When we started dating, he wanted it every day. He could see me every day of the week and wanted to do it on each of those days. I didn’t want it that much, so I complained a lot. Sometimes we fought about it. He told me, “When you love someone, you want to do things to her as often as you can.”

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Sometimes he would need me to do things for him, but I would wait until he wasn’t in the house, and then I would go in there and do whatever he wanted me to do. Regardless of everything, he didn’t lie when he said he loved me. He was intentional about us and introduced me to his family very early in the relationship. His mom cornered me and said, “Make sure he marries you. I don’t mind if you use Juju on him.”

We dated for six months and later got married. I didn’t see myself marrying anybody else but him. He was kind and very considerate. If you put aside the sex that he wanted every day, he did magic in my life. He came through for me often and made the troubles of life lighter for me to bear.

After marriage, nothing changed. Sometimes he would do it three times a day, especially on the days when we stayed home all day. I didn’t complain much. I gave it to him when he wanted it. With time, I grew used to the fact that I couldn’t escape, so I came to expect it. If in the evening he fell asleep and didn’t do it, I knew he would wake up at dawn and do one for the evening he missed and another one for the dawn we were in.

So when the time came for me to travel, I was worried for him. I asked how he was going to survive. He made a joke out of it and said, “If it becomes too much for me to bear, I will travel to Nigeria and come and hit and return.”

I was only going away for two months, but I knew how long two months meant for us as a couple.

We were on the phone every day. I was the first to call and the last to call. At night, I made sure I called him at weird hours to ensure that truly my man was alone and waiting for my return. Unfortunately, instead of two months, I had to spend three months and a week. Our contract was extended for a month, and we had to complete it before coming back to Ghana.

The day I came back, I noticed a change in him. He wasn’t eager to do it like I anticipated. For the first time in our relationship, I had to ask for it before he did. I knew him. I’d been with him for over a year, so I’d seen all the seasons of him. When a man hasn’t done it for a long time, his well swells. Once he’s able to hit after a long break, you should expect a downpour of sperm, but his was different. What came out that day was so little and light, almost like water. No substance.

His lack of interest also told a bigger story. I wanted him to be honest with me, but he defended himself and even accused me of being overly suspicious. “You think I couldn’t live without intimacy? Was I born being intimate with everyone?”

A lot had changed within three months. The toilet hours got longer, the need to be alone increased, he went to work and came back very late. It was like I was seeing a downgraded version of the marriage I left behind three months ago. “Dear, tell me the truth. Too many things don’t look the same. What has changed?”

So one day, he was in the toilet when I pushed the door open. He had been there for a long time with his phone, so I thought he might be chatting with another woman, hence the delay. What I saw is the reason I’m sharing this story. I wish he was chatting with a woman or even in the toilet with another woman.

He was comfortably seated on the bowl, ‘taking matters into his own hands’ while watching gay videos. He was too far gone; immediately when I entered, he spilled out. He was talking to me while he was dripping. When I saw what he was watching, I shouted, “Jesus!”

“Why that video?” I asked.
“That wasn’t what I was watching at first. It changes automatically, so when this one came on, I didn’t see it.”

I didn’t drag it or fight him. Yes, I withdrew a little to register my displeasure, but when the apology kept coming, I slowly warmed my way back into his hands. But I wasn’t stupid. I was determined to get to the bottom of the issue, and that’s exactly what I did.

The other guy is his colleague in the office. Bald-headed with a lot of beads. He looks very masculine and responsible—you wouldn’t think that about him. In their relationship, they are both men who like men. No one plays the woman. They take turns on each other.

From their chats and the kind of videos they’d sent to each other, it was obvious no one played the woman. The video I caught him watching while ‘taking matters into his own hands’ was a video he made with that colleague, but that day, I didn’t see their faces. Everything happened within a split second, so I didn’t get the time to analyze it very well.

He’s telling me all that change happened while I was away. He became that kind of man in the three months that I was away. How is that possible? He’s not telling me the whole truth, and that’s what’s eating into my emotions. But the question is, what am I even going to do with the truth anyway? I know a lot already, but I’m still here, confused and not sure of the road to take.

He said he’s ready to do everything to save our marriage. He would pray the deed away if I can take him to any powerful man of God who is ready to help him. He would see a therapist if it comes to it. He would swim across the ocean if the salt will purge the deed off his soul.

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“Dear, tell me the truth. This is who you’ve always been, but married me to cover things up, right? Just tell me the truth.”

He says he stumbled on the videos, and then his colleague came along and they started. All within just three months that I was away? Weird, right? Currently, no one knows about it. I want to be sure of what to do first before I decide on who to tell and who not to tell. I’m still shaking, even as I write this.

—Deborah

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