When I moved to the USA to stay with my parents, I was mostly left alone with the nanny. Not that my parents were absent, not at all. They had to go to work, and because of that they needed someone at home with me.

At age 12, they finally found a nanny they both liked. The others had been problematic, but this one was different. They trusted her. I came to like her too.

She made things easy for my mom. Everything my mom would have struggled to do because of her schedule, she handled effortlessly. She was much older than me, but she talked to me like a friend. She would complain about her fiancé while serving me food or sitting with me in the living room. He did this, he did that. He had no time for her. Their relationship lacked communication, no intimacy, and sometimes she felt he was cheating. When she was done complaining about him, she look me in the eye and say “Don’t become like him, when you grow up, okay”

One night, I felt hands caressing me. When I opened my eyes, it was her, lying beside me. I didn’t know what to do. She said she would teach me. And she did.

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My parents were not home that night. After that, it became a thing. Even when they were home, we always found a way. Everything I know now, she placed in my hands, showed me, guided me. It became normal. Some days I was too greedy to let go of the feeling, so I skipped school just to be with her. That was how the addiction started.

I was later sacked from the school for trying to have sex with a Spanish girl I was schooling with.

I went on to college and became a school athlete. That gave me exposure. I became popular on campus. I used that opportunity. I slept with many women, on campus and off campus, from different backgrounds. If I am being honest, I lost count. I explored everything in skirts, every nationality, different faces, different bodies. If I didn’t have someone, I couldn’t sleep. I felt empty, and I hated that feeling.

The only time I restrained myself was when I was in London for a marathon. During that time, I met a Fijian lady. I planned to be with her after the race, but I just couldn’t. She stayed in my memory, but something held me back.

Years later, after COVID, I relocated to Ghana. I got married to my wife, a beautiful woman. We have been married for four years now, but no child. My wife does not like my sexual fantasies. She says I am the strangest man she has been with. She does not like how I approach sex. Anytime she denies me, I go out and cheat. Our marriage is breaking, and I am not happy.

Recently, I keep asking myself why not reach out to the Fijian lady. I still have her contact, and we talk sometimes. It feels like something unfinished, something waiting.

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I have spent the best part of my life swimming in something that was planted in me. Since then, it has followed me everywhere. In school, in college, across countries, across different women, different faces. It never really left. If I go to her, if I finally have that moment I denied myself, will it end there? Will it queit the storm inside me? Will it take her out of my system and give me some kind of normalcy?

Because right now, it feels like I have been running in circles my whole life. And for some reason, she feels like the last stop. Like if I get there, I might finally rest. Like I might finally feel whole.

—Kudjo

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