Excerpt from part 1:
The clock ran at its peak and the two days arrived like I had just been told a while back. As I sat in the bus headed to Lagos, I wept bitterly for two reasons. First, I was going to miss my siblings and I only prayed our father’s only sister treat them like her own. Second, I was scared of what Lagos had in stock for me.
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The journey from my hometown in Akwa Ibom to Lagos took almost eight hours. It was such a tiring one for me. I tried to feed my eyes with the people and things around me. To my left was a mother and her daughter who were fast asleep almost through the entire journey. Initially, I attempted to do same but I couldn’t take a nap as I watched excitedly as we journeyed through different towns and villages.
“Dad, are we not there yet?” a young boy seated directly behind me asked his father wearily.
“We will soon be there dear,” the old man replied. Quite truly, it wasn’t up to twenty-five minutes that my eyes struck a sign post with the inscription “WELCOME TO LAGOS”. I felt the bitterness erupt within me and immediately wished to be back in my hometown. This was definitely the first time I was ever visiting Lagos. The wind blew hard on my face to reassure me I was in Lagos and would probably not be seeing home for a long time to come. I fought back tears as the blissful memory of my late parents and siblings flashed through my mind.
As the driver drove into the garage at Ojota, I began to search frantically for the piece of paper that Mama Eno had given me. She had scribbled down a number I was to call on arrival in Lagos. I located the nearest business centre and put a call through. The woman on the other end was an old woman whom I knew only as ‘Mama’ and stayed with for four days, until her son and daughter-in-law came to collect me. They took me to their home in Lekki.
At the beginning, I remember being very afraid but after about five days, I was no longer afraid because [from] the way everybody was behaving here, [I could tell] they were not wicked. Yeah! They weren’t wicked but they actually just cared less about me. So far as I did my work well and on time, I was nonexistent to them. The only problem I had with this routine was that I was often hungry; breakfast was served late each day. Sometimes I did not eat until 1pm. My day usually began with sweeping and mopping the floor before helping my madam get ready: ironing her clothes, fetching her wigs, cleaning her shoes and serving her tea.
Oga does not like it when I prepare his food; he prefers madam to do that but I make breakfast for everyone else, including their teenage children and the security man who guards the gate. After serving everyone, I sit on a stool in the kitchen to eat my own food before continuing with the rest of the day’s chores. Most times I cannot sleep until I have completed my daily tasks. On a good day, that will be 10pm; on a bad day 2am. However, my workload lightened a little, when madam banned her children from sending me on errands for them. Now, whenever they want me to do anything for them, they have to buy me biscuit or give me money if they want me to do whatsoever without madam finding out.
Days had grown into weeks and weeks into months and eventually a year. I had gotten a accustomed to my daily routine that I did them effortlessly. Everything was going fine until this very night. It was a cold dull night unlike other nights since I arrived in Lagos, this night was different. Somehow I could tell something terrible was going to go wrong that night. Like I foretold, the expected happened. Someone sneaked into my room. In the darkness of the night, I felt fingers searching for the wetness of my young opening and when the probing fingers found it, they fingered deeply. Occasionally, the fingers ran up to fondle my breasts and back down to my thighs. This went on for thirty minutes before the person sneaked back out. The lights were out and so I couldn’t make out who it was.
For weeks this act continued and every morning, I searched frantically for the culprit. I was super confused on who to suspect. Could it be Oga? But no, I doubt if someone who repels me so much can do such. Or was it Junior, my Oga’s nineteen years old son? No!!!! Junior was too much of a church boy; he never missed his midnight prayers between 12am-3am. Then who could it be? I made up my mind to at least find out who this pleasure giver was but then again something in me felt the anonymity of such person made it more adventurous.
Night had come again and I awaited the creaking sound of my room door which eventually came as my midnight sexual lover slid into my cover cloth. As always, there was no utterance of any word but I could feel I was being stared at for some seconds before being drawn close. I already knew what was wanted so I didn’t waste time in pulling my pant and positioning myself adequately. Just five minutes into foreplay, I heard a nearby door gently creaked open and then I and my partner froze with fear and paused abruptly in the middle of it all.
Fingers still dipped in, the door of my room opened and someone walked in. The lights were off so everywhere was dark except for the torch the person brandished. As the torch swung to me on my bed, I heard a quick gasp by the carrier followed by the scream- Mom!!! That was Junior’s voice but couldn’t he keep a secret for his father only for me to turn to my right and scream- Madam!!!
Our noise attracted Oga and Princess to my room. I simply got up to wear my pant back as madam begged her kids and blamed her husband.
“I swear I didn’t mean to do it. It was all his fault. Look at how he’s fidgeting now like he didn’t know it would get to this level or even something worse”.
Apparently, Oga had suddenly become impotent a few years back and madam was sexually starved.
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