I was nineteen when I married Dan. He was twenty-two. In case you are wondering if it was a shotgun wedding, it was not. I was nowhere near pregnant. We were just so in love that we wanted to get married. Our families felt we were too young but that did not discourage us. We knew what we wanted and we were determined to go for it at all cost. Against all odds, we went on to perform the traditional marriage ceremony. We didn’t do a white wedding or a court one. We figured we would wait for a few years to do those ones.

Six months into the marriage, my husband cheated on me with my cousin. The impact of this betrayal hit me more than anything I could fathom. If he had done it with a stranger it would have still hurt but doing it with a member of my family was another level of hell. My heart was broken and scattered all over the place.

Just as they always do when you catch them, he was remorseful. He said he made a mistake. He cried and begged. Eventually, I forgave him. This man who swore heaven and earth that he wouldn’t look at another woman again continued cheating. This time around it was with multiple women. When I got tired of feeling hurt, I started making excuses for him.

I would catch him in the act and tell myself, “He is doing all this because we married too young. At that age, we should have been out there exploring but we chose to tie ourselves to each other. Maybe that’s why he is doing all that.” This is what I kept saying to console my heart. I convinced myself he just needed some time to sow his wild oats and after he is done, he would sober up.

As time passed, he got worse and worse. Yet I continued to cut him some slack. I never fought with him. Even when it became too much for me to bear, I would only sit him down and have a conversation with him. Every time we spoke, he would look like a child who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I am sorry. I don’t know why this keeps happening. Please give me some time to work on it.” This became our routine until I started to see his infidelity as a normal part of our marriage.

Now, here is the thing. At the time we were getting married, I was doing business at my family’s house. Moving away would affect things. He also couldn’t have moved in with me over there. So we came to an agreement that we wouldn’t live together as a couple. We arranged visits whenever we had to see each other. It worked for us despite his indiscretions.

Our living arrangements continued until the business collapsed. At that point, I no longer had anything keeping me in my family house. It was time for me to move in with my husband. While I was excited to start life with him as a live-in wife, my husband was angry that I was living with him. He didn’t even try to be hospitable toward me. Not once.

Right from the moment I moved in, he would go out and return at midnight. Upon his return, he would take a shower, change his clothes, and head to town. He always locked me inside from the outside when he did this.

On days he was at home, he wouldn’t eat my food or talk to me. This was his way of telling me I was not welcome. He didn’t have to sack me. All he had to do was make my life a living hell. I felt like I was crashing a stranger’s party. Nobody wants to stay where they are not wanted.

Without a word, I packed my bags one day and returned to my family’s home. As soon as I moved, peace was restored in the marriage. He started acting like the man I married. We were happy again. This bothered me a great deal but I didn’t want to rock the boat. If living apart was what it would take to keep things running smoothly, so be it.

This guy was so entrenched in his position that even when I got pregnant with our daughter, he still wouldn’t let me move in. He didn’t tell me he didn’t want the pregnancy but his actions showed it. He could go for months without coming to see me. The entire time he was absent, he wouldn’t talk to me. When he managed to come home, he would ignore me and get very angry when I got close to him. I felt unsafe around him.

When the baby arrived, he promised to rent a bigger space and come for us. I saw it as a sign of hope. If he was ready for us then he was changing. No. I found out I was lying to myself. When the child turned one, we were still living in my parents’ house. We had been married for four years at this point. If I tried to remind him of his promise to bring us under the same roof with him, he would get furious.

My friends and family advised me to forcefully pack our stuff and go to him but I said no. What was the essence of living with someone who didn’t want to live with you? Till now, I still feel pain when I remember the treatment he gave me the first time I tried to live with him. So I decided to leave him to his own devices.

I had saved the number of one of the girls he cheated on me with in the past. I never got around to calling her. I even forgot about her existence until I was going through the WhatsApp status of people on my contact. I came across a video on her status. She was with someone who looked like Dan. I opened the video and truly, it was my husband.

The two of them were having a fun time in an expensive restaurant in Accra. This was a man who always told me, “I don’t have money,” every time I asked him for money for our upkeep. I knew he was a lot of things but this was too much.

I texted the girl and introduced myself. She was surprised. “Madam, I didn’t know he is married. He told me he was divorced.” I thanked the girl for giving me that information. If the man says he is divorced then what was I still doing in the marriage? The next day I gave him his rings and told him, “This is not a marriage. Let’s just end things so you can have the freedom to live your life as a single man.” I thought he would be happy, or at least relieved, but he started acting sad.

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He put on the same act that he always did when I caught him cheating. I always fell for it but not this time. I had had enough. He kept apologizing and asking for another chance but it wasn’t something I could do. All I kept thinking about was my mother’s backup stove.

When I was a child, my mum had a metal stove in the kitchen. She cherished it until one day she came home with a new shiny glass stove. She took off the metal stove and kept it in a cupboard. After she fixed the new stove, I asked her why she wouldn’t just throw the metal stove away. She said, “Let it be there. It might come in handy one day.” I watched her treat the new stove like a trophy, constantly cleaning it and keeping it shiny while the backup stove sat in the cupboard gathering dust, hoping to become useful one day.

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This memory from my childhood reminded me of my marriage. I had become the backup metal stove Dan kept in his cupboard, while he flaunted his girlfriend like the new shiny stove. He wouldn’t let me go but wouldn’t commit to making our marriage relevant either.

It was up to me to set myself free. That’s what I did. We were only married traditionally so my family returned his drinks to him. I have my own place in Accra now. I am currently in the university while working to take care of my daughter. Let it not be said of me that I chose to be a backup stove when I could be someone’s shiny glass stove someday.

— Luna

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