She was a commodity, used by someone she believed was a man of God
In the spring of 2015, a Scottish woman named Charmain Speirs traveled alone to Ghana to confront the man she had married in faith, only to be found dead in a hotel bathtub four days later. She had discovered that her pastor husband carried multiple identities, a hidden wife, and a fabricated age — the architecture of a life built on deception. Her husband was charged and released, and more than a decade on, no one has been held accountable for her death. Hers is a story about the vulnerability that accompanies belief, and the silence that can follow when a woman's warnings go unheeded.
- A woman who told her closest friends 'he is not who he says he is' boarded a plane alone to confront her husband — and never came home.
- Friends and witnesses describe a marriage defined by isolation, financial control, and emotional cruelty, with Charmain cut off from her support network within months of the wedding.
- A BBC investigation found that Adusah's account to police omitted three unidentified men who visited the hotel room the night before her death, one carrying a briefcase — details that were never publicly disclosed.
- Adusah was charged with murder, released for lack of evidence, and now lives in the United States under a different name, having never responded to questions about the abuse allegations.
- Charmain's son, seven years old when she left for Ghana, grew up without answers; her friends carry the weight of wondering whether more could have been done to save her.
Charmain Speirs married Eric Adusah in September 2014, believing she had found a man of God through a Christian dating site. Within weeks she was the 'first lady' of his Edinburgh church, her face on his publicity posters. Within months, something had gone badly wrong.
Those who stayed close to her described a woman increasingly isolated — cut off from friends, financially dependent, and distressed. An older Scottish woman named Elma, who had helped Adusah build his church, noticed immediately that Charmain seemed less like a beloved partner and more like an acquisition. Her friend Anne-Marie heard something more direct: 'He is not who he says he is.' Charmain had learned that her husband used multiple identities, was significantly older than he had claimed, and had another wife in Ghana.
By March 2015, Charmain was quietly planning an exit. But first, she wanted answers. On March 16, she flew to Ghana alone, leaving her seven-year-old son behind in the UK. A friend from the church later told British police that Charmain had called her that evening from the hotel — and in the background, the friend could hear Adusah shouting and banging a table before the line went dead.
On March 20, Charmain was found dead in the hotel bathtub. Adusah was charged with murder and released for lack of evidence. A BBC investigation later found that his account to police contained significant omissions: the reverend he claimed to have met early that morning did not corroborate his story, and he never mentioned that three men had visited their hotel room the night before her death — one of them carrying a briefcase — before helping him load bags into a car. Two of the men were later traced and said they had been praying.
Adusah now lives in the United States under a different name and did not respond to the BBC's questions. For Elma and Anne-Marie, the years since have been shadowed by guilt and unresolved grief. 'We've been used,' Elma said. 'Charmain was used — she was a commodity.' The case remains open and unresolved, and the son Charmain left behind grew up never knowing the full truth of what happened to his mother.
Charmain Speirs was forty years old when she married Eric Adusah in September 2014, a man she had met through a Christian dating site just months earlier. She believed she had finally found what she had been promised—a man of God, a prophet who spoke divine revelation to his followers. Within weeks of their wedding, she became the "first lady" of his Global Light Revival church, her face appearing on publicity posters alongside his. But something was wrong, and by early 2015, Charmain was determined to find out what.
The marriage had unraveled quickly behind closed doors. She lost contact with most of her friends, became financially dependent on her husband, and according to those who managed to stay in touch, she was angry and distressed. Her son, then seven years old, remained in the UK with members of her husband's church. Elma, an elderly Scottish woman who had known Adusah since 2012 and had helped him establish his church in Edinburgh, noticed the shift immediately. "There seemed to be a lot of urgency to get married," Elma recalled. "What struck me was that they didn't impress me as a romantic couple. It was more like she was an acquisition rather than a beloved romantic partner." Charmain told Elma that her husband insulted her appearance, controlled what she wore, and that she had almost no money of her own.
Anne-Marie Bond, another friend who managed to visit the couple's home in Essex, heard something more alarming. Charmain pulled her aside and said plainly: "He is not who he says he is." She told Anne-Marie that her husband had different identities and other women. A woman from the church who had been in contact with Charmain claimed that another of Adusah's former partners had reached out to warn her. Witnesses later told the BBC they had seen signs of coercive control, and Charmain's son claimed she had been physically abused. Yet despite all this, Anne-Marie said, Charmain still held onto a thread of faith. "She still had that little bit of faith in her, that little belief that this was possibly the man that she's supposed to be with—because of God."
By March 2015, Charmain was planning what Anne-Marie called an "exit strategy." But first, she needed answers. On March 16, she flew to Ghana alone—leaving her young son behind—to confront her husband about his past. According to a statement given to British police by a friend from the church, Charmain had discovered that Adusah used another name, was much older than he had claimed, and had another wife in Ghana. That evening, Charmain told the friend she was going to check into a hotel with her husband to confront him about everything. The friend says she received a phone call later that night from Charmain's number. In the background, she could hear Adusah shouting, the sound of him banging a table as he spoke. Then the line went dead.
On March 20, 2015, Charmain's body was found in a bathtub at the hotel. She was dead. Adusah was charged with her murder but was released due to lack of evidence. He denied any involvement and has never been convicted. More than a decade later, a BBC investigation uncovered significant gaps in his account to police. He had told investigators that he left the hotel after midnight to travel to Accra for a 6 a.m. meeting with a reverend before catching a flight back to the UK. The BBC found that the reverend did not corroborate this story. Adusah also failed to mention that three men had visited their hotel room that night—one carrying a briefcase—and spent an hour there before helping him load bags into his car. Two of the men were later traced and said they had been praying in the room.
Adusah, who now lives in the United States under the name Eric Isaiah Kusi Boateng, did not respond to the BBC's questions about the allegations of domestic abuse and coercive control. For Elma and Anne-Marie, the decade since Charmain's death has been marked by unanswered questions and lingering guilt. "I just wish I did more," Anne-Marie said. For Elma, the experience forced a reckoning with the power she believed Adusah had wielded over them both. "We've both been conned, useful idiots," she said. "We've been used. Charmain was used; she was a commodity." The case remains unresolved, and Charmain's seven-year-old son grew up without his mother, the circumstances of her death still disputed and unclear.
Citas Notables
It was more like she was an acquisition rather than a beloved romantic partner, more like a stage prop than anything else.— Elma, describing how Adusah treated Charmain
We've both been conned, useful idiots. We've been used. Charmain was used; she was a commodity.— Elma, reflecting on how she and Charmain were manipulated
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did Charmain go to Ghana alone, leaving her son behind, if she was planning to leave her husband?
That's the question everyone keeps asking. From what her friends understood, she wasn't going to stay. She was going to confront him, to finally get answers about who he really was. She needed to know the truth before she could move forward.
And she discovered things while she was there—other identities, another wife?
Yes. A friend from the church says Charmain called her and said she'd found out he used a different name, that he was much older than he'd claimed, and that he had another wife in Ghana. She was going to the hotel to tell him she knew.
The friend heard them arguing on the phone that night?
She heard him shouting. She heard what sounded like him banging a table. And then the call just ended. That was the night before Charmain was found dead in the bathtub.
And he was never convicted?
He was charged with murder but released due to lack of evidence. He's denied involvement all along. What's strange is that the BBC found he left things out of his police statement—visitors to the room that night, men who helped him load bags into his car. He said he left to catch a flight, but the person he claimed to meet didn't back up his story.
Do people think he killed her?
People close to her—her friends—they believe something happened that night. But without evidence, without a conviction, it remains a mystery. What's clear is that she was trapped in a marriage with someone who wasn't who he claimed to be, and she died trying to find out the truth.
And her son was seven when this happened?
Yes. He was left in the UK with members of the church while his mother went to Ghana. He grew up without her, and the circumstances of her death are still disputed more than a decade later.