There was a queue at the joint, so I stayed behind while my girlfriend was trying to get the food for us. A guy walked past me and called out, “Sconzy!” My girlfriend turned to look at him. The guy continued, “Eii, is that where you are now? You didn’t even tell us anything when leaving. You didn’t try at all.”

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My girlfriend looked at me before asking the guy, “Who are you? Where do you know me from? And who is Sconzy?” The guy responded, “Oh, stop that…” Then my girlfriend started addressing me, trying to ask me to intervene. Those in the queue murmured:
“If she doesn’t know you, why don’t you stop it?”
“Maybe she resembles someone else.”

The guy kept looking at her and then shook his head before saying, “Eiii, Sconzy.”

Honestly, the guy looked believable. He sounded so sure that he knew my girlfriend. After we finished buying and leaving, he stood there watching us until we entered the car and drove away. I didn’t say anything, but she kept talking and talking, trying to explain what happened away: “Maybe he thought I was alone and was trying to hit on me. Can you imagine? Sconzy? From where?”

Our relationship was only three months old. We met at a friend’s wedding and exchanged numbers. At first, she said she went to the wedding because of the bride. Later in the relationship, she unconsciously said she didn’t know the lady but was there because of another friend.

When the Sconzy issue happened, I realized how little I knew the woman I was dating. She said she was from the Northern region but hadn’t lived there. Later, she said she was from Takoradi, but her family was scattered all over Ghana. She told me her dad was dead, her mom remarried, and her stepdad hated her, so she left home. Later, she said something that contradicted that story.

I decided I was going to find out someway, somehow. The answer was on her phone. One night, I used her fingerprint to open the phone while she was sleeping. I typed “Scon…” before I could add the ‘zy’, and a lot of messages came up containing that name. She was in a WhatsApp group that had a suspicious name: “Night Angels.”

It was a group for hookup girls. They called her Sconzy. In the group, they discussed customers who were dangerous and even shared pictures of guys they had encountered who didn’t treat them well. There were areas they were warning each other not to go.

She operated in Takoradi, Tamale, and then Accra. The guy was right. He knew her. Going through her messages made me shiver. I tapped her to wake up. Immediately, she saw her phone in my hand and shuddered. I said, “So you’re Sconzy?” She buried her face in her palms. She answered, “That was long ago.” I retorted, “A week ago isn’t long ago—or do you think I didn’t read that?”

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We are no longer a thing. That very night marked the end of the road for us. Maybe she flew back to join her other angels—I don’t know. But whenever I think of all the things I’ve done to her and with her, my system breaks down. I feel like I need a spiritual cleansing or to be born again—literally—to be able to be whole again.

—Marfo

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