Chapter 2: The Price for One Night’s Warmth

Dem sell me enter Okoye house when I be fifteen.

That morning, sun never reach top, but everywhere dey busy. My papa no even dey house. My mama brush my hair with her shaky hand, her face try smile but her eyes dey red. She tell me say make I no cry—say na for better life.

I still remember that morning. My mama give me two puff-puff, wear me the new wrapper wey she sew by herself. Two old mamas dey look me up and down like goat for market, dey smile like say dem win awoof.

Their wrapper dey shine, their voice dey sweet, but their eye sharp—dem dey check my leg, my hand, even my back. I dey feel shame, but mama say, "Stand well! Make dem see say you strong."

My mama happy too—the small bag wey she hold full with naira notes.

I look the money for her hand—new notes, plenty. Na that time I know say something big dey happen. My younger brother dey hide for kitchen, dey look me, eye big like frog.

I think say dem dey sell me as maid for rich people house, so I no too sad. For our village, almost every girl dey pass the same road. If you get luck for oga house, you fit even come visit home one day—wetin dey there to cry?

Na so Aunty Ngozi go Lagos, come back with small change for Christmas. I dey hope say my own luck go shine like her own.

But when I reach Okoye house, na there I know: dem buy me to be half-bed wife.

The madam first look me up and down, her eyebrow sharp like cutlass. No smile, no greeting. She call two housegirls, say, "Make una clean am well—no carry village dirt enter my son room."

Na so dem dey do for big man house. Young master suppose know woman matter, but to avoid wahala before marriage, dem bring this half-bed wife arrangement. Dem go pick girls from poor, clean home—easy to control, no family wey fit fight. As we enter, dem go train us, give us medicine so we no go ever get belle. Our work na only every first and fifteenth, and we must always cover face with veil. After bed matter, for daytime we no suppose sabi oga. No emotion, no trouble, everybody go rest.

The other girls dey whisper. "She fine, dem say she clean. Madam get eye." For my ear, all the stories wey I hear for village come true. No be sweet story, but wetin I fit do?

E really cheap for dem.

My head dey spin. My hands dey cold. For that big house, I just be one small fish inside river wey no get end.

The first day madam see me, she gentle, soft. But dem strip me naked for her front—like say I be animal. Madam wey wear gold and coral just dey walk round me, dey check every part, even pinch me for public. When she satisfy, she talk:

She take her time, inspecting like say na goat she wan buy for Christmas feast. Her ring cold for my skin. "Good," she say, "this one get hip, fine leg."

"This one good. Na only this kind body fit make my son happy. Carry her go train."

She no even look my face again, just turn waka. The other women nod, clap softly. Shame nearly finish me.

Just like that, dem carry me again.

The corridor long, the walls cold. As dem dey push me, I hear one old maid whisper, "Make she pray say young master go like her, if not..." She no finish, but I hear the warning.

Mama Ifeoma wicked, I suffer well for her hand before young master finally notice me.

Every small mistake na cane. Every night na prayer. I dey count days, dey wish for luck.

I think say as young master don dey notice me, my life for Okoye house go better. But madam get her own wahala. She want make I do everything to please young master, but if he just show me small care, she go vex, break cup.

Na true wahala. One minute, she go call me 'good girl'; next, if she hear small laugh from young master side, she go break plate. Everybody dey fear her mood.

Now again, I dey kneel for Palm Grove Courtyard. Madam dey look me with cold face. "You sabi the mistake wey you do?"

Her head tie big, her lip tight. All the housegirls dey stand for back, dey wait for sign. My heart dey beat, sweat dey my armpit.

I dey shake, mind dey run. But I check myself, I follow all the rule this period—I no do anything wrong.

I dey pray say make she no call my name. I dey count my sins, but nothing come.

"This servant no know..."

My voice low, almost like breeze.

"You still dey argue!" Madam shout. "Then wetin be this?"

Her voice scatter the air. Everybody freeze.

She throw something for ground, e no even make noise.

The thing land for sand. I look, my mind dey blank.

I look well. Na that handkerchief.