Marie Opperman - An Affair to Forget

A heartfelt thank you to my daughters Mia and Sylvi, for their love, loyalty, support, good times, wine, chocolate and music.

To everybody whose lives have been touched by affairs, and those who shared their experiences so openly with me.

To healers and clairvoyants of all kinds, other airy-fairies and dear ones, for wisdom, insight, healing and friendship.

And to Chips and Enos, without whose affair I could not have written this book.

ON A SATURDAY MORNING early in the spring of 2009, I found an SMS from a woman on my husbands cellphone. By then the two of them had been involved in an intense affair for at least a year.

My whole life as I knew it up to that point was destroyed in a heartbeat. Instead of someone who, up till then, had watered the garden quite happily, I turned into a person who literally went mad from pain. Instead of seeing the man I had loved and trusted with my whole heart, I now saw only a stranger who had betrayed me. Instead of the dream Id had about growing old with my husband, I now had questions: Should I divorce him? Would I ever trust and love him again? Would I ever be able to forgive him?

What do you do when you find out that your husband is having an affair? Why did he cheat on you? I, who have had affairs myself and thought that I was finished with them, now had to face this terrible thing that brings so much pain and destruction. I, who had done this to other women, now had to make sense out of it for myself.

With my husbands affair, I embarked on a life journey during which I searched for answers; I did stupid, crazy things; I started to search for lessons to learn; and hopefully I became a little wiser and better. I searched for the gift that was hidden in my pain, and I found it. I spoke to many people, from therapists to clairvoyants. I participated in an anciet shamanistic ritual, received hypnotherapy and questioned my spirit guides.

This book is my candid account of this journey, from the moment when everything started crumbling inside and around me, to the day when I was able to decide whether I was going to stay with my husband or not.

I discovered that the lives of many of us are touched by affairs. To try to understand why we have affairs, and how we handle them, and what they do to us, I spoke to many people. Their stories also appear in this book.

I have learnt that we are all human; we all make mistakes; we hurt others and we are hurt in turn. And all that we really want is to be happy.

IF THIS ISN T A GOOD SIGN , I dont know what is. The object lies right in front of my feet on the beach on a busy Saturday morning, next to a woman with dark hair and a fishing rod, her pair of pink bathroom slippers tossed carelessly in the sand.

It glistens; it is dark; it is huge. It is probably ancient. It looks alien, as if it belongs on another planet. Maybe its from Atlantis. What unknown forces have teamed up to toss this object from the murky depths of the Indian Ocean right at my feet?

Its a good omen to find it on this crowded beach. Or, at least, I hope its a good omen. Because a positive sign is just what I need, seeing that I am now a woman whose husband is or allegedly was, but probably still is having an affair. To survive this, I need all the luck and good omens I can get.

I bend down to pick it up, bottom in the air, beach towel trailing behind me in the rippling baby waves. It is the biggest and weirdest cowry shell that Ive ever found on a beach. Black and shiny, with brown speckles on its scarred top and pitted deeply on its bottom, it looks as if it had been stuck between rocks for years, only to roll out of the waves to become mine at this moment.

I had wanted a cowry so badly as a good-luck sign. Please, please, I had pleaded superstitiously with whoever was in charge of these things as I walked on a beach seemingly devoid of these pretty, round-backed shells. Please, let me pick up a cowry. Then Ill know that everything will be all right, just as Bob Marley sings in his song.

I brush the sand off the underside that is beautifully trimmed with fine dark stripes. Thank you, Pachamama, I say, thanking Mother Earth for her gift. And then, just to make sure I am doing the right thing, I place my hands in front of my chest, palms together, fingers facing up, and give a little namaste bow in the direction of Mother Ocean. Thank you, thank you. Then I giggle. What a cheek. Who am I? This is the mighty ocean!

That Im speaking out loud, like a lunatic, to whichever mothers or goddesses might be present doesnt bother me one bit Ive been talking to myself on this beach for the past week.

Ive also walked in my bathing costume with my sarong draped across my neck like a scarf, as if cellulite were a mere figment of humankinds imagination; something that never existed.

Ive swum, exuberant, in drizzling rain in the company of complete strangers, one of whom was a woman wearing a straw hat as she bobbed in the waves.

Ive told polite, baffled women walking their dogs that my husband is having an affair, or had one; whatever, it doesnt matter the facts I would soon find out.

Ive walked in pelting rain on a beach as lonely as the moon, rivulets of water rushing down the rocks around me, water dripping from my bathing costume and my nose. Singing with all my heart: Ill do my crying in the rain you wont know the rain from the tears in my eyes

Songs have risen inside me, like music scores from romantic movies. Pearly sheeellls from the oceeeaaan, I have sung a bit off-key, nostalgically, giving the words a dramatic twang. On a day like today, we passed the time away, writing love letters in the saaand

Mostly Ive talked, out loud: to myself, to people who havent been there to him, to her. How could you do it? Ive kept asking him. I cant believe what you did.

I am so angry, Ive said to them both. To them, and to me, equally: You stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!

Ive done things that I would not have dreamt of doing before my status changed from that of happily married woman or, rather, supposedly happily married woman to that of woman whose husband was is having an affair.

Maybe Ive gone a little mad, or am as mad as a hatter. Hopefully, it is only temporary.

I call my husband Chips because he has something to do with a certain kind of agricultural produce. Okay, potatoes.

And I call his mistress Enos, because of an SMS she sent me, so crude that you shouldnt even try to guess the content.

I am Xena: Warrior Princess.

I have to be her; I have to fight this thing that has happened to me. This is why I also sing: It makes me that much stronger, it makes me that much wiser, thanks for making me a fighter

Xena and Chips and Enos. Chips and Enos.

Enos and Chips.

And Xena: Warrior Princess.

I found out about their affair exactly one month and five days ago.

The moment that I knew, my emotions jumped into a little boat drifting right in the middle of a storm-lashed ocean, bobbing up and down, up and down. Pain was soon replaced by anger, by shock and disbelief, by sadness, love, hate, indignation, vengefulness, loneliness. You name an emotion; I experienced it, one after the other.