The Girl with the Louding Voice(72)

There are two drawings on the wall. One of a woman wearing an ankara dress, and one of a clay head. It doesn’t have eyes, this clay head. Just holes inside the head for eyes and nose and mouth. And it has marks on its face; thin, long lines drawed from the forehead to under the eyes to the jaw. As if somebody vex and use long nails to be scratching the face everywhere.

“Got those paintings from the Nikè Art Gallery. It’s an amazing place in Lekki,” she say, pointing to the one of clay head. “That scarred one is my favorite. It is a painting of the Bronze Head from Ife. A masterpiece. Do you like art?”

“I read of it in The Book of Nigeria Fact, about how we were letting the British to steal our art,” I say. “Where is this surprise?”

“Take a seat. Get comfortable, I’ll be back.”

I sit down inside the sofa. She come back holding a blue jeans bag.

“Here,” she say, eyes wide and bright as she bring out three books from the bag. “I got you an early Christmas present, some of the best books on grammar,” she say. “This here is called Better English. I had a quick read through and it’s amazing. Perfect for you. The remaining two are equally good, but get through Better English first.”

I collect the books, feel water pinch my eyes. “Thank you,” I say. “You are too kind, too much.”

“That’s not all.” She put her hand in her pocket, bring out a phone. It is slim, black, the size of a small child’s hand. “This is as simple as it gets. Perfect to hide away from your madam too. I have loaded it with some credit—”

I don’t let her finish, I jump on my feet and the three books fall from my laps and slap the floor as I am giving her embrace.

“Thank you, Ms. Tia!” I say, holding her tight as she is laughing. “Thank you!”

“It’s not a big deal, Adunni,” she say when I leave her be. “I am really concerned about what you said happened with your boss’s husband. When you said, he . . . you know, came into your room. Did you eventually get the lock sorted?”

I nod my head yes. “Big Madam send a carpenter and put a lock there.”

“And now, you also have a phone.” She press the phone, and it make a njing-njing noise, give me a tickle. I laugh and she laugh too. “I will teach you how to send a text message. I have stored my number on here as Tia. It is the only number saved on your phone. If you are ever in trouble, send me a text. Just type one simple word: ‘HELP.’ And I will try to be at your house as soon as I can. I have also stored several recordings of myself pronouncing certain words. Have a listen.”

I collect the phone, turn it around in my hand, my eyes are not believing that me, Adunni, a small girl from Ikati village, is owning a mobile phone. Even before my papa is owning one. My heart is swelling with thank you for it.

“Your madam must not find it, okay?”

“Even if you don’t teach me that, common sense is telling me that one. Is it having Facebook on it?” I ask, looking at the phone again, like it is something that just fall from heaven and land in my hand.

“No,” she say. “I cannot let you get on the internet until you know exactly what you are doing. And”—she bite her lip like she thinking deep for a moment—“if your madam’s husband ever tries to touch you, you fight, okay? You fight with everything in you. And scream. Fight and scream. Remember those two words, okay? Promise me that you will do that?”

I nod my head yes. “He did not come near me again since that time.” I know I am telling a small lie, but I don’t want Ms. Tia to come to Big Madam and be causing fight. I am fearing of what will happen to me if she cause a fight.

“And if it ever happens again—God forbid—but if that bastard comes near you again, I will have him bloody arrested and damn the consequences.” She blow out air with her nose and mouth, blinking her eyes fast. I feel something move inside my chest. Why is this woman so kind to me? What can she see in me when even me, I am not seeing anything in myself sometimes? I fight the stubborn, foolish tears pinching my eyes, but it come out anyway.

“Aww, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Ms. Tia say, wiping her finger under my left eye.

“What you see in me, Ms. Tia?”

She shake her head, hold my two hand up, make it like two bars so she can peep my face, the real me behind the bars. It feel like she is climbing out of herself and entering my own soul, my heart.

“Tell me, what do you want most in life?” she ask.

“For my mama to not be dead,” I say, my voice breaking. “For her to come back and make everything better.”

“I know,” she say with a soft, sad smile. “I know, but can you think of something else you want?”

“To go to school,” I say. “And now, to win the scholarship.”

“Why is this so important to you, Adunni?”

“My mama say education will give me a voice. I want more than just a voice, Ms. Tia. I want a louding voice,” I say. “I want to enter a room and people will hear me even before I open my mouth to be speaking. I want to live in this life and help many people so that when I grow old and die, I will still be living through the people I am helping. Think it, Ms. Tia. If I can go to school and become a teacher, then I can collect my salary and maybe even build my own school in Ikati and be teaching the girls. The girls in my village don’t have much chance for school. I want to change that, Ms. Tia, because those girls, they will grow up and born many more great people to make Nigeria even more better than now.”