by Maya Rossi
My home for almost eleven years. Could I survive without her? A million earthquakes, a thousand bombs were going off inside me. All around me Lagos, Ikeja was its usual busy. People running to and from work. They were unconcerned and focused on their own matters, while my world crumbled around me.
The Richards family bowed their heads together in prayer.
I stood by the side, watching through burning eyes. Would Madam Gold know I was with Merrick? How could Madam just send me with Merrick? Who would do the work at home? Who would care for her, stand up for her?
Benita separated from their huddle first, running into the car. She called, “Mom, come on. There’s no time.”
Madam finally released Merrick. Her makeup was ruined and running. She wiped her hand across her cheek and reached for the car door. Then she glanced up. With a soft cry, she ran forward with her arms held out.
“Oh, God. Adam. I will miss you.”
She hugged me tight, her perfume, her warmth a healing balm. She rubbed my back in a soothing motion. “I won’t be long. Two weeks and we’ll sort things out. Alright?”
I nodded, throat badly clogged. “Ma—Madam Gold?”
“I will handle everything, don’t worry.”
“Yes ma, have a safe trip.”
Tears flowed silently down my cheeks. I watched through blurry eyes as Merrick got a bag out of the booth and waved the car goodbye for one last time.
“Ada, Ada.”
His call came from far away. I was busy watching the best and kindest Madam I had ever served walk away from me. Would she come for me or ask Madam Gold for another maid? What if I ended up with another Madam like Ngozi?
I would just die.
“Ada.”
I focused on Merrick, who looked worried. Under the lights of one of the busiest cities in the world, the cuts and bruises of his badly swollen face looked even worse.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah….yes sir.”
He sighed, looking troubled. “There’s no need for that.”
“Yes, sir.”
The last thing I wanted was a word of complaint reaching Madam. I had to get back to her, regain my place at her side. Anyhow.
“Right. Let’s go.”
Tighter
Chapter twelve
The journey took hours. I wanted to ask if we were going outside Lagos, but I had learned to keep my mouth shut. But the longer it took, the more I worried. It was already late, so I couldn’t make out much. The sweat from the passengers invaded my nostrils. I was smashed between Merrick, who stared out the window and a fat woman with a sleepy boy on her lap. The bus groaned, creaked and cried out with every move. The little boy slid a little more into my lap with every gallop. He was heavy. I squirmed into Merrick, trying to get more space. But it was tighter than an old skirt on our seat.
I didn’t need the light to know when we left the city. Gone was the smooth ride and buses with clean, good leather seats. I was welcomed without warning to torn seats and ordinary foams for chairs.
At a stop that reeked of piss and shit, we got out. The night was the blackest, the cars older. I stumbled and Merrick pushed a hand into my lower back, a support I didn’t need. I pulled away, muttering apologies.
He didn’t notice, rushing like a madman to the next bus. Fear of losing him moved me forward, and I ran. Straight into a puddle of God knows what. I shuddered, biting on my lip to hold back my instinctive cry. Merrick didn’t slow down. It was like he could see in the dark or something.
I thanked God silently for Merrick’s height. I kept a lock on his head and weaving shoulders, above the dark moving shapes ahead. The bus stop was a mess. The guttural call of conductors calling out destinations, the drivers standing by the road and stalls of old women selling alcohol. These men would drive us drunk.
It was like nothing I had ever experienced. And I thought I had seen it all.
When I got to the bus, I slammed into a wall of passengers pushing and shoving to get on. A hard elbow jutted into my ribs. The pain distracted me and the person slipped through. I lost sight of Merrick. Panic gave me strength and fought, kicking and elbowing my way to the front. The press of bodies, the rank of sweat and my sore toes from all the stomping. It was too much.
A hand curled around my left breast, squeezed and released. I shouted and jumped back. The hand move to my neck, held tight and pulled me forward with an incredible display of strength.
Passengers called out in alarm as I flew right over their heads, pulled by that arm into the bus. My thigh bumped over heads, my legs hitting at body parts as my head cleared the door and into the bus. I bumped heads with Merrick, our foreheads smacking. I pulled back with a cry; he didn’t even flinch. Focused on forcing the rest of my body into an already packed bus.
Jesus. It was hot. Every surface of the bus was occupied, even the small raised thing at the back of the driver’s side. Worse, another look confirmed all the passengers had someone seating on their laps.
“You want injure me with this girl, if you go carry her, carry her,” the man beside Merrick shouted.
Merrick shoved an elbow into the man’s neck. “Shut up.”
And just like that, they went at it. They threw abuses about like stones. The most amazing part? No one said a word, they were sleeping or watching with a bored expression.
I realized how ridiculous my position was, suspended across the two men like a flying kite. My renewed attempts to get into a seating position dragged Merrick’s attention from the back and forth with the guy. Sweat flowed like a dirt dribble down my cheek and between my breasts. I was so miserable I could cry.
“It’s too tight and--”
The conductor got on, hanging on the open doorway, draping his body across it, blocking out the little air completely. Because we were sitting so close to the door, the conductor’s face brushed my buttocks as he leaned forward.
“Bros, carry this girl make she no mess for my mouth,” he said, pushing at my buttocks.
Mortified, I kicked out. Merrick and the guy, with a new outlet for their frustration rained abuses on the conductor. I dug my elbow into Merrick’s ribs, sharp and hard.
“I need to sit down,” I gritted out.
He stopped. With a shrug, he adjusted my body like I weighed nothing. Like the space wasn’t cramped. Then I was sitting on his lap.
I blinked at the blue scarf of the woman in front, speechless.
“Guy, how far now?” Merrick asked in perfect pidgin. “I be Merrick.”
“Uzo.” The guy shifted to the left so we were more comfortable. “Water be problem now.”
Just like that, the two men became fast friends. I sat stiffly on Merrick’s lap until my back ached, my shoulders dropped, and my neck tingled. The conductor started collecting money. I wondered if he would hang on the door throughout.
He did.
Somehow he joined Merrick’s conversation with Uzo. They talked about everything. Football. Farming. Cows. Water. The journey took forever.
It only got worse. They were more potholes than smooth stretches of road. Every time the bus heaved over a bump, I feared it would stop, but it didn’t. Like a pregnant woman, it waddled but kept moving. Merrick’s thighs became uncomfortable, digging into my buttocks like hard wood. I badly wanted to adjust, but I was afraid to.
I pushed my discomfort far into a corner of my mind.
Then Merrick was shaking my shoulder. “Come on. It’s already late.”
We stumbled out. It was like pushing out cooked rice from a tiny cut in a nylon. We didn’t get out at once like civilized humans, they, we all just forced ourselves out at once. Merrick somehow kept me upright and we walked, en masse, like refugees. I marched right alongside him, scared of being left behind more than anything.
He and Uzo talked like old friends all the way. We stopped at another bus stop, less busy, but seedier— and I didn’t think it was possible for this place to look worse. The ground was marshy, muddy in places. Mud
splatters trailed up the back of my legs with every step.
We took over ten minutes to get a bike. They discussed trekking, laughing and bickering as we waited. Suddenly, Merrick pulled away and ran into the middle of the road, forcing a bike to stop.
“Where’s your bike?” I asked as he helped me onto the back of the bike. He jumped after me, pushing me into the back of the driver. The seat was small and I was mashed between the two men like poor fishes between two slices of bread.
“I thought you’re angry,” he said “I mean you’ve left paradise, a rich lover to the middle of nowhere.”
A rich lover. I didn’t reply. The road only got worse. Three minutes later, muddy became a pool of water. Behind me, Merrick tensed up.
The bike waded in. A lump rose in my throat. Every tiny movement pushed me forward until I was plastered between the bike man and Merrick. I got a reprieve when the bike suddenly stopped. I realized my hands were curled into Merrick’s thighs, my nails digging into his jeans.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
His attention was on the bike man. “You go stop here?”
The bike man aimed his lights down the road. It was all water. It was both incredible and frightening. I assumed Merrick was going to have the bike turn around, take us to a hotel or something since it was so late. I doubted this place had a bed and breakfast let alone a motel or hotel.
Merrick jumped down and helped me out. I closed my open mouth and watched him haggle price, cutting it down by half.
Was this really Madam’s son?
I remained behind as he strode forward. When I realized he really meant to swim in the muddy water, I called out, “Wait.”
He turned and blinked. Had he really forgotten me during the short time? He walked back and grabbed my hand, leading me forward.
I balked. “No.”
He set the bag on his shoulder. “Look, this is the only road in. You can wait and I’ll come back to carry you.”
Alone? I shook my head and followed tentatively. He stopped to switch on the torchlight on his phone. The water was cold and strangely refreshing. The water level was as high as my waist. Plastic cups, foam, a rubber sandal, and slippers brushed past me and I shrieked each time. Merrick was silent and focused, moving with certainty.
The ground was solid beneath my feet. Merrick had his bag across his shoulders. Soon, we got to a fenced compound. The black gate almost remind me of the fine houses at our estate except the bottom of this gate was badly rusted. A short woman stretched high, toes barely touching the ground, hands fiddling with the lock.
“I. J?”
The woman stopped at Merrick’s call, dropped the lock and ran forward. “Thank God you’re back. How’s your people?”
“Why didn’t you call me? I would have come sooner.” Merrick pulled himself up on the high gutter and helped me up.
Who was she, wife, girlfriend?
I. J smiled and held out her hand. “I’m I.J. Tell me you’re his engaged girlfriend here to care for him and give him beautiful babies.”
Her smile was wide, and her eyes twinkled. She was short, about five feet two, but she seemed like more because she was constantly smiling, moving and waving her arms around.
“I’m Ada,” I said when Merrick didn’t make a move to introduce us.
“Igbo,“ she exclaimed, “nice.” She made a regretful face. “I have to go. I live in the dry street on the other side--”
“The dry street?”
“Unlike this one, it doesn’t become the river Nile of the bible when it rains,” she explained with a laugh. It was like an old joke between them because Merrick smiled a little.
“I. J,” Merrick took over opening the gate, “give me the bad news.”
Wait, there was still more? The road and the journey wasn’t all?
Her shoulders dropped, then perked back up immediately. It was like her thoughts were on fast forward, the way she reacted quickly to things. I suspected I.J was one of those constantly cheerful people.
“I had to take some birds inside and make a fire. The goats are fine. But the birds--” she shook her head, “I didn’t get here on time.”
After more talk about animals and crops and water, they said their goodbyes. I. J promised to come over so we could talk more and become friends. Friends!
“Can you tell her who I am?”
Merrick was propping a length of wood against the gate to hold it open. He stopped and looked around, the skin of his forehead creased. I was the last of his worries. “Why?” he asked absently.
“I’m a maid.”
“And?”
“I’m a maid.”
At my reply, he stopped to shine a torch into my face, blinding me. “Tell her yourself tomorrow.”
Past the gate, we waded through water a few feet. The water level reduced progressively until we stood on dry land. I was so focused on getting one foot in front of the other I almost didn’t notice until Merrick exclaimed quietly, “Thank God.”
He handed me a key. A single key. The key to the shop back home was a bunch of four. The one to the house was a bunch of nine. He had a single key. What kind of house did he build with the scammed money?
“Open the door, don’t mind the animals, take your bath and sleep.”
His hands went to the button of his jeans, and he took it off briskly. While I watched in open-mouthed disbelief, he reached above to hang the jeans on—a tree! I had been standing right below it without noticing.
“I need the torchlight.”
“Shit.” He stopped for a second, then handed over his phone.
We went in opposite directions. I got the next shock of the evening. The house was so far from the gate, almost a two minutes walk, if not more. When the house appeared, I stopped to stare. A tiny house, nothing at all like the mansion back home. It was the size of the shop without the fine finishing. It wasn’t painted. I aimed the torch light closer. It was not even cemented. Perplexed, I didn’t move, staring at the house in horror.
Maybe he didn’t mean this house. Maybe there could be another house behind this one. But there wasn’t.
Why was he living like this when Madam would do anything for him? It didn’t matter if he killed Oga or something worse. I knew her heart. He was her son.
I had to climb a set of blocks arranged to create stairs. Under my inconsiderable weight, it wobbled. I held my breath until I cleared the last stair. Aiming the torch at the blocks, I could see myself tripping and breaking my neck. The two weeks could not come fast enough for me.
Inside the house was worse than the outside.
The ground was uncemented, bare, normal ground, packed dirt. I walked past the room to what looked like a hallway. A short hallway. At the end there was a dirty curtain hung straight down, trailing the ground.
With some dread, I approached the curtain. Carefully, I peeled it back, shone the light and gasped. It was the bathroom. A local village latrine. This was a latrine, not a bathroom. The room was barely the size of my arms, spread out wide in width and just double that in length. As tall as Merrick was, how did he manage in here?
Right in the middle of the room was a cemented patch. I step forward and stab it with my toe. There was a patch of ceiling across the middle, I move it away with my foot and the most god awful smell crept out.
Jesus. A latrine.
I dashed out, heart pounding double time.
There was a kitchen—a sincere apology to the real kitchens, and three bedrooms. The room close to the entrance had to be the living room. I stopped in the middle of the hallway, stunned right out of my mind. What was I supposed to do here? According to Madam Gold and Madam’s expectations, I should serve.
Serve.
How did a word that usually put me at ease, bump my heart rate up?
A sneeze interrupted my freak out. I followed the sound to one of the rooms, the kitchen. A fire burned in the corner, I waved my torchlight— Merrick’s phone. There was an impressive heap of firewood again
st the wall, high to the roof.
The fire popped and sizzled, sparkling in the night, the only beauty in this mad house. A sneeze butted into my surprise. I swept the light again and stared into the unblinking eye of a goat. Arranged in a ring around the fire are shivering chickens. I count nine. And two goats.
I would share the house with a goat. Two goats.
I was rooted to the spot when Merrick’s came in. He placed another chicken close to the fire and looked at me.
