Last year October, I ran out of LPG and went to refill at the Weija SCC gas station. After I paid the attendant, I needed to pay for the ride home but was low on cash, so I stopped at a nearby Momo vendor to withdraw GHC10. The vendor said the withdrawal would cost me 50 pesewas, so I should rather transfer the money directly to his account.

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“Doing that will still cost me 50 pesewas so just do the withdrawal,” I insisted.

He didn’t want to do it, and I felt going back and forth was wasting the driver’s time. So I just sent him the money and he gave me the cash.

Months after that encounter, I found myself working logistics for Accra Fashion Week in December that same year. At the program, I saw a man in a black suit with two white ladies walking the red carpet. He looked familiar, so I approached him and introduced myself.

“I feel I know you somewhere, but I don’t remember where.”

“Your face looks familiar to me as well, but I also can’t tell where I know you.”

Regardless, he gave me his number and asked me to contact him for a gig after the program. I saved it as “Fashion Show,” since I didn’t know his name.

As the program went on, I kept trying to recall where I knew him from. Then the memory came back—he was the same Momo vendor from Weija. Immediately, I texted him to confirm. He laughed and said yes. He even sent me a view-once video of himself flashing bundles of $100 bills, surrounded by four different women. I quickly changed his contact name to “MTN Momo Merchant – Weija.”

Weeks later, around 2:00 AM, I was returning from Labadi Beach when he called me on WhatsApp. At first, I hesitated to pick up, but eventually, I called him back. I explained I had been busy, and that’s why I hadn’t reached out since the show. Then I asked him to tell me about the job he had for me.

“Before I tell you anything, how old are you?”

When I told him, he said I was too young for the gig. I was stunned into silence. That night I didn’t push further but the next morning, I kept thinking: What kind of job requires someone to be older? Then I remembered him with the white women at the show and the video he sent. My mind started racing—could it be he was involved in some kind of intimacy gig with the women?

I didn’t share this suspicion with my friends, but one of them encouraged me to ask him for a chance to prove myself, since I also work as a Virtual Assistant.

On January 15th, I sent him a message and asked him to give me a one- or two-week probation to prove I could handle the job. I assured him I wasn’t afraid of challenges as long as they didn’t involve anything dangerous and dishonest.

The next day, he called. After confirming I lived alone, the first thing he asked was, “Are you good in bed?” I laughed, because I knew where the conversation was heading. I had my suspicions and was ready for the job.

I was not disappointed. He revealed that the “gig” was what I suspected: he worked with white women who liked big things. I didn’t mind meeting these white women, but the kind of questions he asked me made me uncomfortable.

He asked if I had a girlfriend, when I was last intimate, and even requested a photo of my joystick. I told him I didn’t like the turn of our conversation. That was when he confessed that he wanted me for himself. He said he played for both teams but his boyfriend was out of the country, so he would like me to fill the void.

I flatly told him, “No, I am not into that life.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to try me? I have helped two guys travel abroad. I can help you too.”

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I still said I wasn’t interested. He offered to buy me boxer shorts and singlets from a woman passing by. I refused. He was relentless. He said he would give me money if I could turn him on. That was the last straw. I hung up.

I didn’t block him immediately, but that evening, while I was out buying waakye, he called again. This time, I declined the call and hit the block button.

Three Months After Our Breakup, He Got Married

I was broke and needed money but I wasn’t desperate enough to bend my morals. I told myself, “If this is the only way I can make money, then let me starve.” The good news is that the same evening, I met another man at the waakye joint who offered me a legitimate job to help with his e-commerce business. I believe it was the universe rewarding me for not cheapening myself all in the name of money.

Shortly after that bizarre experience, I was financially stable enough to afford to rent a new place and move out of Weija. All I am saying is, no situation is hopeless enough for you to lower your standards. Stick to your values and put in the hard work, and see if life will not bless your efforts.

—Paul D.

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