The Girl with the Louding Voice(42)

“Fourteen years of age,” I say. Why is he wanting to know my age?

“I see,” Kofi say. “Come with me this way.”

As we are leaving the library and Kofi is opening another glass door and enter inside, he stop a moment, then look me deep inside my eyes and make his voice so whisper, I am nearly not hearing him. “Be very careful of Big Daddy,” he say. “Extra careful.”

I am wanting to ask what he mean by that, but he clap his hand two times loud and say, “Right. This here is the kitchen. My favorite part of the house. Come on in.”

The kitchen is like nothing I ever see. There is machine for doing every work. Machine for blending, for washing cloth, for water pumping, for heating water. The fridge is like ten times big than the one I use to see inside shop that was selling fridge in Ikati market square. The color of every machine in the kitchen is to match. Everything is red this and that. There is a looking-glass even on the cooking stove. “Is it Big Madam that put looking-glass in this stove?”

Kofi laugh. “That’s how the gas cooker was made,” he say. “The oven door is made of reflective glass. It is like a mirror.” He tap the cooker two times, like he is prouding of it. “This here is a top-of-the-range Smeg with six burners. I call her Samantha. Sammy for short. Fantastic piece of equipment. She is one of the reasons why I remain in this house.”

I close my eyes a moment, and I see my mama in this big kitchen, I can see her singing songs as she is licking her palm for taste of sugar in the flour, as she is pressing this button and that button on the machines to be frying her puff-puff. I open my eyes to the clear windows behind the kitchen sink, the wide green fields outside, and I think of Kayus. Oh, how Kayus will love to be kicking his football there. A real football, not like the tin of milk he is always kicking at home. I can hear his voice in my head now, shouting Is a goal! as he score one in the net. Since he was a small boy, Kayus was wanting to be like Mr. Mercy, a footballer from the Abroad.

My papa will like to sink hisself in that soft cushion sofa in Big Madam’s parlor and be watching evening news and talking elections with Mr. Bada. How he and Mama and my brothers will love this house; the rich and big and powerful of it all.

“Where will we fetch water to wash plate and cook?” I ask, and the trembling in my voice shock me. I keep still my voice, clear my throat, make up my mind not to think too much of a life that can never be. “Is there a river or well in the afar?”

“Adunni, we have taps,” Kofi say. “That is a tap.” He point to the sink area. “Water comes out of there. Turn that handle to the left for hot water and right for cold water. See?” He turn the handle and water is jumping out like a angry stream. We have community taps in Ikati, one tap for the whole village, but the water from it be dripping one drop in every one hour. Too slow. He turn it again and the water off. “That’s that. Now, to your room. Follow me.”

We go outside the kitchen to the compound around the house. There is a lot of grass, more palm trees along the path. We turn one corner and we are facing another small house. It have a red roof too, with two windows, one wood door, two flowerpots full of sleeping yellow flowers.

“This is called the boys’ quarters,” Kofi say. “All of Big Madam’s staff stay here. You will use one of the rooms here.”

“Why am I not sleeping inside Big Madam’s house?” I ask.

“Because you don’t,” he say, mouth straight. “I have cooked for that damn woman for five years, and I still cannot sleep inside her house. Right. Here we go.” He push open the wooden door. There is a long corridor, with three more doors along of it. Kofi point to the first of the door, twist the handle to open it. “Here is your room. Rebecca used to sleep here until—” He stop his talking, swallow something. “Step inside.”

“Until what?” I ask. “What happen to this Rebecca?”

“Who knows? Probably ran away with her boyfriend,” he say, shrug. “Your uniform is on the bed. It used to belong to Rebecca. I hope it fits. Her shoes are under the bed. Hope those fit too, otherwise, stuff tissue in them. Go in, get changed, and I will be back to show you what you need to do.”

I enter inside the room. The room is the size of Morufu’s parlor in Ikati. A bulb is hanging on a white plastic rope from the ceiling. There is a open window in the wall with metal gate behind it. A red curtain cover most of the window, but it leave a crack, enough to allow a small breeze and a blink of light from outside, be like red lips parting a little to show two white teeths. On the bed is a mattress of yellow foam, table and chair in one corner, a brown wooden cupboard beside it.

“That is my uniform?” I ask, picking up the cloth from the bed and spreading it out. It is a dress, long to my feets, with red and white square stamp on it everywhere. “Is it for school? This uniform?” My heart is swelling. Maybe it is a good thing that I run away from Ikati.

“This has got nothing to do with school,” Kofi say, dull. “Big Madam expects us, her domestic staff, to wear uniforms. I wear a chef’s uniform, and you will wear a housemaid uniform.”

The dress don’t make noise as it is falling out of my hand and landing on the floor by my feets. “This is not uniform for school? Why anybody with correct sense will be wanting housemaid to be wearing uniform?”

“Big Madam expects us to look professional. You know, like we are working in a proper place. And I agree. I don’t know about yours, but my job is an important job. She has important friends. Rich men and women in the society. Now, did Mr. Kola tell you that Big Madam will put you in school?”