Binding Scars Read online

  Chaos.

  Clothes, makeup, jewellery, underwear, bed sheets, every single thing had been torn apart and shredded. The unmistakable sound of beating continued. Who was the victim and the victor?

  I rounded the corner and stopped. Benita stood a few feet away, watching. It was only the second time I would hear Madam and Oga fight. As far as I knew, they had a great marriage. They laughed. They smiled. They went out on dates like in the movies. I had a difficult time believing Madam could be on the receiving end of those fists.

  My hands curled into fists.

  Benita bared her teeth. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be grinding tomato or cleaning out the fridge? Get out to the kitchen and do what servants do, you worthless fool.”

  I wasn’t up for her antics today. Something niggled at the back of my mind, but I forgot about it when I saw Madam’s bloodied face.

  Jesus.

  I stepped forward. Madam cowered beside her broken dresser. Oga stood in his singlet, breathing hard, fists clenched over her head. My eyes dropped to the torn leg of the dresser. An exposed nail, as innocent as a newborn, winked at me. Madam moved, drawing my gaze to her white face, streaked with tears.

  A tiny shift to her left and she and the nail would become more than friends. Oga put his hands on her hair and twisted. She screamed.

  “Ejo,” she begged in Yoruba. Please.

  “Get away from her.” The words came from me.

  Oga froze and turned around. When he saw me, he lost it.

  “You lazy fool, what is she still doing here?” His hands tightened. “The agreement was that she will leave!”

  Leave? What was he talking about? Benita called my name. Acting on instinct, I turned, and she slapped me hard across the cheek. “Are you mad? Go back to the kitchen.”

  I turned back to Oga and Madam. His hand was still in her hair, twisting and stretching. I leaned down and grabbed a piece of the dresser. How strong was he that he tore the furniture to pieces?

  “Get away from her.”

  He ignored me. Screaming, “I wanted her gone. She has over stayed. She--”

  “She has no one else,” Madam breathed, “please, please.”

  “I don’t care. I want her gone.”

  They stared at each other. Madam on her knees, face swollen beyond recognition. Oga with his hand twisted in her hair, his gaze vicious and filled with hatred. With a sound of disgust, he released her. She swayed and almost fell, just missing the nail.

  I ran to help. As soon as she was upright, she shoved me away. “What are you doing here?”

  “I--”

  She slapped me hard across the cheek. Again. And again. Unbidden, tears ran down my cheeks. She shoved me out of the room to the door where I collided with Benita. Benita pushed me back in.

  “Fool.”

  Madam ran after Oga. “Where are you going? It’s just three in the morning. Please, my husband.”

  It did something to me, watching Madam beg after the beating. I pressed a hand to my hot smarting cheeks and drifted back down the stairs. For the next three hours, I tried not to think. Unfortunately, my mind went to last weekend. The drunken kiss.

  The shame of my illiteracy in front of those kids.

  I was preparing amala, wrapping the food in transparent nylon, when another thought struck me. Benita hadn’t looked surprised. It wasn’t the first time Madam and Oga would fight like that. And he wanted me gone from this house. Why? Since when?

  I tried to imagine being out of the house, unable to serve Madam. I couldn’t. What would I do, how would I survive?

  Something was happening, had been happening, and I was only just aware. It was like being shoved into the middle of a drama without warning. Thank God for work. It kept my mind off the fight. I cleaned the house, washed their clothes and served breakfast at exactly eight.

  Oga strode in and took his place at the head of the table. I greeted him and stayed by his side. Waiting.

  I brought him water when he needed it, then napkin and toothpick. As I cleared the table, I wanted to beg him not to lay a hand on Madam again. It reminded me of the night Madam rescued me from Ngozi. The next morning, they were stones and blood stuck to the creases of her knees from begging Ngozi to let me go.

  I thought I would die that night.

  A rush of sound dragged my mind back to the present. Oga stared at me coldly. Madam froze a few feet away, looking dismayed. I muttered my apologies and grabbed the plates.

  “I want her out of this house.”

  As Oga stalked away, Madam’s shoulders dropped. I stopped at her side. Her beautiful face had as much colors as the biblical Joseph’s coat this morning. “Are you OK?”

  She nodded, looking miserable.

  “What do you want to eat?”

  She pointed at her lips. It was split and swollen. I nodded, my insides twisting with renewed rage. “I will make pap or soup without pepper, and--”

  “You’ve been up since then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go drop that plate and join me in the living room.”

  I joined her in the living room and set the television to her favorite Mexican Telenovela Channel. The giant clock above the huge T. V read nine o’clock. The shop had to be open by ten at least. I got her a glass of wine and sat beside her, wishing I could take her in my arms. Care for her like she did for me that night.

  She glanced at me. “Get a soft drink for yourself. Let’s just relax. I might even sleep.”

  She didn’t.

  I didn’t know how long we sat there, watching but not really watching T.V. Benita puttered upstairs, reminding me I had a mess to clean up. My eyes went to Madam in fond exasperation. I still had a lot to do.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have slapped you. I just…”

  “You wanted him to think you would send me away.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  “How long has he wanted me gone?”

  “Four years now.”

  My heart dropped. My fingers tingled with fear. “Why?”

  She sighed. “It doesn’t matter because you aren’t going anywhere.”

  The rush of relief left me weak and out of sorts. For a second, I couldn’t move or think. “Why was he beating you?” I asked without thought.

  She withdrew without moving. It was just a shift, like the clouds darkening in advance of rain. I blinked in surprise. There were no secrets between Madam and me. We could finish each other’s sentences. People mistook us for mother and daughter. We were super close. What could she be hiding? Was she going to obey Oga and let me go?

  It was naïve to think there were things about her I didn’t know. Ten years, seven months and two weeks and some days we’d worked side by side. I didn’t want to think I might have missed things happening right under my nose.

  But I must have.

  “I will go clean upstairs.”

  Upstairs was a mess. Clothes shredded, chairs destroyed, sheets askew. Madam’s perfume rained like manna from heaven, the smell so strong one would think the bedroom doubled as the company manufacturing plant. I checked the furniture first and confirmed what I already knew. I needed to order new chairs for the dresser and the broken mirror.

  I knocked on Benita’s door.

  “What?”

  “Can you help me order furniture online? You know the ones that was--”

  The door opened, and Benita appeared. I almost winced at the garish makeup she wore. If I spoke up, I would be in trouble.

  “Yes?”

  “I want you to help me order furniture--”

  “I heard you the first time. Where’s the tab?”

  I blinked in surprise. While it was true Benita taught me most of what I knew, she did it grudgingly. “I didn’t — I can go get it--”

  “So you can come disturb me again? I’m going out. When I return.” She banged the door shut.

  I gnawed my lower lip in frustration. With a tired
sigh, I returned downstairs to get the tablet from the shelf. Maybe lightning would strike and I might operate the device successfully. I powered it on.

  Benita ran down the stairs in heels. I resisted the urge to call out a warning. She would chew my head off. In the awful make up, the heels and the short skirt, she looked way older and unattractive.

  “I don’t know how dumb you can be not to handle a simple tablet on your own.” Benita paused by the door to type something on her phone. “I will show you when I come back.”

  I went back to studying the tablet. Why did they even call it a tablet? My other option was to call Kenneth, but I didn’t like the way he watched me recently.

  “What’s with the long face?”

  The words spoken directly behind the window sent a jolt of electricity through me. For a second, I fumbled with the tablet. “Christ, Joy. If anything happens to this tab, you’ll pay.” I stopped and glanced around furtively. “I’ve told you not to come around when Madam’s around.”

  She didn’t reply. I heard her footfalls as she left the window to take the kitchen entrance.

  “Calm down.” Joy went straight to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of Fanta. “I saw enter Mama Nkechi’s house and came over.”

  That wasn’t good news. “Think Mary is alright?”

  Joy arched an eyebrow. “Of course, not.”

  Gosh, she was beautiful. She was probably the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. The most beautiful in the estate. She had naturally creamy skin without the benefit of expensive creams. Riggy too. I didn’t envy them. The worst thing for a maid was to be that beautiful. “Jesus, what are you wearing?” I reached out to tug at her silk, SILK shirt. “What the hell, Joy?”

  She crossed her arms defensively. “I didn’t come here to hear you rant about my dressing.”

  “I haven’t said anything, I’m just wondering what the--”

  “The hell?” She took a sip of a Fanta she likely didn’t need. “You spend too much time with Benita.”

  “How did you get the shirt?” That red silk shirt paired with her jeans gave her a sophisticated air. Not that she needed it. Joy was beautiful in a way Madam Gold always despaired spelled trouble.

  She raised her chin, eyes brimming with emotion. “My Oga gave it to me. A gift.”

  My heart sank. “Nothing good comes out of fucking your Madam’s husband--”

  Joy clapped, almost spilling her drink. “You just said fucking? There’s hope for you yet.”

  She bounced off the sofa and began strolling round the living room. I studied her, noting the downward cast to her mouth. “Joy--”

  “Just stop. It’s not like you know anything about it.”

  “About what?”

  “Sleeping with the Oga to get ahead.” She smiled coldly. “If he had a son, it would make my job easier but I have to make do with the Oga.”

  I flinched. “That is so far from what Madam Gold taught us, it’s not even funny--”

  Joy slammed her unfinished bottle of Fanta against the ground, sending glass shards everywhere. “She trained us to be good maids, to serve well, she never trained us to live.”

  I rose, vibrating with anger at the mess she created. “She gave us everything. She was there when we, when I had no one. She taught us to survive!”

  “And what do you think I’m doing, huh? Picking beans?” Joy dashed forward, taking the tab from me. She threw it on the sofa and grabbed my fingers, squeezing tightly. “We’re eighteen years old. What do you think will happen, after?”

  “I don’t want to think about it.”

  She smiled sadly. “Of course not. That’s what you do, you shelve problems, hide them away and hope nothing bad happens. But this?” She waved her hand. “It’s a train with a destination and you know it.”

  I pulled away, sucking in my fears. “I’m still on the train, nothing has changed.”

  “We’re at the age where the Madam’s become paranoid thinking we want their husbands--”

  “And you don’t?”

  “We’re at the age where the good husbands find us too tempting and decides we should leave--”

  I sucked in a breath. she cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowed. “You’ve been told to leave,” she mumbled.”

  Chest tight with dread, I took another step back. “I have a mess upstairs and you’ve made another one here.”

  Joy didn’t bat an eyelash. “I will help clean up. Tell me what happened.”

  “Nothing is happening, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Joy nodded. “That’s not even why am here. I came to invite you to a party--”

  “I’m not going.”

  She sighed. “Of course not. Just know it’s next week.” Her voice turned dreamy. “Remember those motorcycle clubs I told you about, in those novels?”

  Unlike me, Joy could read. Her Madam sent her to school. I tried not to let it get to me, but it was painful watching Joy leave for school while I stayed home working. She read lots of novels, especially romance. “Where they are old and violent and tattooed and dating a teenager?”

  Why did that remind me of Kisser? Not that he was old. Early twenties maybe.

  Joy rolled her eyes. She grabbed the tab and tapped at lightning speed. I moved close to see what she was doing.

  “So what about them?”

  “Who?” she asked innocently.

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. “The motorcycle type people, okada riders if you’ll stop romanticizing things.”

  Joy drew back, looking offended. “These people are way cooler I assure you. And I thought, you aren’t coming to the party.”

  She hands the tab back, and I quickly select the replacement for the damaged furniture. “Are they the ones organizing the party?”

  “Yes— what do you need all these furniture for, anyway?”

  I coughed and cleared my throat. “I uh, I don’t know, they need a spare room or--”

  “Don’t lie to me.” Joy patted my cheek with a saccharine smile. “Don’t answer. I will check on Mary and let you know how she is.”

  Chapter four

  “You’re not a parent.”

  I wasn’t. I stared down at the elderly gateman at Benita’s school. Students bustled around us, chatting and rushing to class. I both hated and loved representing Madam at Benita’s school things. It gave me the opportunity to observe the school system up close.

  Now she rolled her eyes. “I hate that man.”

  Without the garish make up she loved using during the holidays, she looked younger and more beautiful. Madam had made the mistake of pointing that out this morning, leading to a shouting match between mother and daughter.

  “I don’t need you to like my makeup, this is how young girls wear it.”

  “Imagine if something happens and they call you into the meeting, ever think how embarrassed Ada will look?”

  Benita reminded us I didn’t matter before getting into the Uber. Her school was far, close to Abeokuta. She went with Uber and I left with okada, the local motorcycle.

  “She is a house girl, not even a paid one, but a house girl for life. She cannot sit with parents and meet teachers. Tell your Madam to come herself.” The old gateman smirked at me.

  At his words, my cheeks heated, but I remained unbothered. The gateman always acted like this whenever I took Madam’s place at school functions. “I told you something came up--”

  “That’s what you always say. Then she should give her daughter a note to that effect, not disrespect our teachers by sending her maid here.”

  “Shut up,” Benita snapped in irritation, “she’s a maid, blablabla. And so what? What’s the difference between a maid and a gateman?”

  We were attracting attention. “Benita,” I whispered, “I can--”

  “Can you get to Ikeja to pick up the new ipods I ordered?” Benita gave me a flirty wave of her fingers and disappeared with the throng of students.

  I had to bite my lip to hold back laughter. She someho
w managed to both defend and put me in my place. I turned to the gateman to find him watching.

  “Your mates are in school or making money and here you are running after a spoiled little girl.”

  It was the same every time I came to the school. He would go on and on about a maid sitting with parents and teachers. Ignoring the stares of other waiting parents and guardians; I faced the school window while the gateman continued to complain about nothing.