Her Space with Bridget Mensah: When women lie about who fathered their children

Welcome to Her Space, where we tell the truth about women’s lives. No sugar-coating. No apologising. Just raw, unfiltered conversations about the wins, losses, compromises and impossible choices that shape our world. This is our first edition, and we’re starting with something that will make you uncomfortable.

Let me tell you about Akorfa. Five years married, no children. Her husband’s family tried everything: rituals, herbal concoctions, prayers at three different churches. They dragged her to traditional healers who poked and prodded, declaring her womb “blocked by spiritual forces.” The divorce papers were already being prepared when she finally conceived.

What they never did? Ask her husband to check if his swimmers were actually swimming.

Akorfa’s story isn’t unique. It’s playing out right now in countless homes across Africa, where women carry the full weight of reproduction whilst men remain blissfully unexamined. And sometimes, when the pressure becomes unbearable and all other options are exhausted, women make choices that would shock their communities.

They lie about paternity. Before you gasp and reach for your moral high horse, understand this: we’re not celebrating these choices. We’re examining why they happen. Because paternity fraud doesn’t occur in a vacuum. It emerges from systems so broken, so stacked against women, that some see deception as their only survival strategy.

Picture this; You’re a woman whose entire worth is measured by whether you can produce a child. Your mother-in-law stops greeting you. Neighbours whisper when you pass. Your husband threatens to marry a second wife “to help the family line continue.” Meanwhile, he refuses any suggestion that perhaps his fertility should be tested because “real men don’t have those problems.”

Medical research shows us that in nearly half of infertility cases, male factors play a significant role. Yet culturally, we’ve built a mythology around perpetual male fertility that would be laughable if it weren’t so destructive. Men past forty experience declining sperm quality. After forty-five, the pregnancies they father have almost 50% higher miscarriage rates. But mention a man’s “biological clock” and watch the room go silent.

The pressure on African women to conceive is relentless and immediate. Marriage certificates might as well come with fertility deadlines. Every family gathering becomes an interrogation about your menstrual cycle. Every month without conception feels like public failure. Some women break under this pressure. When faced with social exile, economic ruin, or complete abandonment, a desperate few seek conception elsewhere whilst maintaining the fiction that their husband is the father. They live afterwards in perpetual fear of discovery, knowing that exposure could mean violence, divorce, or worse.

This isn’t just moral failure. It’s also a systemic failure. Women in these situations often exhaust their savings on treatments, travelling from one fertility clinic to another, consulting traditional healers who promise miracles for a fee. They undergo painful procedures, take medications with brutal side effects, all whilst their partners remain convinced the problem lies solely with them.

The psychological toll is devastating. Depression, anxiety, and complete identity collapse affect women who find themselves unable to fulfil the single role society has designated as their primary purpose. Their sense of self becomes entirely dependent on their reproductive output.

Consider Ijeoma from Lagos, whose husband publicly announced that if she didn’t conceive within two years, he’d “find someone who could do the job properly.” Or Fatima from Accra, whose in-laws performed rituals to “remove the curse” preventing her pregnancy whilst her husband spent evenings at the pub insisting his virility had never been questioned.

These aren’t historical anecdotes. These pressures exist today, in our communities, affecting women you know.

The tragedy lies in how unnecessary this entire charade becomes. Modern fertility testing could quickly identify whether issues exist with either partner, leading to appropriate treatments. But cultural resistance to male fertility testing forces women into impossible corners where deception seems like the only escape route.

And here’s the kicker; when women do resort to paternity fraud, they face a legal system as unforgiving as the social one. In Nigeria and Ghana, there are no specific laws criminalising paternity fraud, creating a legal grey area. Whilst criminal laws don’t consider paternity fraud an offence, victims can pursue civil action for damages. But let’s be honest about what this means in practice.

A man discovers he’s been raising another man’s child and can seek financial compensation through the courts. The woman, however, faces potential violence, social ostracism, and complete economic ruin with no legal protection whatsoever. She carries the secret, the shame, and the consequences whilst systems offer her no support for the impossible situation that drove her there in the first place.

We need honest conversations about reproductive responsibility. Both partners contribute to conception. Both should be evaluated when conception doesn’t occur. Both should share the emotional and physical labour of addressing fertility challenges. Healthcare systems must normalise male fertility testing. Communities need education about biological realities affecting both sexes. Traditional and religious leaders should challenge narratives that place reproduction solely in women’s hands.

Most importantly, we must expand definitions of womanhood beyond reproductive capacity. A woman’s value cannot be measured primarily by her ability to bear children. Creating spaces where women can access identity, security, and community regardless of their reproductive status would eliminate the desperate conditions that make paternity fraud seem like a reasonable option. The path forward requires courage from everyone. Women must demand shared responsibility. Men must overcome cultural resistance to acknowledging fertility challenges. Communities must reimagine gender roles beyond biological reproduction.

Akorfa’s story could be different. Instead of facing blame alone, she and her husband could jointly consult medical professionals, support each other through treatment, and face their community as partners whether they become parents or remain childless. That’s what we’re fighting for, shared responsibility replacing isolated burden, scientific understanding replacing harmful myths, and human dignity replacing reproductive obligation.

Her Space will return with more uncomfortable truths about women’s lives. Because real change begins with real conversations.

>>>the writer is a passionate advocate for women’s voices in media and workplace equity. As Unit Head of HR Marketing & Communications at L’AINE HR and General Secretary of NOWIB, she champions authentic leadership and feminist ideals through her writing and professional practice. Contact: [email protected]

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