Marriage Nearly Broke Then Rekindled Our Love

I never anticipated that I would marry my wife.

Prior to her, I had dated around seven different women, each possessing qualities I admired and hoped to find in my future partner. Let’s discuss Enyonam…

She was exceptionally tidy and had a knack for organizing things. During our time together, she would always bring her own set of bedsheets. She would clean my room and arrange everything neatly before doing anything else. It wasn’t for me; it was simply her nature. As she often said, “I can’t thrive in chaos. Life feels peaceful when everything is in its rightful place.”

I recall one night when we were caught up in a passionate moment. I was fully engaged in giving and receiving pleasure when I noticed her attention had drifted. She was staring intently at something I couldn’t see, her silence heavy with focus. “Wait…wait, wait…” she said, getting up from the bed, taking a couple of steps, and picking up my slippers that I had carelessly left out. She tucked them under the bed, saying, “The lights will go off, and you might trip over them at dawn.”

I thought, “What? You paused our moment for some slippers?” But that was Enyonam—everything had to be just right in her eyes, or life couldn’t proceed. I believed she would be my wife, but circumstances changed, and she became just one of the women I had loved.

Then there was Sandra…

I dated her when I was a newly unemployed graduate. At first glance, she wasn’t conventionally beautiful. You had to spend time with her to appreciate her beauty, which shone through her actions and words. She was also my type—a girl I considered marriage material. She had excellent listening skills and knew when to speak and when to let me figure things out on my own. She loved cooking, saying, “Cooking keeps me from being bored, so I’m always looking for new recipes.”

While I was searching for my career path, she was already working and had her own place. She listened to my frustrations about job hunting and always offered comforting words. I practically lived at her place because I was broke and needed meals. However, when she had to choose between me and a self-sufficient man, she chose the latter, leaving my world in shambles.

Honestly, at that point in my life, if I had to choose between myself and anyone else, I would have picked the other person. I wouldn’t have chosen myself if given options, so I understood her decision and wished her well.

When I began dating Afiba, who eventually became my wife, I was searching for that crucial quality that distinguishes a woman you want to date from one you want to marry. I couldn’t pinpoint it, but there was something subtle about her. It was hard to decipher, yet it was undeniably present. She wasn’t easy to read and did just enough to keep me intrigued. She loved me deeply, and it was evident.

One thing I adored about her was her independence. She never asked me for anything because she had her own. And another thing…

She was the one who initiated intimacy in our relationship.

She was exceptional in the bedroom. Perhaps that’s why I married her. I loved waking up to find her on top of me. After an argument, when I decided to give her the silent treatment, she would sneak under the covers at night and passionately make love to me. She was a goddess in that regard and knew how to enchant me.

So, during our wedding, when the pastor asked, “Do you take Afiba as your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and…” I didn’t wait for him to finish and shouted, “I do!”

Our honeymoon was unforgettable. We seized every opportunity to be intimate—in the kitchen, on the balcony, in the bath, inside the wardrobe… and yes, in the kitchen again. It was that amazing. To this day, if you ask me about the best day of my life, I’ll always think back to our honeymoon when we had nothing to do but enjoy each other’s company.

We returned from our honeymoon to discover we were expecting our first child. It was such a surprise that we briefly considered not having it, but as adults, we had to make responsible choices. Nine months later, we welcomed our first child, and a year and a half after that, another followed. However, after the birth of our second child, my wife lost her sexual desire. She didn’t want it anymore and made no effort to rekindle it.

I was used to being indulged. I was accustomed to her initiating intimacy, and suddenly, that was gone. I became miserable. We would go to bed, and she would sleep soundly, forgetting that I was a husband who enjoyed nighttime intimacy. When I brought it up, she replied, “Atta, life isn’t the same as it was years ago. I transitioned from girlfriend to wife, and then to mother. The responsibilities that come with this new role are overwhelming and exhausting. I’m sorry, but if you want it, you can have me in your own way.”

I wanted it, so I tried to navigate around it, but she would lie there unresponsive. There was no spark or excitement; she was just there, and that crushed me.

I stopped.

For months, we didn’t engage in intimacy. We shared the same bed but hardly touched. I began to wonder, “Is that why some couples say, ‘my wife and I are like siblings?’ They reach a point in their marriage where there’s no intimacy, and they settle for a sibling-like relationship?”

We didn’t argue or have issues; we simply went through the motions. We would wake up, go to work, come home in the evening, and go to bed at night.

I started looking for someone on the side!

Don’t judge me just yet. When the excitement in life fades, people often seek different ways to regain the joy they once had. I’m not justifying infidelity; I’m merely saying that at some point, we all do desperate things to return to a time when life felt heavenly.

I found someone, but it was a waste of time, so I let her go quickly. We didn’t last a month. I kept searching for someone who wasn’t Afiba but could provide the intimacy I missed. I ran out of luck.

Then the coronavirus pandemic began to emerge in Ghana last month. My wife started working from home, and the kids were kept from school. I was still working. My wife’s parents asked us to send the kids to them since they were home and not attending school. I sent the kids away on the same Friday the president announced the lockdown. For the first time in our married life, it was just the two of us alone.

We were still acting like siblings when, on Saturday morning, Afiba crept under the covers and nudged me, “Hey, wake up.” Before I could fully open my eyes, her hands were already in my boxers, doing things. I looked at her, and she met my gaze, continuing her actions. It was intense. That popular phrase popped into my head, “Girl, you’re doing well…I say oooin!”

While the best day of my life remains our honeymoon, the next best moment was that Saturday morning. It rekindled memories. She was no longer my sibling but the woman I vowed to love in church. I asked her, “Where have you been?” She replied, “I know I’ve been distant. Sometimes, things become overwhelming.”

It’s been nearly a week since we’ve been alone in this house, and each day feels different. Suddenly, we are our younger selves again. We engage in deep conversations about everything. I told her I almost got a girlfriend, and she called me crazy. Our lost connection has returned. We didn’t have enough time to be husband and wife; we became parents too soon after marriage, and that didn’t help.

As I write this, she just walked past me naked with a drink in hand. She asked, “Do you want some?” I replied, “I’m okay.” I know she’s curious about what I’m doing on my phone that’s distracting me from her, but she can wait; I’m just a sentence away from finishing this story. I know she wants it on the sofa, and I plan to give it to her.

—Atta Panyin

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