The boyfriend I had when I was in SHS never gave me anything. I think that’s where this chain of events started. He was my first boyfriend. I was so in love I thought it would be forever. When he asked me to jump, I asked how high but he never gave me anything for jumping. While my friends were receiving gifts and packages from their boyfriends, mine came to my place empty-handed.

It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t come from a house that had plenty. I had to support him at some point. I shared my stuff with him, gave him money and made him happy. I loved the fact that his name was on me, that I was his girlfriend. I needed to be owned and he did that excellently but didn’t provide. When SHS ended, the relationship also came to an end.

At the university, I called the men I dated stingy. Eric always didn’t have anything to give. I call Joe “Me Last” because every money in his hand was his last money. “Getty, me last aa nie ooo, I’m broke forking.” Fiifi came along. He became my room companion because he was always around looking for something to eat. He even ate from the same bowl with my roommate.

The men I dated didn’t take me out on a date. Let’s not talk about fancy places. Just there and around, no. They didn’t have money. Joe borrowed from me and never paid. Fiifi was so cool with my roommate that he borrowed from her and never paid. I paid for him out of embarrassment because my roommate never stopped talking about it.

When I was about to complete school, I decided to remain single because no guy was worth it for me. I became friends with Mark. He was a T.A. He helped with my studies, gave me past questions and showed care when a subject was too difficult for me to grasp. There were times I dashed him money or a gift or meals because he was doing a lot for me. The day I wrote my last paper, Mark proposed.

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What he said didn’t register in my mind. How he said it also didn’t register. The only thing that kept flickering in my mind was the state of his belt. “How much is men’s belt that this guy will continue wearing this torn and decrepit belt?” When I took off my eyes from his belt and looked into his face, I said no. He asked me to think about it. I told him it didn’t need thinking about it because it’s a no.

It dawned on me that day that I attracted certain kinds of men, a calibre that had money problems. Mark came with a sign. His belt. The rest came with love and nothing else.

You know, as women, we talk about a man who’ll love us truly and protect us and show us to the world. We hardly talk about the financial stuff because we’ve been trained not to be gold diggers. When you love a man without money, it’s seen as virtuous so we look to love hoping there’s money behind it. When we find out later that isn’t the case, we suffer and then regret but we are already in it.

After Mark, I decided I would be intentional about my looks so I attract the kind of men who have it. I learnt men without money are usually scared to go after women who appear well-kept and can hold their own. I went to places such men were. Places where men wear suits and expensive kaftans. I needed to break the jinx and for once land what looks like a promise. That’s where I met Efo, in a place where I believed men there would at least have the basics covered.

Efo is good-looking and spoke very well. He looked more polished than all the men I’d dated. I smiled a lot, shook hands easily with him and gave him my number without hesitation when he asked for it. Our first date was at a bar where soothing music played. The food was good. He encouraged me to order whatever I wanted. My head swelled. The butterflies in my tummy collided and felt dizzy. Efo felt right, a man to break the jinx.

One month later, we were an item. A week after accepting his proposal he asked for GHC500 loan to sort out an issue. I was like, “Wow, how did we get here this fast?” I said in my head. When he said he was giving it to someone because he didn’t have money in his momo, I kind of calmed down and sent him the money. He didn’t mention that money again up till now. It was a loan but he didn’t pay.

From that day, the signs started showing. He wasn’t the man I thought he was. He sold me a dream when I asked about his job in the initial stages. He said he was a freelancer and had always been because he didn’t want to work for anyone. He told me the kind of income he made in a month doing freelancing jobs. He talked about the future of his work and I felt I could help him build. I thought I’d come to a point where in future he would be proud to say, “Behind every successful man, there’s a woman.”

After selling me all that dream, he came to tell me he hadn’t had a gig in three months though he had been chasing. Apart from that, he owed some people and blah blah blah. Honestly, I didn’t regret the relationship but I felt lied to. That’s my weakness when it comes to love. I’m always trying to be the saviour. The virtuous woman who rescued a man from falling.

I stayed with Efo, advertised his work on my status and Facebook wall, sold him to my friends, went out of my way to exhibit his work at events my company had paid me to attend. I got him a contract one day. It wasn’t that huge but a medium-sized contract he could use to build his portfolio. He delivered and was paid in full.

He didn’t buy me a handkerchief to say thank you or a bar of chocolate to say, “I appreciate what you do for me.” Weeks after receiving full payment, he was in my WhatsApp asking for a loan to help him flash out chocked debris in his pipes. I brought the issue of the contract up and ranted about how he disregarded me when he was paid. All he said was the money was too small. He even ran at a loss with that contract.

We dated for a year. He didn’t do anything but I left him. I left him because he didn’t do anything. He put his life on autopilot. While I was out there shouting and making noise about his work, he relaxed. While I used my status and timelines as his work board, he used his for memes and silly banter. Efo was not Efoing but I had my future ahead of me so I called it quits. When he came to beg he said, “Who will I run to when I need help? Who’ll make noise about my business like you do?”

He loved me not for me, I figured, but for the things I did for him. I told him, “Unfortunately, I’m not able to ask the same questions you’re asking me. It means being with you takes from me without bringing anything back. I have to go.”

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I’ve been single since then. Not that I haven’t met people. I’ve met a lot and a lot have met me. I look at the state of their belt and the content of their words. They are all like the ones I’ve had before. Why am I only attracting these kinds of men? Is it a curse? Am I doing anything wrong when it comes to the attraction game? What am I not saying and how am I not dressing? Where do I find men who have their own and are ready to invest in love?

Nobody should get me wrong. I’m not talking about filthy rich men and my desire is not about finding a man who’ll take care of me. I’m talking about a man who can hold his own. Where do you ladies meet such men?

— Getty

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