I was very young when I met him. He was older—ten years older, I think. I was helping him to secure land in our village when our working relationship turned into love. I didn’t love him at first. I saw him as a mature man who didn’t have time for love until one day he proposed to me. He was so straight to the point that I thought he was joking, but then his consistency, care, and love broke my defenses. I said yes. He promised to make life easy for me.

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He didn’t do anything he didn’t promise. The one problem I had with him was time. He didn’t have time for me the way I wanted him to, and in the evenings especially, when I was ready to talk to him, he would tell me he was too tired and wanted to sleep. I should have known he was married. A man of his age and experience shouldn’t have been single, but it was a question I failed to ask until he told me very late in the relationship.

I got pregnant and wanted to abort it. He convinced me to keep it. I said, “I can’t give birth when I’m not married. My family will be very disappointed in me.” He kept telling me to keep it, so I said, “Then when are you going to marry me?” That was when he told me he was married. I was broken into pieces. I wanted to hit him where it hurt. He said, “You’re right to be angry. Go on, hit me, but also know that it wouldn’t change anything.”

While I cried, he kept comforting me, telling me the baby was God’s gift and that I couldn’t take it out. He said a lot of things and made a lot of promises. He was a man who kept his promises, so I mellowed and decided to do what he wanted. Later, I asked him why he wanted me to keep the pregnancy so badly, and he told me it might be a boy. “A boy?” I asked. “What has a boy got to do with it?”

He told me he had four children and they were all girls, but he wanted a boy in his line. His wife wasn’t ready to give birth again, which was why he decided to get it elsewhere. I asked if his wife knew about me, and he told me she didn’t, but she would soon know.

He came home to introduce himself as the man responsible for the pregnancy. Everything my parents asked him to do culturally, he did. They asked him to set me up after delivery. They asked him to pay a huge amount even my heart skipped a beat when I heard it but he didn’t shake his head. I fell deeply in love with him that day.

I gave birth to a boy, and this man brought his brother and sister to come and name the child. He was all over the baby, not wanting to leave. After the naming, he spent two weeks with me, the longest time we had ever spent together. When he left, he called every day, planning how we were going to raise the baby and everything we were going to do for him.

The boy was three years old when I got pregnant again. Again, he preached to me about keeping it and the probability of it being another boy. I kept it. By this time, he had rented a place for me, opened a hair salon for me, and was on his way to opening another shop. When this pregnancy happened, it slowed everything down.

I gave birth again, and it was another boy. While he was happy, I was thinking about my life and the lives of my children. Yes, some of his siblings and family members knew me, but his wife didn’t, and most people in his life didn’t know what was going on. I was his little secret, and I didn’t like it.

He was present in our lives and provided for us until one day he told me his wife had caught him. I was happy and scared at the same time. I asked what he was going to do. He said he would handle it. I asked if I should stop calling him for a while. He told me not to, because everything was under control.

I didn’t see him for over a year, but he kept sending money and paying school fees and medical bills. Everything about me and the children, he stayed on top of. When I finally saw him, he promised me the struggle was over and the issue had been resolved. I asked if he was going to marry me as a second wife, and he said it wasn’t possible. When I asked if I could go ahead and marry someone else, he told me to be patient.

Everything went smoothly for a long time until one day he suffered a stroke. My first boy was nine years old and the second was five. It was very hard for me to reach him. In fact, it was impossible. The only person I could talk to was his sister. I would ask her what was going on and how he was, and she would tell me everything.

For close to a year, he didn’t recover fully. Even when he improved, he couldn’t talk as well as he used to. Throughout his sickness, he talked to me only once. That call lasted about forty seconds. A few months later, he died.

I went home to meet his people. My dad and my dad’s elder brother were with me. The widow denied ever hearing about us and even threatened to pour hot water on us if we didn’t leave. I was shocked to see the same people he had brought for the naming ceremony staying quiet and watching. The widow screamed at the top of her voice, creating a storm around the house: “If you don’t leave my house, I swear I will place a curse on you and your family. You will never recover unless the gods of my land are not gods.”

I couldn’t attend the funeral. Even my father turned his back on me. He said he didn’t send me into the arms of a married man. Yet when the man was alive, my father received the gifts that came his way. He never warned me. All he did was collect and sing the man’s praises.

After he was buried, I contacted his sister and asked if there was something left for us in his will. She said he didn’t leave a will, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t have a claim to his property. She advised me to look for a lawyer.

I spoke to a lawyer. He said I had a good case, but the amount he mentioned was more than I could afford. He said if the woman denied us our share, it would go to court and DNA tests would be requested. He asked if I knew the man’s properties, and I said no. He asked if any family member could help. I called his sister again, and the way she spoke to me was as if she had never met me.
“So that was your plan all along, right? To have kids with him and take his properties. It’s there, go and take it.”

No one is willing to help me. I have a salon that is not doing well. The children’s fees have to be paid. When they are sick, it’s on me. I struggle every day. I can work for a month and save nothing because everything goes into childcare. I’m tired now and want to face the man’s wife. I’m not asking for the world. I’m asking for what is due my children. I know there is something for them.

Thriving In A Relationship When The Man Doesn’t Have Money

I don’t want court issues. It is a long battle I don’t have the resources to fight. How do I approach this situation to get the family to take care of the children? They are very young. Because of them, it is hard for me to do anything. A man comes into my life, sees them, and disappears. Life is hard. I need help from the family but how?

—Afriyie

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