My friend Yaw called me one evening, his voice hoarse from crying, to tell me he was breaking up his engagement with his fiancée. He was selling the items they had bought for the marriage ceremony, so if I knew anyone who was getting married and needed them, I should let him know. If I wanted to buy them myself and marry too, he was ready to sell them to me, and he would even give me a discount.

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He asked me to ask around and post them anywhere I could, to help him get the items out of his sight as soon as possible because they reminded him of the loss and betrayal he was feeling.

His fiancée was cheating on him. He found this out because he finally heeded the voices in his head telling him to go through her phone. Once he got hold of her phone, he linked her WhatsApp to his and gave the phone back to her.

He said his heart was heavy with grief when he went through her messages and realised that the mountain he thought they were climbing together was nothing but sand.

I offered him some words of encouragement, and we hung up the call.

I said to myself that I should also try it with Jenny, my girlfriend. I trusted her all right, but I said that if I did this and she passed the test, it would further cement my trust in her.

She failed and left me hanging with questions. There were many men, but two of them were consistent with texting her. One of the two men was on his way to visit her and was texting her to ask if the door was locked so he could come in. Another one was just asking for sex, like she was into hookups.

She said she was doing it without having sex with them. She was only responding to their messages, but she didn’t actually go and sleep with them. “It is hard being a woman. You just have to pretend to go with the flow so that they stop bombarding you with text messages and calls,” she said.

She even said that the person requesting sex wasn’t even in Ghana. She apologised for entertaining other men. I forgave her.

Once we started cohabiting and grew more intimate, something changed in my body that I couldn’t explain. I would come home from work, undress, and there it would be in my boxers, a discharge I hadn’t put there and didn’t understand. I kept asking myself where it was coming from, how I had gotten it, and when it had even started. It happened every day for weeks.

My girlfriend was the only person I was being intimate with, and if I had been infected, then she could be the only one who gave it to me.

She ended up buying medication for both herself and me. She only bought it because I threatened her, and she complained bitterly for days.

She packed out of the house some days later, after the problem she was having at her place was fixed. And slowly, she accused me of verbally abusing her, when the only time I ever shouted at this girl was during the time she gave me an infection.

“I cannot date a man who doesn’t care about my mental health and accuses me of giving him infections when I have done nothing wrong,” she said.

I knew that she gave it to me, but if she said she didn’t, then fine. I begged her not to leave me. Oh, I would go to her house, drop on my knees, and beg her not to leave me.

I couldn’t do without her. But she found a new man, so whatever I said fell on deaf ears.

It’s been over a year now, and she is back, asking for another chance, with a baby strapped to her back. It is not my child. It belongs to someone else. But she wants us to come back together.

Is There A Man Out There Who Doesn’t Cheat?

I don’t know if I should take her back. My heart is saying one thing, but my brain is also trying to say something else. I just don’t know which one I should listen to.

That is why I am here. What should I do?

— Philip

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