The Curse of An Angry Ex-girlfriend

It was two weeks into our budding relationship when we had sex. He looked at me and I looked back at him. He said, “Can we make this relationship work?” I answered, “If we both want it to work, then we have to work hard at it.”

Before that day, we both had shared stories of how the exes we had hurt us and how we thought we wouldn’t find love anymore. I asked him, “How long had it been since she left you?” He answered, “She hadn’t left completely. It’s kind of complicated but it wouldn’t be long till it’s over.”

I loved him so much I didn’t care that his ex was still hanging around. I trusted he would do the right thing and stay with me. Three years down the line, we got married. We made it simple because the most important thing to us was us and not the ceremony.

After marriage, I realized something peculiar. Sex was becoming difficult between us. Not that we both didn’t have the urge but anytime we tried, his penis wouldn’t get up. The shock of it all was that he would wake up each morning with a risen penis. Not only that. He could walk around with a very hard penis but immediately we decide on sex, it would fell flat. That isn’t normal, right?

We spoke about it. We got angry and fought about it. I got restless and worried. Most importantly, I feared for our future.

One evening he came to me with a confession. He said, “I’m beginning to suspect Dufie. It’s very likely she’s behind all these.” I asked, “Dufie? How does she come in? You ended with her long ago before we even thought about getting married so how does she come in?”

“The truth is we were still together,” he said. “She kept coming and going just like she was doing from the beginning but I had you so I didn’t take her seriously.”

I didn’t know whether to be angry or just hit him with something. The face with which he was telling me was even annoying. “So how and where does she come in?” I asked.

“When she found out that we were married, she sent me a long message threatening me with curses. I know that girl, she can do anything.”

I believed it because a doctor had told us some time ago that his condition wasn’t medical because everything about him was normal. The next step was for him to meet Dufie. He asked me to go with him but I refused. At this point, I felt betrayed and lied to.

The girl wouldn’t meet him. He called several times but she never picked. He sent a delegation to meet her. The girl denied knowing anything about it. But that same day she sent a text to my husband saying “This is just the beginning. Wait and you’ll see.”

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We’ve been married for eight months now and within this eight-month, I’ve seen my husband in all forms of emotions. He didn’t tell me but I know he’d visited some shrines hoping they could change things for him. I’ve seen him taking concoctions here and there but nothing works.

He’s now turned to pastors who give him very weird directions. He’s been fasting and he’s been praying about it but things still remain the same. I don’t know how long it’s going to be but I’m here waiting for him. I wish him well and I pray with him. It better be quick before I start getting frustrated.

The Black Bra

This is a story about a bra—one legendary black brassiere that once lived on the boobs of a friend I recently met.

Anytime I think of a bra, I think of suffering. It’s like a soldier standing on his feet from morning till nightfall, It’s like a child carrying more than he could, and yet doesn’t complain of tiredness. It’s like Sisyphus rolling his rock to the mountain top knowing very well that when he gets to the peak of the mountain, the rock will roll back to the bottom of the mountain. His work never ends.

The work of a bra ends at night, only for it to begin again in the morning. No wonder some women complain about their bra trying to stab them in the heart. When your back is against the wall, you can only think of stabbing the one holding you to the wall. This is for all the suffering bras—carrying big and small loads for all day without pay.

After one of my social media training in Accra, one of the attendants walked up to me and said; “Nice presentation you did up there. Can we talk about business one of these days?”

She gave me her card. I called her number on the card so she could have my number too.

A week later, after a heavy night of rainfall, I saw a call on my phone; “Jill Social Media Class calling.”


“Good evening Nesta. This is Jill. The lady from the social media class.”

“Hello, Jill, nice hearing from you. I thought you were never going to call.”

“Oh really? So why didn’t you call?”


“Anyway, it’s about what I discussed with you the last time we met. Can we meet tomorrow so we discussed the details?”

“Tomorrow is fine with me.”

I was there very early to create the impression of someone who doesn’t joke with time and business. She joined later and sat in front of me. We were barely inches away from each other. She looked at me and smiled. I smiled back—shyly.

I looked at her—I looked at her the way you would like to look at someone you are interested in. Beautiful set of eyes hidden in a deep socket. Rounded lips with ringed neck, and a chest so flat like she’s yet to grow some breast.

“There’s this Foundation I want to start and grow on social media, and I would need your help,” she said. “My aim is to start a movement around my own life’s story.” “Your own life’s story? What’s your story?” I queried. 

“Look at my chest,” she said. “It wasn’t always like that. You men don’t look at me twice these days because I lack everything that would make a man turn and look back at a woman once or twice on the street—flat ass. Flat chest. Flat traffic from the eyes of men. I’m not worried”

I was a little bit embarrassed but I mustered a fake smile and took a sip of air from the empty glass in front of me. “Do you care for more juice,” She asked. “No no no, I’m good.” I lied.

She continued, “I found myself a pretty boyfriend when I was at the twilight of my youth. He was twenty-five and I was twenty-one. He wasn’t my first boyfriend but he had me with all my innocence intact. Jude, he was one stupid boy. I loved him nonetheless. Those were the periods when my breast had the bragging right; Firm, rounded and usually melted in the palms of those I loved to caress with.

I owned a lot of brassieres but there was this one I wore six days a week. It was a black bra and it had this magic of plumping my asset up so the Stevie Wonders of this world could see. It had a history and that history made me love it the more. My first ever boyfriend got it for me on my birthday. The very first day I put it on in front of my mirror, I heard a voice say, “This is where your boobs belong” and I never wanted to take it off.

When I met Jude (that stupid boy), the bra was almost giving up but I kept wearing it every day and he took notice of it. He said, “Don’t you have anything else to put your boobs in apart from this one?” The younger me would have been embarrassed but not what I had become then. I told him; “What do you even know about bras? I have about ten different bras and they are all black because black is my favorite color.”

At this moment, my world was black and my mind was thinking of bras because that was all I was hearing. I took another sip of air from that empty glass. Again! This time, she didn’t ask. She signaled the waiter to bring another glass of juice. I was grateful and ready to hear more about that black bra.

“So Jude kept making fun of my bra anytime he saw it but I wasn’t going to stop wearing it just because a stupid boy like him didn’t want me to. At one point I asked him, “Is it the bra you want or what’s in the bra?” He didn’t have to answer that. His stupid face said it all.

Every story has its one day. This is where the “one day” in my story comes. So one day, I had a call from my mom in the UK and that call changed everything that I am. She said; “Jill, you need to come over. All is not well.” A week later, I was with her.

The short of it all was that mom had been diagnosed with breast cancer. A month prior, her junior sister was also diagnosed with breast cancer. Upon her doctor’s request, I was called in to have a check-up too. After a series of scans and biopsies, my gravest fear was confirmed; I had cancer too. Two little lumps in my left breast. Everything around me started fading out. I thought of death and how soon it was gonna come.

I didn’t know who to cry for; mom? aunt? or myself? “Are we all going to die?” I thought. But all was not lost though we lost aunt some few months later. The scans I did indicated that the tumors were benign but looking at my genetic history, the doctors advised that I do a preventive surgery to prevent the tumors from ravaging what’s left of me.

The doctors mentioned prophylactic mastectomy as the sure way to survive it. Prophylactic Mastectomy sounds like two beautiful words you’ll like to say when you want to sound overly learned but it means something mean. It means the removal of one’s breast as a way of reducing the risk of breast cancer. I was going to lose my two breast because the kind of genes I inherited made it easier for cancer to grow.

Days before my surgery I cried. I was scared of who I was going to become without my breast but survival was more important. And the black bra also needed some rest from it all.

Jude was sympathetic when he heard the news. He always checked up on me. I sent him photos after the surgery and he replied with a sobbing emoji. I came to Ghana a different woman—one without breasts and without confidence. When Jude saw my bare chest the first time he was shaken up. He was putting up the face of a stronger guy but I saw the discomfort in his eyes. That was when I realized he wouldn’t survive the rest of the relationship. I told him; “This is me now. No boobs, no black bra. Just me.”

He stood there nodding his head and the next few days he was gone. He left without a trace. You see why I called him stupid?”

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I looked down at my glass of juice and it was…empty. Nothing to fill my mouth with, I looked at her face thinking of what to say. “You said in your story that you wore that black bra six days a week. What did you do on that one day that you didn’t wear it?” “I washed it!” She said. We both burst out laughing!

We sat there quietly for a while. She looked tired from talking so she took a long sip of juice and sighed. I sat there processing the story I just heard and asked myself what to do with it.

“So, you want to give all this part of your life away on social media?” I broke the silence. “Yes! She answered, “Who knows, I may help save one or two.”

She doesn't want me to give her head

What will you not find on the internet? This guy, of all the problems we are facing in Naija, could this be your only problem?

Just read;
Good morning Joro, More blessings. I have an issue bothering me with my girlfriend. I like to give head and my girlfriend loves my head game.

In fact we do head more than we do the actual do. But of late my babe has been blocking me from giving her head. And this is really unusual because she's the one who begs for it.

EVery time I try is one excuse or the other. she first started with she just finished her period, before that she said her vag is smelling but bro I cannot smell anything down there .

She said sometimes only the owner of the vag can smell it. Is it possible that the owner of the Vagina can smell it and the outsider can't smell it ? Because I can't smell it.

READ:I'm in a Sex triangle with my brother and my boyfriend

I'm in a Sex triangle with my brother and my boyfriend

Hi Joro, more shoes to your closet. More suits to your wardrobe. I'm a woman of 27 years who just arrived from UK to see my boyfriend. We've been dating for 3 years.

This time we finally had marriage talks. But there's an issue joro, I've been sleeping with my brother since I was 16. My brother is married with 2 kids, I know it's wrong joro but nobody loves me like my brother.

I started was going o tell my boyfriend about it because I started feeling really guilty when he brought up marriage but I didn't have the mind to break his heart.

Today joro, he was in the shower and mistakenly left his phone unlocked and I decided to go through his pictures then he got a text saying his dick feels so good. Joro, I checked the phone number and it was my brother's.

Joro I am heartbroken because the man I'm supposed to marry is seeping with the man I love. Joro I know I sinned before but this is the height, I want to cut my relationship with both men because they're gay, sleeping with each other and sleeping with me but I'm scared my parents will find out the reason.

I still love my brother and I can't imagine how my parents would look at their only children right now. I don't know what to do Joro.

READ:  Help!!! My wife has a bad Vag odour

Help!!! My wife has a bad Vag odour

A married man seems to be in dilemma after he recently noticed some foul smell down south his wife's body. It's quite normal for the vag!.na to ooze once a while, but  before this man came out complaining, it means it is serious.


Good evening Joro,
Please keep me anonymous.
Since I and my wife got married in 2010, we have been doing 69 anytime we make love until we cum into each other's mouth.

But few months ago, I started perceiving a very strong bad odour oozing out of her vag anytime we want to do the 69.

Please could it be as a result of an infection? could she be having an affair? Please I'll be at the comment section incase any of your followers has a solution for smelling vag, thanks for the good work Joro.

READ: My husband slapped me during se,x. I don't know any Kola

My husband slapped me during se,x. I don't know any Kola

I totally understand what is happening here, this is actually something the couple should laugh over instead of this unnecessary rancour. The man is just feeling jealous over nothing, I hope the lady can explain herself.

Please read;
My husband slapped me during Se.x
Hello Joro. Hope ur enjoying ur trip. Am done crying. Am tired. My husband and I were having sex and I said Oga I missed you.

Next thing was a slap and he said who is kola. He heard " kola I missed you" I have a cold. So maybe I sounded like Kola. I don't no any kola Joro.

There is no kola on my phone contacts at all. He got so angry and started shouting at me. I told him I don't no anyone. It's been 4 days he been so distant.

I don't even know what to do anymore. I don't want to call his mother because he will get more angry.

READ:  My brother has been trying to Sleep with me

I think my boyfriend is having it with his mom

The rate things are going in this generation ehn, I am thinking we should apologize to the people of Sodom and Gomorrah. Compared to this generation, they are saints.

This lady is terrified, I can feel it! Read her story;
"More shoes, more glasses Joro Joro I've been dating my boyfriend since I was 18 years. I'm 20 now. Joro my boyfriend says it's okay for our moms to sleep in their room.

Even if I'm there. One evening after purging I decided to go and tell my boyfriend I needed to go to the hospital. Joro he was sucking his mother's b00bs and she was moaning.

I almost killed myself today. I don't really want advice I just want to say Benue Boys are Wizards!!! Keep me anonymous I'm embarrassed"

All I can say is things are --- definitely happening, but let's not stereotype another tribe please. He and his Mama have their issues, not Benue boys