The Girl with the Louding Voice

by Abi Daré

  I feel the same fear in this big house tonight: the fear of falling waters, of swallowing thunders and crushing rocks, of Big Madam and Big Daddy and Missing Rebecca, but there is no music in the noise of this house, no wonder in anything. There is no Mama to sense my fear and stop it, and when I close my eyes and try to sleep, all I see is Khadija, lying so weak, in the cold wet sand of Kere village, crying for me to help her, to not let her die.

  CHAPTER 27

  This is how I am doing work in Big Madam’s house: Every day, I must wash all toilet and baffrooms.

  I must use teethsbrush to be scrubbing in the middle of the tiles and be using bleach to be mopping the floors and walls. I must sweep the inside of all the rooms and outside the whole compound. I must be pulling weed from inside the flowerpot even though Kofi say they have one man that his name is “The Gardner.”

  Kofi say this Mr. The Gardner will be coming on Saturday morning to be doing flower and grass work, but Big Madam say I must do it first, so I am doing it. When I finish that, I am washing Big Madam’s pant and brassiere with soap and water inside a bucket in the outside. The first time I see Big Madam’s pant, I was wanting to die dead. I tell you true, that pant is wide like curtain. Her brassiere is like boat. She like to be wearing two pant and two brassiere every day, so I am washing so many in one week. After I finish washing her brassiere and pant, then I must be putting it inside the machine-washer in the kitchen so the machine too can be washing it.

  When I ask Kofi why I am washing first before machine-washer, Kofi shrug his shoulder and say, “Do it and don’t complain.”

  In the evening, I am cleaning window, cleaning looking-glass, dusting table, chair, wiping this, mopping that. I am also massaging Big Madam’s stinking feets at night, and sometimes, she open her scarf and ask me to be scratching her hair. I am only stopping to eat in the afternoons. No evening food. No morning food.

  “Big Madam says she can only afford to feed you once a day,” Kofi say when I ask him why no morning or evening food.

  Sometimes, Kofi will call me in morning and give me food to be eating before Big Madam is waking up. Two weeks back, Kofi give me rice and stew with one boil egg. Big Madam was sleeping in the upstairs, so I thank him and sit down on a stool inside the kitchen. As I was biting the egg, Big Madam enter the kitchen. I shock, stiff. Hold the egg in my hand, thinking whether the floor will open and swallow me whole with the egg.

  When she see me, she march to my front, collect the plate, and pour the rice on top my head. She snatch the boil egg, smash it in the middle of my head. As I was crying because the pepper from the stew is entering my eyesballs and I am fearing I will be blinding, she was starting to slap, punch, kick me everywhere. “Did I not tell you I don’t want to see you eating inside my house without my permission?” she was shouting. “You don’t expect me to clothe and accommodate you in exchange for the substandard work you do for me, do you? If you must eat more than once a day, you sit outside and eat your food. Your own food. Not mine. Is that clear?”

  She turn to Kofi. “The next time I see this girl eating more than once a day, I will reduce your salary.” By the time she finish beating me, the hunger is not doing me again. That was the first time Big Madam beat me, and in the nearly one month I been here, she is beating me almost every day.

  Just this yesterday morning, she slap my face because I was singing as I was picking the weed from the grass. She was in her car, driving outside the compound when she just ask her driver to stop the car. She climb down from the car, march to where I was kneeling by the flowerpot under the palm tree in the hot sun, and give me a back-hand slap.

  I daze. The sun daze too, blind my left eye for a moment.

  “You are shouting,” she say. “You are disturbing the citizens of Wellington Road with that noise you call singing. This is not your village. Here we behave like sane people. We have class. We have money.”

  As she is shouting on me, I am thinking her own shout must be disturbing the peoples more than my own soft singing, but I cannot be telling her that. When she finish shouting, she release a long breath, nod her head, before she turn around, climb back inside her car, and drive away. When I ask Kofi why she is beating me every time, Kofi say he confuse too.

  “Yours is one of the worst I have seen,” Kofi say. “She beats you every time she sets eyes on you. Did you annoy her in any way?”

  I think back. “No. I didn’t do anything.”

  “In that case, I will suggest you find a way to go back to your village,” he say with a sigh. “Adunni, let me tell you something about me. Five years ago, I seriously considered returning to Ghana after I lost my job as the personal chef to the Ghanaian ambassador to Nigeria. It was a highly distinguished job, Adunni, very important. I lived in the Federal Capital Territory; in a wonderful two-bed house in Abuja, unlike the nonsense we have here. I served world leaders. I lived well. But I lost that job when a new ambassador was appointed, a godforsaken idiot who said my cooking was not to his taste.” He shake his head as if the remembering of it is causing him pain in the head. “I decided to stay back and find another job. I mean, I had studied accounting in university and upset my whole family when I decided to follow my passion and become a chef. How could I go back to Ghana in shame? Especially when I still hadn’t completed my building project? After everyone back home thought I had an important job with the ambassador? Me, I am only working here because I need to finish my house back home. But you have nothing keeping you here. Nothing. Go back to your village. Go home.”

  “But how will I go back?” I ask. “Mr. Kola is missing, and I don’t know my way back to Ikati. Even if I am knowing the way, to go back is didn’t possible because . . .” I clamp my mouth. “Going back is didn’t possible.”

  Kofi look me, face down. “In that case, stop complaining,” he say. “Do your work. That’s what I did, what I do every day.”

  “The beating is too much.” My eyes are feeling hot with tears. “My mama didn’t ever beat me like this, not even my papa.” Or Labake. Or anybody.

  “Try staying out of her way,” Kofi say. “When she is in the house, get busy outside. When she is outside, run inside and find work to do there. If she doesn’t call you, don’t show your face. Adunni, you know you talk too much. Must you have an answer for every question? Learn to shut up. And for goodness’ sake, stop singing all the time.”

  And so, for the next two nights after my talk with Kofi, I stay in my bed thinking of correct plans, until finally, one sharp, good ideas for hiding from Big Madam is entering my head.

  * * *

  This morning, I was wiping the window outside the kitchen when I hear Big Madam’s car driving inside. Quick, I pick up my cleaning cloth, pass the side of the house, enter the library, and shut the door on myself.

  I draw a long breath, start to wipe the bookcase. I bring each of the books out one by one, open it, and wipe it. As I am wiping it, I am trying to be reading the writings in the book. I cannot be doing loud reading because of Big Madam, but I am talking inside of my breath.

  Many of the books is having big English, so I am only reading the first ten words or so before dropping it until I am picking up the Collins. Is a small but fat book like my mama’s Bible with wide letters in yellow and blue color on the page. I open it and see that it is having words and the meaning of the words next to it. I begin to turn the page. The book is putting words letter by letter, like ABC alphabet. Since I am knowing the alphabet, I begin to look for words. First, I am turning to letter I to check the meaning of “innocent” because the way Big Daddy was laughing that day is making me think the word is having another meaning than just a name. The Collins write this about “innocent”:

  innocent

  adjective: A person not guilty of a crime or offense.

  noun: A pure, guileless or naïve person.

  Why is Big Daddy asking if I am pure? And how I can be p
ure after how Morufu was making me so dirty in the spirit and body when he drink his Fire-Cracker? The whole thinking back to that time is making me want to vomit, so I close the Collins and pick up The Book of Nigeria Facts.

  Why it have such a long name, this book? Is a tall one too, be like three books gum together, the cover with the picture of a ball, shining and bright, and the map of the Nigeria inside the ball, the green, white, and green color of the Nigerian flag inside the map.

  I put it down, check what “fact” is meaning in the Collins:

  fact

  noun: A thing that is known or proved to be true.

  Is this book having the true answer to the every question I am having? I open the first page of it, peep it. It is full of dust, give me a tickle in my throat, make me cough two times. It seem so full of wise, this book. Many pictures, many things making explanations for many things about the Nigeria and the whole wide world of it. It have dates of when things happen in the Nigeria from before in the past till this 2014:

  Fact: October 1st, 1960: Nigeria’s Independence Day. Nigeria gained independence from Britain.

  What is this the Britain? Is it a fighting enemy? I know “independent” is meaning when you are free. Where they take our free? And how we collect it back from them? I sit down on the floor, keep my eyes on the book:

  Fact: Lagos is Nigeria’s most populated city. A major commercial hub for the world, the city is blessed with many beaches, and an active nightlife, and is home to one of the largest concentrations of millionaires in Africa.

  So this is why all the rich peoples are living in this Lagos. I swallow spit, pull the book more close to me. I have plenty work to be doing, but this book be like two big hands, full of love, drawing me close, keeping me warm and feeding me food.

  Fact: In 2012, four students of the University of Port Harcourt were tortured and beaten to death in Aluu community after they were falsely accused of stealing. The horrific act sparked a global outcry against jungle justice in Nigeria.

  Jungle justice.

  If I didn’t run from Ikati, from Bamidele’s wife and all the Agan village peoples, maybe they will make me suffer this jungle justice thing, burn me with fire because they think I am a thief.

  This fact make me so sad, but I keep reading, keep learning the fact I am understanding and the one I am not understanding until the book is feeling too heavy in my hands so I set it down and pick up my cleaning.

  When I finish wiping the everywhere in the library, I pull the notebook from my pocket, sit on the sofa, and as my head is remembering the things that we are needing in the house, I write it. Sometimes I am checking the Collins for the spelling:

  Toilet Tissue paper.

  Soap.

  Nylon bag. For putting inside dustbin.

  Bleach. For toilet dirty.

  Powder Soap. For Machine-washer.

  “Adunni?” Somebody call my name in the afar. Big Madam. “ADUNNI!”

  “I am coming, ma,” I shout and, quick, put my notebook inside my pocket and stand to my feets.

  When I open the door, Big Madam is outside the library. Her eyes are angry, her whole body looking like she is wanting to just burst.

  “Are you deaf?” she ask, hands on her hips. “Why did it take you so long to answer me?”

  Before I can talk correct answer, she give me one hot slap.

  I daze, stumble back. “Ye!” I say, rubbing my cheek. “I was answering you, ma. I was saying I am coming but—” She use another slap to silent my words.

  Before I can be thinking about that slap, another one is landing on my back. I fall to my knees and close my eyes and think of Mama, of Ikati, of Kayus, as she is using her palm to be slapping my back, slap, slap, slap, like she is one angry drummer beating one angry talking-drum.

  But I am not crying; I am just collecting the slap and slapping her back in my mind. When she slap me, I slap her back too, only I don’t touch her. I don’t count how many slaps before I hear Big Daddy voice, “What the hell is going on here?”

  Big Madam give me a kick. “Useless fool,” she say, spit on my back. “Why are you not crying? Are you possessed? Is a demon living inside you? Because I will beat it out of you today.”

  “Florence. Do you want to kill that girl?” Big Daddy say. “You used your mad anger to chase away all the other house girls, and now you want to do the same to this poor girl? Adunni!”

  I open my eye, look up. Today is the first day I am seeing him since that time in Big Madam’s parlor because he always travel for his woman business. Today he is not having red eye. His word is not dragging. He is looking like a sensible somebody.

  “Adunni, get up,” he say and give me his hand.

  I push myself to my feets. Big Madam is not slapping me again, but it is still feeling like my back is still collecting the slap. The pain feel like somebody rub hot pepper on my skin, before pouring kerosene and lighting matches to my body. The whole of everywhere is breathing with pain.

  “Welcome, sah,” I say. I don’t kneel down to greet him. My knee cannot bend again. Nothing in my body is working correct.

  “Adunni. Are you okay?” he ask.

  “Okay, sah,” I say, even though we all know that I didn’t okay.

  “Florence”—Big Daddy turn, face his wife—“you are the possessed one.”

  Big Madam release a long breath, look as if she just finish eating a food that is so sweet, as if beating me is giving her life, hope. She look me up and down, hiss. “She is a useless girl,” she say. “A lazy good-for-nothing waste-of-space. I had to search the whole house this evening before I found her in the library, fast asleep.”

  “And so you found her asleep in there and you decided to murder another woman’s child?” Big Daddy say, his voice climbing high. “I heard you from the driveway, Florence. The driveway! What if you had given her a fatal blow? Damaged her brain? Left her paralyzed? Would your excuse stand in the courts of justice?”

  I don’t understand everything Big Daddy is saying, but I know he is angry with Big Madam.

  “Now, Florence”—Big Daddy hold one finger up, twist it left and right—“let this be the last time you touch this child in this house. I repeat. Let this be the last time you lay a finger on Adunni. IS THAT CLEAR?”

  Big Madam say something mumble about paying all bill and prostitute-girlfriend as she is walking away.

  Big Daddy turn to me. “Are you all right?” he ask.

  “Yes, sah,” I say. “Thank you, sah.”

  “Come here.” He open his two hands wide, like he wants to collect something. “Come on. Don’t be afraid. Come.”

  I plant my feets in the ground, look him. What is he wanting me to do? To give him a embrace? Or to what? When I don’t move, he come near me and wrap his hand around my body.

  I stiff, press my hand to his chest, but he just squeeze tight.

  “Don’t mind her, Adunni,” he say, pressing his mouth inside my neck areas. His mustaches is scratching my skin, breath hot and smelling of butter-mint and small drink. “You hear me?”

  “Yes, sah.” I talk with my teeths close tight. “Work is waiting for me, sah. Please let me be going to—”

  “I want you to feel free with me in this house,” he say, cutting my words, holding me more tight. “Florence will not be able to touch you if you let me protect you.”

  I push his chest hard, collect myself from his hand, and run to the backyard. I was running fast and I didn’t see Kofi beside the outside tap, I jam him by the shoulder, nearly falling him and myself and the basin he was holding to the floor. Kofi set the basin on the floor and grip the wall with one hand to steady hisself.

  “Adunni!” he shout, offing the tap. “Are you okay? Why . . . What is chasing you?”

  I press my hand on my knees to slow my breathing. “Big Daddy,” I say. “He
was holding me too tight, just now. I collect myself from him and run fast.”

  “Big Daddy was holding you?” Kofi say, concern. “Why? Where is his wife?”

  “I didn’t too sure why,” I say. “Big Madam just finish beating me, then Big Daddy say he wants me to feel free and that he wants to protect me. What is he wanting from me, Kofi?”

  I look Kofi, fear in my eyes. I know what Big Daddy is wanting, but I am afraid to think it. To say it.

  “Is that man cursed or something?” Kofi say, talking quiet. “Ah, chale, but I warned you to be careful.”

  “I been trying to be be-careful,” I say, feeling tears climb down my cheeks. “I don’t want trouble in this Lagos and I cannot be going back to Ikati, but the man, the Big Daddy man, he was holding me tight, making me to fear. The other time, I catch him looking me one kind of way. Help me, Kofi, please.”

  “Don’t cry,” Kofi say, shaking his head with a sad sigh. “There must be something . . . I’ll think of something that can help you. Stop crying, you hear?”

  “Thank you,” I say, wiping my cheeks with the edge of my dress as I leave his front to begin my evening toilet washing.

  When I finish my work and climb into bed at midnight, my body is sore, my back on fire.

  My fingers feel like a stiff curve of plastic, and I know it is because I been holding the cleaning cloth too tight, for too long. I try to sleep, but when I close my eyes, I see Big Daddy’s teeths, sharp like a blade, bleeding with blood, coming for me.

  CHAPTER 28

  Fact: Nigerians are known for their love of parties and events. In 2012 alone, Nigerians spent over $59 million on champagne.