When you force yourself to live the life of a spy, chances are you will be shocked at your findings and you have no one but yourself to blame when all this happens.
Spying on a guy was perhaps the last thing that ever crossed my mind, knowing how I normally react to distressing news. It is tempting, I know, and sometimes you find yourself scrolling down his Facebook page just to know if your best friend is friends with him as well.
You check for all those girls who like his profile picture and want to know what exactly they look like, whether you are better than them or perhaps have curves in the right places that they do not. This is all a woman in her right senses ever wants to know, whether someone shared his photo on her wall, claiming to wish him a happy belated birthday, making you wonder where they were on the D-day.
Seeing that you are not making any steady progress checking his Facebook wall (remember it offers less than you want to know), you then wait for him to enter the bathroom. Like a thief you pick up his phone from his pocket pants and switch it on, only to realise it is asking you for a password, which you do not have. You then decide to put it back, gently in the pocket and pretend you do not want to know anything.
Like you, I tried all those and trust me none worked. I had nagging thoughts. Why is it that each time I am with him, its only clients he talks to? Is it even normal? I then decided to scheme for plan C, knowing well that if this failed then I would quit spying or hire someone (this is ridiculous, I know).
*Joseph was quite humble and always did his stuff silently. Even when he bought a car, I only learnt of it a year later when he crashed somewhere along Katosi road and I was the first person the police contacted. He was always discrete. At one time he bought a plot of land and as usual shut up about it. Months later on my visit I happened to be in the rare mood to do laundry and went through his closet to find anything dirty. Out of curiosity, I scavenged through an envelope that lay there, untampered with.
On checking, I landed on interesting documents. Two acres of land in his names? Who keeps quiet about such exciting news? That knocked me really hard. “I think I should just make sure we are not sharing him, now that he is becoming ‘somebody’,” I thought. It is always tempting to find out whether he is cheating on you or talking to people you don’t know. So I let my guard down and waited for his return.
For two hours (I timed him by the way), dude was talking on phone, chatting with whoever, on his balcony while I pretended to concentrate on my favourite soap. When he returned and placed his phone to charge, I made a move. I switched it on, deactivated the flight mode and waited for whatever female, blonde or not to call and yippy! Sandra called.
After a series of her calls, I decided to answer and inquired what she wanted. “I beg you Susan; I want to speak to the owner of this phone,” she responded. So this stranger even knows I am Susan? (It’s not even my third name). I probed further to know how she knew me and she said I was Joseph’s sister who gets every opportunity to visit him. Although I was pissed, I decided to probe further and gathered they had dated for six months and had a misunderstanding that evening. And as a “sister-in-law” I was supposed to contain this nonsense.
Sandra even begged me to direct her to his place so she would come at that unholy hour to iron out whatever had gone wrong. I hung up after our one-hour chat and handed over the phone to the owner, who had been lost in his sleep all that time, believing I was up late ironing his clothes (which is the worst of chores).
That trust died. Spying on him automatically kills it. I realised it makes both of you absolutely insecure to the extent that on your part, every female (even his mother) becomes a threat, rendering you a jealous freak which is unhealthy, stealing your happiness, and annoying him of course. So, unless your man hands you his phone, leave it alone. Otherwise, you may end up losing yourself. This is why men’s phones are no longer my business.