by Maya Rossi
To my relief, I spotted Benita’s class teacher, NK, and took off. The gateman rushed after me, shouting about how I had no respect. NK dismissed him. “She’s with me.” She curled a hand around my shoulders. “How are you?”
Thankfully, the meeting was quick. It was mostly routine with talks about the senior and entrance exams. After the meeting, NK led me to her office. “How come it smells of chalk in here?”
She smiled absently, rummaging her desk for a pen. “It was formerly a classroom when we still used chalk, not marker. I guess the smell never left. Aha, found it.”
She held up the pen like a trophy. A book on the table caught my eye. Older women and men sat in classrooms, writing. I studied their faces; they were older, far more than me.
“You’re interested?” the class teacher walked around her desk to stand by my side.
“What is it?” I asked, mouth gone dry with nerves.
“It’s the new continuing education center. It’s just a small thing, but I love it.” She laughed. “Teaching adults is way better than these rich kids that act like kings and queens.” She pulled flyers from a folder and handed them over. “If you could help us spread it around, I will appreciate it.”
“Who’s running it?” I asked.
“The most amazing man I’ve met this year.” She grinned, holding up her ring finger. “It’s not my husband. Pity he won’t be with us long.”
We laughed. The conversation was easy and light, and I didn’t want to leave. I stared at the flyer. Some words I could make out, but most flew over my head.
“You can’t read, can you?” she asked gently.
At my shake of head, she smiled. “I hope you’re not ashamed of that.”
I snorted. “Maybe not as much as you think, Miss.”
“Call me NK,” she invited, leaning against her desk.
“I love school, I wish to be educated, but it destroyed my family. Madam could have sent me to school, but I never pushed for it.”
Her eyes lit up, and I saw why she was so popular among the students. Among parents too, to be fair. “You just said you wish to be educated, what would you have studied, if you had the chance.”
“Psychiatry.”
Her brows went up to her hairline. “What?” I shook my head, and she stopped pressing. “We might not make that happen, but we can help you learn to read. Think about it.”
Thirty minutes later, I left the school with the flyers. I ended up in the shop and was surprised to find Madam with Mary’s Madam, Ma Nkechi as she was popularly called. I greeted them discreetly and quietly went about my duties. For the next hour, I took inventory, made deliveries and cleaned the shop.
With eye contact and a smile, I let Madam know I had to rush out. I took the bus to Ikeja to get Benita’s ipods and returned to find the women still talking. When they were done, Ma Nkechi stopped by my side. She ran her hands down my arms and gripped my hand.
“You’re so lucky. This one’s respectful, hardworking, and loyal.” She sounded wistful.
Madam pulled off her gele. It was now in the shape of her head, like a cap. She handed it to me. “I don’t like it when you people say it like that. Do you think me and Ada just arrived here? We’ve been together for years.”
“I know. Mary has been with me for longer, but you know how she is. My husband and children are afraid of her--”
“Come on, epilepsy is not contagious.”
“I know, but still.”
I pretended to do my chores while I listened to the women talk. Mary must have suffered another attack. Jesus. I felt sorry for her, but she was lucky to have a Madam who cared even a little.
“I do some of the work, especially when she’s ill. Even now, I can’t have her doing some chores.” She sighed. “I might have to get another maid.”
My heart sank. Mary was eighteen. If her Madam released her, she might not get another.
“Contact Madam Gold, get a young one. Maybe at five or six years--”
“That early?” Ma NKechi sounded skeptical.
“Yes,” Madam confirmed. “You train her. I warned you not to take Mary you didn’t listen.”
Mai NKechi nodded. “I like her, it’s just her illness that spoils everything.”
What would Mary do now?
After she left, Madam hissed. “I have told her to take the girl to the hospital. It’s not like her illness is so bad it stops her from working.”
It was that bad, but I said nothing.
“Come.” She handed over the flyers. “You want to go to an adult education school?”
My heart thudded dully. I didn’t know how she wanted me to answer. I shook my head, feigning casualness. “NK gave me to help her advertise a bit. I think I’m too old to learn to read.”
She frowned. “Not really. It’s never too late to learn. I just think you should think of marriage right now.”
I gaped at her. I was eighteen. Blessing was nineteen, and there was no talk of marriage. Joy’s warning returned to needle like a thorn in my side. “I ah, I don’t know about that.”
She waved off my reply. “I want to discuss something with you. The Babalolas got a new maid.”
My stomach soured. The first family I served. They were the richest and the most wicked family I had ever met. They changed maids almost every month since the maids ran away every time rather than stay. Even the ones from Madam Gold never stayed.
If Madam Gold’s children didn’t work for them, no way could they get a permanent maid in this lifetime. I heard tales of child rape, burning flesh with cigarettes and worse, smearing ground pepper into maid's eyes and long treks chained to their car. The last maid had suffered the most because their son, Ayo was home from America. They chained the maid in a room for months, doing God knew what to her.
I swallowed, hard. “Yes.”
Madam reached a hand for her bag and I handed it over. She took out some cash and counted. “They are having problems with the maid.”
“Of course.”
“Did you say something?”
“No, ma.”
“One busybody neighbor called the police. They would likely question you, tell them nothing happened.”
It must be worse than I feared. What had they done to the poor girl? It was not only unusual but unheard of for neighbors to intervene in a quarrel between a maid and Madam. What state was the poor girl in? Joy would know.
“Ada?”
A memory of Madam Gold standing over Eriga with those barbed wires intruded. I could almost smell the blood, and Eriga’s cries. My hand went to my left cheek, traced the scar, and I forced my lungs to work.
“Yes, ma.”
“Tell them nothing happened.”
“Is she in a bad way?”
Madam raised her head, pushing the money aside to watch me. “I haven’t seen her, I don’t know.”
It had to be way worse then.
“Mrs Babs is the vice chair at the university of Lagos. I will need her help with Benita when the time comes.”
I nodded, smiling tightly.
She gazed at me fondly. “You’re everything, Adam. I have not once regretted taking you out of Ngozi’s hands.
The same woman she wanted me to lie for. Ngozi Babalola.
Madam leaned forward. “I know you hate her. I know I’m asking too much, but just do this for me. I want Benita’s admission secured first. Please.”
I nodded.
Whatever she tells you to do, do it.
“Yes, ma.”
Of all the ways I served Madam, working in the shop was one I hated the most. Madam’s shop was popular. On the weekends especially, we had a steady influx of customers. But during the weekdays, it got so quiet with children at school and workers slaving away in their offices. Most of the time, Madam either went to see her friends or sent me to trade fair to meet our suppliers.
I hated it. The journey going to the bank, and the journey back. I hated going to the bank especially.
“H
ere,” she handed me her ATM card, “withdraw one fifty thousand, Demola will be waiting. Remember, be careful.”
Demola’s shop was located along Ota road. The first time I had gone to withdraw such an amount, I lost it. Madam Gold would have peeled the skin off my back. Ngozi Babalola would have killed me. Madam ranted, got angry and got me a new handbag.
Hers was a trust I never wanted to fail.
I took the bus to the bank first, already dreading the queue waiting at the ATM. When I got to the bank, it was even worse. The queue went in a circle round the bank and outside the gates. The sun was high. The smell from the market gutters nearby ripe and breath stealing.
I wished I could call Madam to warn her I would be late. Quickly, I took another bus to Ota. I tried the nearest bank.
Frustrated people waiting to withdraw money lined the walls. Inside the bank, the group closest to the ATM fought for who was first or second. The nearest bank was two buses away and even more unreliable. With a tired sigh, I took the last place on the queue.
As the sun roasted my braids and the nearly empty bag on my shoulder turned the weight of bricks, someone tapped my shoulder. Since the sun was high, I had to shield my eyes with my hands to see. Even with the sun half blinding me and those dark shades obscuring his beautiful eyes, I recognized the face immediately.
“I’m behind you, yeah?”
Our eyes met, his mask of indifference slipped and recognition set in. “Hey.”
Heart pounding double time, I turned away.
“I’m behind you, yeah?” This time, his words were hard and clipped, straight to the point. I glanced back and nodded. My eyes dropped to his lips and away. Those lips kissed mine?
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him move near the wall where a small roof provided a shield from the sun. They were two guys with him, tatted, leather wearing and huge. They drew glances. These were not the usual people you saw in our neighborhood. The world might have changed, but some parts of Nigeria remained the same.
As we all watched, he stuck a cigarette in his mouth. My mouth twisted in distaste. I hated the smell and sight of cigarettes. Just then he turned and caught my… frown. He smirked. I looked away.
They weren’t loud. They stood in a circle talking and smoking while Kisser leaned back with his back braced against the wall. Another guy joined them, arriving in a cloud of smoke and noise of engine. He packed his motorcycle, grinned, and said something that made the others laugh.
“Yo, Merrick,” he called, waving.
Merrick, not Kisser.
Merrick smiled, lazy and slow. It made my breath catch and the sweat bead on my upper lip. I would have pegged them for the usual okada riders who carried passengers on the back of their motorcycle from sun up to sun down, only to drink away their profits at beer parlors during the evening.
Maybe that was all they were.
We were all watching this class of unusual men when an expensive car stopped right behind Merrick and his friends, clipping the tyres and sending the man sprawling.
The man never reached the ground. His friends caught the bike and Merrick helped him up. A quick look inside the car and my blood ran cold. It was Mr Matthews and Joy in the front seat like some girlfriend or wife.
Joy kissed him and got out of the car. But when Mr Matthews tried to follow, Merrick jammed the door closed with his boot. In seconds they surrounded the car. Merrick insisted on an apology and payment for the ruined bike. Mr Matthews tried to bluff his way out of trouble. But Merrick and his guys meant business.
After empty warnings to show them who he was, Mr Matthews paid up. Through these, Merrick never raised his voice. He remained calm, unmovable and authoritative. He left the older Mr Matthews scrambling for words and explanations. In the midst of the fracas, Joy slipped away like some ghost in a Nollywood movie.
“The loyal slave and her trusting mistress,” she singsonged on reaching me.
Beyond her shoulder, I watched Merrick turn to follow her escape with a critical eye. Joy hung her arm around my shoulder as we continued to watch what looked like a group of good for nothings harass a renowned businessman.
Mr Matthews stomped out of the car, rushing to Merrick. Idly, he blew a stream of smoke into the older man’s face. Now, that offended the sensibilities of the spectators. It was one thing for Merrick to stand up for himself, but Mr Matthews had paid up.
“Small boys will have small money and start misbehaving,” an older woman said to my right.
“No respect. When they won’t go to church, how will they know respect?”
“This world has really spoiled.”
Mr Matthews took out his phone and made a phone call. He was the local government chairman in our district. Many times he helped Oga hire soldiers to stop riot at his Heavens Pure Water Factory. There was only going to be one winner in this fiasco. I didn’t know what possessed me to do what I did next. I grabbed a startled Joy by the hand and led her to Mr Matthews. When we got close, Merrick turned, that damned cigarette still clamped to his mouth. I walked right past him to Mr Matthews.
I dug my nails into Joy’s side and smiled widely. “Hi.”
Joy sputtered. Mr Matthews frowned, looking both pleased to see Joy and irritated at my presence. His gaze drifted to my scar, and he stared with a sick fascination I was familiar with. I allowed myself to imagine that this man with his family, rich friends, cars and expensive native wears really liked Joy, but I couldn’t. Mr Matthews liked women, he liked them young and beautiful. And Joy was both young and beautiful.
“What are you looking at?” Merrick
“Joy told me all about you,” I began trying to mimic Joy’s breathy tone. I must have failed because Joy gave a choked laugh and Mr Matthews' face tightened like my effort left him constipated.
Joy hooked her arms with his. “This is my friend, Ada and--”
He led Joy away, gesturing angrily, phone call forgotten. A minute later, he drove off with Joy. I turned to find Merrick and his tattooed friends watching me like an animal in the zoo. A hint of the cigarette smoke entered my nostrils the wrong way, and I coughed.
“Christ,“ he hissed, looking crazy attractive and disgusted. “You can’t even stand smoke and you’re saving me from the local government chairman?”
Wait. “You knew who he was?”
With a Deft movement, he put out the cigarette, smashing it beneath the sole of his booth. “He’s far from home,” he added carelessly.
Maybe it was the shades and the sun heightening his looks more than normal, because he was even more beautiful than I remembered. “That’s stupid,” I blurted out.
He went dangerously still. Those invisible eyes behind his shades sliced me to bits. “Get the fuck out of here.”
I hurried to apologize. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s your mother and your generation that’s stupid,” he got in my face, I caught a whiff of dust, cigarette smoke and musk, “get the fuck off my face.”
With less grace than Joy, I stumbled out of their midst to my place in the queue. I kept my gaze straight ahead, cheeks and eyes burning in embarrassment. What did I say? I vowed to stay away from him for good and mind my business. Despite my vow, I kept an eye on the group out of the corner of my eye. After sometime, the guys left, leaving only Merrick.
An okada stopped at the market side on the opposite side of the road and Joy got out. I had ample time to admire her in her towering boots and expensive dress as she cat-walked to the queue. No one looking at Joy would reconcile her with the same girl just five years ago with tear-streaked face and lice infested hair, begging me to kill her before Madam Gold found her.
The closer she got to me, the less I could separate the past from the present. Instead of some sophisticated woman in boots I would never afford to wear, I saw a bare-footed girl. Instead of artfully manicured nails, I saw dirty nails bitten to the quick. I saw her sweat and tears and the blood from between her legs where her Oga raped her.
She was thirteen.
Joy grabbed my shoulders. “Are you mad?”
I heard, “I killed him. I killed Mr Danjuma. I wanted to be quiet, but it was painful and I couldn’t bear it. I killed him.”
How did she come back from that? Joy refused to talk about it but there had to be more. You don’t kill and Oga and make a comeback with Mr Matthews. You don’t just.