It was a busy day in the Kumuyi’s residence in Garki, tomorrow Derele is coming home or as Madam would call him Dele. I have not met him before because I came last year to work at the Kumuyi’s resident as the house help. Derele lives in the UK; when he schooled there he would usually come home for vacation but in recent years he has not visited. So I hear Mr Kumuyi is retiring as the chairman of the Coker’s group of company, a company which uses to belong to Mrs Kumuyi’s father and Derele is to take over from his own father.
I have scrubbed, cleaned and decorated as I know how; even the staff has been reshuffled. Mrs Bankole also called Sisimi ceased to be the cook as a sharp looking uniformed chef, Willy was employed last week to take her place.
“Dele will want an intercontinental cuisine Sisimi, white people don’t take African dishes.” Madam had explained gesturing with her thumb and first finger to indicate perfection.
“But I can learn Madam.”
“No, you assist Maureen with housekeeping; she will need the help with Dele adding to the workload.”
I am just happy I can keep my job. At nineteen, having my education catered for is more than I can hope for. After my secondary school, my father could not sponsor me anymore. It is not uncommon to have the female child stop schooling in the Eastern part of Nigeria after her secondary education since she is to be married off and not be an added expense to the family. I finished school early at the age of fifteen and was thereafter sent to Lagos to stay with a distant aunt.
Mrs Ike is a hair stylist and during my stay with her I doubled as her live-in-house help and helped at the saloon. Although I barely knew how to make hair, I was her secretary. God help me if I stole her money. I am neither a thief nor do I have an inclination to steal from her, but she was a very suspicious person, always obsessing about her money.
My aunt has five sons and a husband who recently passed so all her time was spent in the saloon. She practically lived there since her sons were either in university or could take care of themselves. Maduka, her first son lived in the house with us.
My becoming the help at the Kumuyi’s resident started with a teasing conversation between my aunt and her most priced customer. Mrs Johnson was going on and on about how my aunt should send me to the university since all her children did attend one. Afterall, I was her niece.
“With which money biko? I am a poor widower and have five mouths to feed, tuitions to pay. Maduka is getting married in December. I have five sons already I don’t need more abeg.”
“She is the daughter you never had nne, she even looks like you.”
“Nhu nhu, we are not dark coloured in my linage, no child of mine will lack the talent of hair making. She doesn’t even help me in the saloon.” She finished tapping her thumb and middle finger to gesture an abomination.
“But she does fine as the secretary, you should send her to the university.” Mrs Johnson argued.
“See, I am just keeping her in the city until she finds herself a husband. God knows that will take a long time with this broad chested black girl.” She shook her head in pity with eyes raised up. I don’t hear the rest of their conversation because the telephone rang and I picked it to book a customer.
The following week Mrs Johnson gave me a JAMB scratch card she bought for me. I was ecstatic but that was short-lived since I failed that year because I didn’t prepare as I should have. She gave me the scratch card a month to the exam and seeing I never had an inclination to taking the exam that year. My aunt was all too happy to add to my chores. No sooner had she seen me with my books had she remembered an errand to be done.
Next I knew, I was shipped off to Abuja to work as a house-help in a resident Mrs Johnson picked for me. After the JAMB failure, I could do anything to leave my aunt anyways. According to Mrs Johnson I will work and school in Abuja.
At the Kumuyi’s resident I cleaned the house, do laundry and assisted the cook. It was business as usual until last week when madam called all the staffs that her son was coming home. I just hope am not cursed or something, JAMB is next Saturday and I do not need any distractions but madam seem to be uptight and critical about the homecoming of ‘Dele’.
©Tiana
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