Mawunya

Mawunya was her name. God knows was the meaning of the name. And yes, God knows it was the name of the most beautiful lady I had ever known. I wore my love for her like a badge of honour. God knows hers was a name I brought up in all my conversations with my friends, whether they concerned her or not. He knows Mawunya and made her a blessing to me. God knows when I count my blessings, she is number one on the list.

I was so mesmerized by Mawunya I that I failed to notice the crevices developing in our relationship. The first red flag was when the early morning calls to check on me reduced. Then the weekend stay over routines were cut short and we couldn’t get enough alone time.

I knew how cold she could be towards people younger than her so I refuted, with contempt, rumours that she was seeing a 19-year-old University of Ghana student. I revised that stance after she called me “Sam” on one rare night out. That mishap knocked me off my perch and I began to see reason. I set out to give credence, or otherwise, to the cheating rumours.

With the horde of connects I had at my disposal, I bought and planted moles to keep me up to speed with her movement. Two weeks of surveillance was enough to know something was amiss. My usually taciturn and sedentary girlfriend had morphed into a party girl, spending nights in a club where coincidentally one Sam worked.

I found my smoking gun and I planned to confront Mawunya during the weekend. I knocked on her door at 5 pm on Saturday and got no response. I turned the door knob and it gave way so I let myself in. I heard groans, those of passion, coming from the bedroom so I made for there.

It was very surreal what I saw. A boy, one I could have easily given birth to, if Mawunya had not been stalling on our marriage plans. He laid there in her bed, Mawunya with him, basking in all the acts of malice.

“What is this?”, I enquired.

“I see you haven’t checked your WhatsApp messages because like always, you have been busy. I broke up with you yesterday”, she retorted with a nonchalant chill only Jezebel could match.

Overcome with a cocktail of shame, disappointment and anger, I managed to leave with minimum fuss. Friends got wind of what unfolded and their timely help made sure I did not join the growing suicide statistic.

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