The Made

Florence

I looked at my tattered luggage and smiled to myself.

Actually, at the time, I didn’t know it was tattered. To me, it was all I needed to accompany me through this life I have envisioned for myself. The road may be weary but I knew I was the right person for the job. Besides, I really wanted to make it in life.

When I step into the Bakre’s house, I know something has to give. I know I just have to make it in life. This is the kind of life I was made for. Of course, I have to work hard for it as my mother has always drummed in my ears.

The opulence of this house has made me realize my luggage is in fact tattered. For the first time in my life, I am both impressed and scared about something. It honestly feels like another world. What am I saying? To call it a house is a grand injustice and it’s not only because of the size but also because of the people that are in the house. So, it is true what they say. The type of people that live in a house says a lot about the place. I keep yapping on and on about this house like I already know that my happiest and saddest moments in life would be tied to it. Another thing that astonishes me is the amount of people I have seen as I walk through the hallway behind my mother, dragging my ghana-must-go behind me, compared to the silence that seems to be all over the house. Sorry, mansion. We walk and walk and walk before we get to the front of the house as we entered through the back door. I hear it before I see him. Chief Bakre himself. His laughter rings out so loudly that I am torn between closing my ears and listening to the other person beside him. It must be good to have such intense laughter stored in one’s belly, right?

My mother knocks gently and he calls us in.

“Agnes!” He calls.

My mother genuflects and gives me the ‘African eye’. I mirror her immediately. I look back at the door to my escape and see that they can see the other side from the inside. Pink suffuses my cheeks as I realize they must have seen the odd things I was doing behind my mother before we entered. You know… Those things we do when we see a mirror and never knew someone was seeing us from the other side?

“Is this her? She looks just like you. I hope she is as hardworking.” The old man is saying.

I don’t look like my mother.

“Chief, she is more hardworking.” My mum says firmly and pushes me forward, giving chief the chance to frown at me in speculation.

“This is the new maid? Shouldn’t she be in school or something?”

I turn to look properly at the second person in the room and I’m wondering if I’m staring at Lucifer.

***

9 thoughts on “The Made

  1. We’re in for a new scintillating experience. I’ve my hot coffee on a saucer chilling for the great new read. Well done Bybarh

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s