Chapter 4: Oga’s Ambition and Maid’s Exit

After all this, e still return to the matter.

The talk go round, but the story still land for one place: na status go decide who go be madam.

With him family level, all these girls good, but if e fit marry the daughter of the high court judge, e go just dey fly for life.

Na that kind marriage go open door for contract, land, government work. Everybody for house dey talk am like na prophecy.

As you dey look am, you just clear for mind, no emotion again.

Your heart don dry like sand for dry season. You just dey look am as business.

You don already stop to believe man talk for bed.

You dey tell yourself, 'Talk for bed no dey last.' Na only action dey count for this world.

When young oga no get ambition, na wife and side chick full him head. When ambition come, na to climb higher e dey look. You—just housemaid—no go ever be the only one.

You dey see am clear—no be love, na pure hustle. Na who sabi road go reach market.

Sometimes, you dey laugh yourself for that time wey you rush enter him bed dey dream. If to say e no show you sense quick, and you dey enjoy favour for years, born pikin, try run, e no go even miss you. Na you go suffer.

You dey laugh, dey shake head. For this life, sense no dey sell for market, na only suffer dey teach person.

Two hundred thousand—na all your savings. If wahala no come, if you dey save well, e fit carry you reach old age.

You dey count am every Sunday. You dey plan, dey hope say no sickness go jam you.

But if sickness catch you, for this society, if you no get money, na die. If you get money, but e no reach, you go wish say you die.

You dey tell yourself, 'God, abeg, no let wahala see me.' Every time you hear ambulance horn, your heart go jump.

You dey always sigh, blame God say you no born for better house.

You dey ask, 'Why my own be like this?' Sometimes, you go cry small, then clean your face make nobody notice.

Then you remember those your brothers.

Dem go send message, dey ask, 'How market?' You go just hiss, ignore dem.

True true, your mama don born another boy.

She no dey rest—every year, new pikin. Even palm wine tapper for village dey shake head for her matter.

Poor, lazy, still dey born pikin.

You dey think say, 'If money no dey, why you no dey rest?' E dey pain you.

You no fit understand am, you no gree.

For your mind, you dey curse. You dey wish say person fit change family.

Anytime Mama Kudirat bring bitter leaf soup for family planning, you dey rush drink am.

Even if the soup dey bitter, you dey swallow am like blessing. You no wan carry wahala join wahala.

Your own life hard reach, you no wan drag pikin enter am.

Na so you dey vow every night, dey pray say, 'God, make my womb rest.'

Mama Kudirat dey report your obedience to madam.

Na so you gather small favour. Madam go dey smile, dey call you 'my daughter.'

Madam dey remember you for Christmas, dey give you silver hairpin, ring, even dash you two small maids early.

For party, madam go carry you follow body. Some people go dey wonder if you be new relative.

Your level almost reach second wife; everybody for house know, even if dem no talk am.

Some servants go dey hail you for night, dey gossip say your star dey shine pass torchlight.

But you dey vex—vex say this world no give you shortcut, you go just be servant for life, dey stuck for small compound.

Anytime you sit for corner dey look sunset, your heart dey heavy. You dey ask God, 'When my own go better?'

As you tire, you just dey do young oga anyhow.

You dey answer slow, you no dey smile again. Sometimes, you dey feign headache, dey avoid him wahala.

Men, most of dem, na so dem be.

You dey hear old women for backyard talk, 'Na so men be—if you too show love, dem go take am do yama yama.'