He lives with his parents and shares a room with his junior brother. I live alone in a single self-contained room, a place my senior brother rented for me. When I got a job and was struggling to raise money to rent a place, my brother came to my rescue and got this place for me. I accepted my boyfriend’s proposal a couple of months later.

I used to visit his place very often. I knew he was trying to raise money to get a place of his own so it didn’t bother me that he was sharing a room with his brother. I never complained about his living conditions. Anytime I visited, I enjoyed whatever space he provided for me and stayed happily until I left his place.

He started complaining about the way his mom acted when I went around. He talked about the complaints his father made any time I passed through. Even his junior brother apparently wasn’t happy about my presence so he told me not to visit often. I understood him. We used the opportunity to talk about when he was going to leave his parent’s house and he promised soon.

Since I wasn’t visiting him often, he came around my place anytime he wanted to. He would call and ask if I were home. He would come around and spend the rest of the day with me. Sometimes he came unannounced. I didn’t complain. He was all I had and needed him as much as he needed me.

He left a shoe one day and later left a shirt. He left a boxer and came with a bag containing his everyday clothes. One day after work he told me he was going to spend the night with me because it wasn’t conducive in the house. He ended up spending four days at my place. It was lovely. I had a company and at a certain point, I wished he would live with me. He came back days later and before I knew it, it had become a routine.

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The problem is, he would come to my place empty-handed, eat my food and eat my food without contributing a penny. I’m not the kind of woman who makes demands. I want my man to share because he cares or because he loves to share. My boyfriend isn’t that type so I forced myself to talk about it. He listened to me. He told me he understood my point and would change.

He did it for a few weeks and stopped. He would stay with me for four days a week and still not pay a dime. Everything was on me. To make matters worse, he didn’t help around the house. He lived as if he was the man of the house, the head in whose hands the house eats. He would eat and leave the plates where he was served. He would leave his clothes around and leave for his parents’ house. By the time he returned, it had been washed and folded neatly into a drawer he had inherited for himself.

I was playing the role of a wife but he didn’t see the need to play the husband role so I told him to limit the times he came around if he wasn’t going to play his part. Again, he started bringing in something to keep the house going. This time around, he was consistent. I sang his praises to keep him motivated. He even helped me wash on weekends when he was around.

A year after dating, I asked again when he was going to rent. The excuses were all over the place. You could sense from his reasons that he hadn’t thought about it so I told him, “You stay here more often than you stay in your parents’ house. You should pay my rent when it expires.”

He asked if I was joking and I told him, “Isn’t it a fair deal if you did that? You go to work from here throughout the week. Sometimes you even spend the weekend here so what’s wrong if you pay our rent?”

He didn’t say anything. He stayed still while looking at me. “What?” I asked. He didn’t respond. I kept asking why he was looking at me but he said no word. I told him food was ready and asked if I should serve him. He stepped out and left my place. I didn’t see him in three days. When he came back he asked for us to talk.

He was hurt that I could make such a demand from him. “Do you think I would have asked you to pay my rent if it was my house you came to stay?” He asked me. I also asked, “So if your girlfriend needed help to pay rent, wouldn’t you have helped?” It went on and on until he concluded that I didn’t love him the way I made it look. According to him, true love doesn’t ask for rent.

He didn’t come to my place often like he used to. When he came around, he didn’t spend more than a night. He took his clothes back to his place but I didn’t complain. He kept his disappearing act until my rent expired and I renewed. He didn’t pay a pesewa. Once I finished paying, he started bringing his things one after the other. He made it so obvious it was a game plan.

I told him I wasn’t going to allow him to sleep at my place again. He can visit but he can’t overstay his visits. If he wouldn’t help me pay my rent, then he should rent for himself so I can also visit just like the way he visits me.

He’s accusing me of being insensitive and not loving him enough. I know what love is because I’m old enough to know a spade is not a big spoon. Love is not a one way street but what we have goes and never comes back. In his mind, I’m the one to blame or I’m the wicked one so he told me he would never come around again for me to rub my house on his face.

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He took that decision himself but when I didn’t fight it, he called to tell me I should break up with him because he had realized I didn’t love him. I’m thinking of making his wish my command and break up with him. It’s becoming too much work, this relationship. I’m already tired.

I don’t want him to say I left him because he didn’t have his own place so I’m waiting patiently for him to rent his place. I will help him set the place up and later break up with him. I want to prove a point and I believe that’s the best way to do it. Or I’m making a mistake?

—Fafa

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