The Girl with the Louding Voice(48)

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?”