a complicated one when you look at it from a financial perspective. I’m from a very poor background. I didn’t experience any form of luxury growing up. Dad left. Mom was the only one pulling strings to make life possible for me. So when this man came and started doing things for me out of his free will, I saw him as a gift from God.
He had a girlfriend, but the lady wasn’t living in town. Knowing he had a girlfriend assured me that our relationship was always going to be a platonic one. I had a boyfriend too, a guy I started dating when I was in school. I told him about my guy, and he was fine with it.
One evening, while going home after work, when I was about to get to where I usually got out, he told me he would like to drive me home but before that, he wanted to pick something from the house quickly and give it to a friend before we went. I said fine, so he drove to his house and asked if I would come inside or wait in the car. I said I would wait for him in the car.
He went upstairs to his room, came back to tell me that his phone was low on battery, and would like to charge it for a few minutes before we left. I said OK, and he insisted I come up to his room and wait while he charged the phone.
His place was nothing like anything I’d seen before. The whole place looked and felt like it was decorated for a king. He had everything imaginable. I looked around and told him he had a nice place. He asked if I would drink something, and I said water. He went to the fridge and returned with many different kinds of drinks and asked me to choose one. I was like, “Wow, he has all these in his house?”
I picked one and started drinking. He turned on the AC and the TV and left while I sat alone in the hall. Ten minutes felt like forever. I looked at the time, and it was around 8 p.m. I called him and asked if the phone had charged a little. He quickly came, checked the phone, and said we should leave.
He drove to the roadside, parked, and told me to wait in the car while he delivered the item to his friend. When he left, he left his phone inside the car. Three hours later, I was still in the car—angry, agitated, but with no choice but to wait because I couldn’t call him. My mom kept calling and calling, and each time I told her I was with the man.
When he came back, he apologized profusely. I said, “I’m not worried about how long you took, but the fact that you’re taking me home. You know it’s a dangerous area I live in—the nature of the road, the obscure corner. Anything at all can go wrong.” He calmly said, “Then spend the night with me. Early morning, I’ll take you home.”
I called my mom and told her. She wasn’t happy but asked me to be careful. He took me back to his place, asked what I would eat, and prepared it for me. When it was time to sleep, we shared his bed. He slept at one end while I curled up at the other. That was where we both remained until morning. He didn’t get close to me or make any move. My trust for him shot up to the ceiling.
So most Fridays after work, I didn’t go home. I spent the weekend at his house. We would cook together, watch movies, and have all the fun in the world, but all that while, he didn’t make a move on me. He’d take me to the salon and pay for it. He’d buy every food I ever requested. My heart was falling for him, but my head was steadfast in love with my boyfriend.
I’d talk with my boyfriend in his presence, and he wouldn’t bother. Even at night while in bed together, I’d be speaking to my boyfriend, and he wouldn’t care. When I told him I was interested in makeup, he held my hand, took me to a makeup school, and paid for it. He only had to spot what I needed, and he would do it for me.
My phone was in a very bad state. The screen had broken to the extent that pieces of it got stuck to my cheeks each time I received a call. One of those weekends we spent together, he asked me to pick a box of biscuits for him in the kitchen. I opened the box, and there was an iPhone inside. I screamed and kept jumping until he asked, “Who told you to open the box?” 😁😁
He decorated the phone with all the accessories and handed it to me. He was doing all these things for me when we were just friends—not even a kiss, not holding my hand, not even trying to make a move on me, though we spent nights together.
My boyfriend saw the phone and asked how I got it, so I narrated the whole story to him. The next thing he said was, “Go and give the phone back to him. Is he the one to buy you a phone?”
I loved my boyfriend. I wanted to return the phone, but on second thought—and based on what a friend told me—I decided to keep it. One Friday evening, as usual, I knew I was going to spend the weekend with the man, so early around 7 p.m., I told my boyfriend I’d gotten home. Then I left my phone in the man’s car. It wasn’t intentional, but when I remembered, I didn’t go for it.
Unbeknownst to me, all evening my mom had been calling my phone to ask if I would come home or not. When she didn’t get through to me, she called my boyfriend to ask if I was with him and if he would let me come home.
That was the end of our relationship. We didn’t fight. He didn’t even confront me. He just blocked me, and I also didn’t bother to call with another line to explain things to him. Maybe he was sick and tired of me, so he let go.
A few months later, this man and his girlfriend got married.
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I was crushed to pieces. He didn’t even have the courage to tell me he was getting married. I had to find out through rumors and also by accident. I decided that since he was married, I wasn’t going to be friends with him again. But guess what? He came right after his wedding to propose to me, saying that he had realized I was the one he actually wanted and that his marriage was a mistake he would correct soon.
No, I’m not going to date a married man. It ends here, no matter what!
—Adadziwa
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