by Abi Daré
She take two step near to us, then I am seeing her face well. Her face is looking like one devil-child vex with her and paint it with his feets. On top the orange powder on her face, there is a red line on the two both eyesbrows which she is drawing all the way to her ears. Green powder on the eyeslids. Lips with gold lipstick, two cheeks full of red powder.
“Big Madam,” Mr. Kola say, lying on the floor to greet her. “Welcome back.”
When she open her mouth to talk, one of her bottom front teeths is having gold on top it.
“Agent Kola. How are you?” she say, her voice deep. “That is the girl?”
“The best, ma,” he say.
She laugh. Sound like a rumble, a big rock rolling down a mountain.
I kneel down as Mr. Kola is rising from the floor. “G’afternoon, ma,” I say. “Adunni is the name.”
“Adunni.” She look me down, face strong, and then she is asking question upon question. “Can you work hard? I have no time for rubbish. Did Mr. Kola tell you my expectations? Have you done your health checks? Can you speak English? Write? Basic communication?”
I don’t know too much about this expecta-shun and communica-shun thing, so I am keeping my words to myself.
“She is hardworking,” Mr. Kola say. “She is healthy, I have her test results right here—you know I have never brought you an unhealthy girl. This one understands English and can read simple sentences. She is intelligent, everything you asked for, ma. She will not disappoint. Adunni, get up.”
Big Madam pinch her boubou open in the chest area and blow air inside it. “Agent Kola. That is what you always say when you want to sell them to me. The last girl you brought, what is that her name? Rebecca? She is still missing till today.”
Which girl was Mr. Kola brought before? Why was she missing? I am looking Mr. Kola, but I know I cannot be asking him the question now. I turn to Big Madam, thinking to ask her who this girl was, but her face be like a circle of silent thunder, flashing angry and making me to be afraid. Did something bad happen to this Rebecca that make her to be missing? And if something bad happen to Rebecca, will something happen to me here too?
“Go inside and wait for me there,” Big Madam say. “Let me talk to your agent.”
Mr. Kola nod his head yes. “Go inside,” he say. “I need to speak to Big Madam. I am coming.”
I stand to my feets and look the compound. At the palm trees on my left and right, at the other cars in the place, at the main door in the afar, which look like the door to heaven with the gold wood handles on it. As I am walking away, I can feel the eyes of Mr. Kola and Big Madam entering my back.
When I reach the front door, I look back at the two both of them, head bending close to each other, talking and talking.
* * *
The handles on the front door is the gold head of a smiling lion.
It is a statue, but I still check it sure that the lion will not just jump awake before I knock the door. When it open, one short man with skin so smooth, the color of cooling charcoal, is standing in my front. His cheeks are round, swelling, as if he is keeping air inside of it, with mustaches that curve around his mouth. He is wearing white trouser and shirt with a long white cap on his head. There is a long blue cloth hanging around his neck and in front of his stomach with a writing on it: The Chef.
“Good afternoon, sah. Big Madam say I should be coming inside,” I say, pointing behind my head to Big Madam and Mr. Kola. “Adunni is the name.”
“Finally, the new housemaid arrives,” he say.
“Housemaid?” Is this the work I will be doing? Mr. Kola didn’t say before. All he was asking is if I can be working hard, and I am saying yes.
“I am Kofi,” he say, pointing one short finger to the writing on his cloth. “The chef. The highly educated chef. If you are here to werk, follow me.”
Why is he talking as if his tongue have a problem? Saying “werk” instead of “work”?
“Why are you talking one kind?” I ask, looking him close. “Are you from the Nigeria?”
“I’m from Ghana,” he say, turning around. “I have lived in Nigeria for twenty years, but my accent is stubborn.”
“You have a stubborn accident?” I ask as I follow him inside, feeling pity. “When it happen? It affect your mouth? Hope nobody die?”
He stop walking, look me like I mad. “Where does Big Madam find these uneducated beings? I said I speak with an accent. Not an accident. Okay?”
“Is okay,” I say, even though it didn’t okay. What he say is just making me more confuse. Maybe he have a accident in his head too.
I look around the room, feel a shiver all over my body. There are gold and black tiles on the floor. The walls are pale red, with pictures of Big Madam and two childrens, a boy and a girl, sitting inside the picture. The boy have a nose like big letter M and the girl have teeths that is sitting on top her bottom lip. The two both childrens are wearing long, black robe, with triangle hat on their head. Big Madam is standing in between them, her hands on their shoulders, left and right. There are two chairs far back in the room with wood handles, and two round cushions on the floor, red and gold and swollen like balloon.
There is a smell of shoe polish, of fish stew, of new money. It feel too cold too, and I peep one white box in the wall where the cold air is climbing out from. I see a line of looking-glass on the wall to my left and right, and a clock with big face and big numbers. At my right side, I see a bowl of green water with blue stone at the bottom of it, and small fish swimming around a light pole inside the green water. The fish are having different colors: red, green, black and white, orange. Different shapes too, and one is even looking like a frog. The light pole is vomiting bubbles, plenty of it, making sound like water boiling too much inside pot.
Kofi point a finger to the fish-bowl. “Take a seat over there by the aquarium. I will be in the kitchen preparing dinner. Your job is to take care of the house. Mine is to cook. You stay in your lane; I stay in mine.”
Before I can be asking why he is talking of lane as if I am a motorcar, he enter inside one glass door and close it on my face.
“Ah-kweh-ri-um,” I say slowly, looking the fish-bowl, as I sit in the chair next to it and put my belongings on the floor. The seat is soft, the brown rubber of it is smelling like new shoe, the top of it cold on my buttocks. I look the clock. Time is saying fifteen to two.
Have they find Khadija by now? Bury her? What of her childrens, are they wailing cry now because their mother is dead? And me, why am I here, inside this noise-making Lagos, doing housemaid of one Big Madam with too much color on her face? Why am I not in Ikati, in Morufu’s house, sleeping beside Khadija and talking quiet talk in the night? Or with Mama, if she was not dead, sitting by her feets on her mat, smelling her smell of flour and sugar and milk?
Why am I doing housemaid work, when all I was wanting was to go to school? I don’t know when or how my eyes is wet of tears again, but this time, I cry quick and wipe it quick and tell my mind to be strong as I wait for Big Madam and Mr. Kola to come.
CHAPTER 24
Big Madam didn’t bring Mr. Kola.
She come in by herself, stand in the middle of the parlor, put two hands on her hips, and begins to be shouting at top her voice: “Kofi! Kofi!”
Me, I am sitting in the chair, watching her. I open my mouth, close it back. I didn’t sure whether to be saying something or keeping my words to myself.
“Kofi?” she shout. “Ko— Where is this man? KOFI! Are you deaf?”
Kofi jump out from somewhere, holding a wooden spoon. “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t hear you over the blender noise in the kitchen. I was just— Do you need something?”
“What is for dinner?” she ask. “Did you get the oranges from Balogun market? How about the yams? Is Big Daddy’s fresh fish on the fire?”
Kofi is nodding his head yes and shaking his head
no at same time. “The fish is in the grill. The oranges were not fresh, but I got them anyway. I am cooking white rice and fish stew for dinner. Would you like some broccoli on the side? Steamed or stir-fried?”
“Steamed. Get Adunni her uniform,” she say. “Show her to her room.”
When she say that, I stand to my feets. “I am here, ma,” I say. “Where is Mr. Kola?”
“Once she gets changed, show her around the house,” Big Madam say. She is not looking me. She is just talking to Kofi. As if I didn’t just talk.
“Squeeze five oranges for me and bring it upstairs,” she say. “There are a pile of clothes in the laundry room that need ironing. I doubt she can operate an iron. Show her. If she burns my clothes, your next month’s salary will pay for it. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly understood, ma’am,” Kofi say.
“Good,” she say. “Tell Abu to bring three bundles of the burgundy French lace from the boot. Put them in the reception for me. Caroline will be sending her driver to pick them up. I do not want to be disturbed.” She turn around, enter inside another glass door, and close it.
“Is all okay with her?” I ask Kofi, my eyes on the glass door. “Why didn’t she talk to me?”
“You don’t want her to be speaking to you,” Kofi say, talking whisper. “Wait here. Let me turn off the gas cooker and show you around. By the time Big Madam comes back downstairs, she expects you to already be working.”
When Kofi leave my front, I catch my face in the looking-glass. My hair is looking like a bad farm: New, thick hairs are growing over the lines of the plaiting like stubborn weeds on a garden path. All the red beads Enitan put on it so long ago have fall off. My eyes are wide and big and shocking, and my skin, which was smooth and bright and fair, is now the color of spoiling tea with no milk.
CHAPTER 25
Big Madam’s house is having rooms here and there, left and right.
The room for shitting is different from room for baffing. Room for hanging cloth is different from room for sleeping in bed. There is room for shoes-keeping, for car parking in the outside, for keeping makeups in the upstairs. All the rooms are having space and gold tiles on floor. We didn’t enter inside Big Madam’s bedroom, but Kofi say she is having a round bed and another baffroom inside. In the downstairs, there are two parlors. One for visiting people and the other is for Big Madam only. “No one sits in here unless Big Madam asks you to,” Kofi say as he is closing the door in front of the second parlor. There is a looking-glass on the wall in every room. “Big Madam is quite vain,” Kofi say. “Always looking at herself in the mirror.”
There is another room just for eating food with a long table and like fifteen chairs. The chair is gold, the table a long gold slate on top four glass legs. There is a light case with about one hundred bulbs hanging in middle of the ceiling, glass flowerpots full of pink and red and smelling fresh flowers in the every corners of the room.
“Dining room,” Kofi call it. “Big Daddy and Big Madam eat here when they are on good terms, which is a rare occurrence these days. Follow me. Yes, this small room here is the library.” He open another door and we are inside a room with books sitting inside a dark brown wooden case. So many books are climbing up the case to the ceiling. There is a sofa with correct cushion in one corner, and table and chair next to it, a gold standing fan with three blades beside it. The whole place is smelling of dust, but I am not minding it. My heart is swelling as I am looking it all. Is like I am inside one kind heaven of books and educations.
“You like books?” Kofi ask.
“I want to be reading every day,” I say, feeling a pinch of happiness as I am remembering what Kike say to me about feeding my mind with reading of books. I bend my neck, trying to read the title name of some of the books:
Things Fall Apart
Collins English Dic-tion-ary
Africa Bible Com-men-ta-ry
A His-tory of Nigeria
1000 Prayer Points to Secure Your Marriage
The Book of Nigerian Facts: From Past to Present, 5th edition, 2014
“Who is owning all this books?” I ask as my eye is cutting around the wonder of the whole room.
“Big Daddy,” Kofi say. “He used to love reading many years ago. But that was before he lost his job and turned to alcohol. Now the library is hardly ever used. I am only showing it to you because you will need to dust it often.”
“Who is this Big Daddy?” I ask. “Is he Big Madam’s husband?”
“Yes,” Kofi say, whisper. “Unrepentant alcoholic. Chronic gambler. He keeps getting into debt and making his wife bail him out. Shame of a man, if you ask me. Real shame. He is away on business, should be back later today. And when I say ‘business,’ I mean woman business.”
“You mean how?”
Kofi round his eye. “He is a womanizer. He has girlfriends. Plenty of them.” He turn his mouth down, as if he is tasting something bitter so sudden, then he ask, “How old are you, Adunni?”
“Fourteen years of age,” I say. Why is he wanting to know my age?
“I see,” Kofi say. “Come with me this way.”
As we are leaving the library and Kofi is opening another glass door and enter inside, he stop a moment, then look me deep inside my eyes and make his voice so whisper, I am nearly not hearing him. “Be very careful of Big Daddy,” he say. “Extra careful.”
I am wanting to ask what he mean by that, but he clap his hand two times loud and say, “Right. This here is the kitchen. My favorite part of the house. Come on in.”
The kitchen is like nothing I ever see. There is machine for doing every work. Machine for blending, for washing cloth, for water pumping, for heating water. The fridge is like ten times big than the one I use to see inside shop that was selling fridge in Ikati market square. The color of every machine in the kitchen is to match. Everything is red this and that. There is a looking-glass even on the cooking stove. “Is it Big Madam that put looking-glass in this stove?”
Kofi laugh. “That’s how the gas cooker was made,” he say. “The oven door is made of reflective glass. It is like a mirror.” He tap the cooker two times, like he is prouding of it. “This here is a top-of-the-range Smeg with six burners. I call her Samantha. Sammy for short. Fantastic piece of equipment. She is one of the reasons why I remain in this house.”
I close my eyes a moment, and I see my mama in this big kitchen, I can see her singing songs as she is licking her palm for taste of sugar in the flour, as she is pressing this button and that button on the machines to be frying her puff-puff. I open my eyes to the clear windows behind the kitchen sink, the wide green fields outside, and I think of Kayus. Oh, how Kayus will love to be kicking his football there. A real football, not like the tin of milk he is always kicking at home. I can hear his voice in my head now, shouting Is a goal! as he score one in the net. Since he was a small boy, Kayus was wanting to be like Mr. Mercy, a footballer from the Abroad.
My papa will like to sink hisself in that soft cushion sofa in Big Madam’s parlor and be watching evening news and talking elections with Mr. Bada. How he and Mama and my brothers will love this house; the rich and big and powerful of it all.
“Where will we fetch water to wash plate and cook?” I ask, and the trembling in my voice shock me. I keep still my voice, clear my throat, make up my mind not to think too much of a life that can never be. “Is there a river or well in the afar?”
“Adunni, we have taps,” Kofi say. “That is a tap.” He point to the sink area. “Water comes out of there. Turn that handle to the left for hot water and right for cold water. See?” He turn the handle and water is jumping out like a angry stream. We have community taps in Ikati, one tap for the whole village, but the water from it be dripping one drop in every one hour. Too slow. He turn it again and the water off. “That’s that. Now, to your room. Follow me.”
We go outside th
e kitchen to the compound around the house. There is a lot of grass, more palm trees along the path. We turn one corner and we are facing another small house. It have a red roof too, with two windows, one wood door, two flowerpots full of sleeping yellow flowers.
“This is called the boys’ quarters,” Kofi say. “All of Big Madam’s staff stay here. You will use one of the rooms here.”
“Why am I not sleeping inside Big Madam’s house?” I ask.
“Because you don’t,” he say, mouth straight. “I have cooked for that damn woman for five years, and I still cannot sleep inside her house. Right. Here we go.” He push open the wooden door. There is a long corridor, with three more doors along of it. Kofi point to the first of the door, twist the handle to open it. “Here is your room. Rebecca used to sleep here until—” He stop his talking, swallow something. “Step inside.”
“Until what?” I ask. “What happen to this Rebecca?”
“Who knows? Probably ran away with her boyfriend,” he say, shrug. “Your uniform is on the bed. It used to belong to Rebecca. I hope it fits. Her shoes are under the bed. Hope those fit too, otherwise, stuff tissue in them. Go in, get changed, and I will be back to show you what you need to do.”
I enter inside the room. The room is the size of Morufu’s parlor in Ikati. A bulb is hanging on a white plastic rope from the ceiling. There is a open window in the wall with metal gate behind it. A red curtain cover most of the window, but it leave a crack, enough to allow a small breeze and a blink of light from outside, be like red lips parting a little to show two white teeths. On the bed is a mattress of yellow foam, table and chair in one corner, a brown wooden cupboard beside it.
“That is my uniform?” I ask, picking up the cloth from the bed and spreading it out. It is a dress, long to my feets, with red and white square stamp on it everywhere. “Is it for school? This uniform?” My heart is swelling. Maybe it is a good thing that I run away from Ikati.
