When I completed SHS my parents sent me away to live with a Nigerian couple in Accra. I didn’t know the relationship between the couple and my parents but from what I heard, the couple needed house help so a friend of my father asked my father if it was possible for me to go and live with them. My dad agreed. The pay was good. I was fed, housed, and taken care of very well but my monthly salary was sent to my father. To date, I don’t know the amount that was sent to my dad but it was enough to turn his life around judging from the changes I saw in his life by the time I came back home.
The first time I stepped into the house of the couple, the woman of the house took me around the house, showed me where I was going to sleep, and walked me back to the hall to tell me the rules of the house. There were a lot of rules I don’t remember now but I remember she told me, “It’s a walled house, you don’t go out of the walls until you’ve been sent. Also, you’re not allowed to have friends. You can’t own a phone. If you want to talk to your parents, you can ask for my phone and I will call them for you. We are your parents now. Whatever you want, tell us.”
I didn’t have any problem with any of the rules. The woman looked like someone who had a good heart so I trusted her immediately. The man didn’t talk a lot. If I judge his age correctly, he would be in his late fifties. They’ll go to work in the morning and come late in the evening. The man didn’t talk to me often. It’s the woman who saw a daughter in me and decide to engage me in conversations whenever she was free. She would ask about my family and would ask about what I intended to do with my life.
At some point, I believed the man didn’t even know my name because he never called me by my name. She called me, “Miss.” I was talking to the woman one day when I asked, “Are your children in school? Do they come home only on vacations?” The man was sitting right next to the woman when I asked that question. He gave me a look that made me feel like I”d asked a bad question. The woman smiled. She said, “We have two children. One is in Canada and the other one works in Australia. They come around during Xmas break. This Christmas you’re going to see them.”
I loved the comfort of the house. Where I came from we were four children sharing a room with our parents. Among the four children, I was the lucky one who was able to go to SHS. The rest of my siblings didn’t like school. They preferred to trade so they started early. In my house, we slept early. It’s not by choice but by competition. Because we were sharing a single bed, we rushed to bed early so we could get a good portion of the bed to sleep on. The fourth person to go to bed would likely sleep on the floor. So by 7:00pm, we would be rushing to bed.
A girl in my situation would find comfort in little things. The house was big and fully air-conditioned, including where I slept. It was my first time experiencing the cold that comes from an air-conditioner. My room has a TV on the wall. I’ve never had a TV all my life. My parents didn’t have one. My dad had a radio. When we had to watch TV, we had to walk over a mile to a friend’s house to watch it but our competition for a sleeping place didn’t allow us to go far in the evening for things like TV. We never had a three-square meal. At best, you’ll eat a full meal in the middle of the afternoon and face the rest of the day with what you ate in the afternoon.
I looked at where I came from and compared it to where I was and prayed, “God you like me so much. I’m the only one among my siblings to go to the SHS. I’m the only one among my siblings to travel to Accra. Now see my sleeping place, a bed bigger than what four people slept on each night. I have three square meals and can afford to eat dessert and top it with a late-night snack. What did I do that you favor me this way?”
Let me tell you one sad story. One evening, the woman of the house saw me crying while feeding the dogs. She thought something was wrong with me so she rushed to me, “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” I was sobbing silently before that question. After that question, the cry got louder. I put the bowl down and sat flat on the floor. She was terrified. For several minutes I couldn’t say what was wrong with me so she left me alone. I had stopped crying and watching TV in my room when she bumped in; “Would you tell me what made you cry a while ago?” I answered, “Nothing. I’m ok.” She pressed. I told her, “I was thinking about my family.” She asked, “What about them?” I answered, “The food I give to the dogs smells better than the one we ate as a family. I thought about them and it broke my heart.” She screamed, “Ahhhh! so is that the reason you were crying like a baby?”
She didn’t get it because she couldn’t relate.
I did everything in the house so most evenings I broke down. I would go inside my room around 10pm and sleep like a dog. One dawn, I felt a hand moving around my buttocks. The hand would get to my breast and later go back to where it came from. I slept naked. I was enjoying my sleep so much I didn’t think of the hand moving on my skin. I thought it was all a dream until it went into my ‘cookie jar’. I woke up. He put his finger on his lips and hissed, “Shhhhhh.” His face looked like the man of the house but I just didn’t want to believe it was him. The light was off so what I was seeing was just a silhouette of the man. He held my hand and pulled me slowly to the bed. It was when he spoke that I realized it was him. He said, “Don’t fight it, or else, you’ll be gone by tomorrow.”
I didn’t fight it. About five minutes later, he was done. He ran his fingers through my hair and said, “Good girl. Tell me whatever you need and I’ll give it to you. Make no mention of this encounter to your madam or else, you’ll be gone the next day.” He walked sneakily out of my room. I was still thinking the whole thing was a dream until I run my fingers down there and touched his slimy release. No, I didn’t cry. It wasn’t my first time so it didn’t hurt. But I was thinking about why and how a man who barely spoke to me would do such a thing. I had lived with them for close to a year. He never spoke ill about me or treated me badly. He just wouldn’t speak to me so I felt I was too low for him to engage with me.
It didn’t stop. One night, I slept and closed my door. The woman of the house came to knock. She said, “What has changed? You’ve locked your door.” I answered, “Nothing. I didn’t even realize I’d locked it.” When she went I locked it again. The following morning I was in the kitchen preparing their tea when he walked close to me and whispered, “The next time I come and your door is closed, you’ll be gone the next day.” I didn’t want to be gone. I didn’t want to go back there and fight over a bed. I didn’t want to go back there and eat half a meal a day. I had grown accustomed to comfort and nothing would make me want to go back. So I slept with my door open. One morning in the kitchen, he walked close to me and said, “Shave before you sleep tonight. I want it bald.”
I became his slave. I did whatever he wanted. The only thing I didn’t do was play a part while he was doing it. I will just lay there like a log and watch him do his thing. One day, the woman of the house told me, “Ekua, you’re growing big. Stop eating late in the night else you’ll bloat. Another time she asked me, “Are you sick? You look pale.” Days later she said, “Ekua, I don’t see you well. You look pregnant.” My heart skipped a beat. Then I started thinking back to the last time I had my menses. It was two months ago. I told her, “No, I’m not pregnant. How can I be pregnant?”
She was right. I was about two months pregnant but didn’t know it. I felt my world crashing down. I knew I was going to be sacked from the house. I cried and cried until I lost weight in two days. The pregnancy became apparent. The next time she asked me about it I said, “I haven’t had my menses for two months.” She took me to the hospital. It was my first time stepping out of the house for over a year. I was confirmed pregnant. We sat in the car and the woman drove me silently to the house. She didn’t say a word and didn’t ask a question. When we got to the house she said, “Pack your things. You’re leaving tomorrow.” I wasn’t shocked. I was rather shocked that she didn’t ask who was responsible.
I packed all my things and waited for her order. Three days later, I was still in the house. The man did everything to avoid me. He didn’t even lock gaze with me once. One night, the man came to my room. He asked what I wanted and I told him, “I don’t know. My dream is to go back to school. I don’t want to be a mother.” He left me. Not too long afterward, I heard a noise coming from their room. They were fighting. The following morning madam looked like she had cried all night. She didn’t talk to me. She didn’t eat what I cooked. They both left to work quietly without saying a word to each other. I started getting scared. “What have I brought into this family. I’ve never seen them fight until last night. What’s going on?”
For a whole week, they kept fighting every night. It wasn’t an easy fight. One night, they took the fight to the hall. The woman of the house was throwing her hands and hitting the man. The man was trying to avoid the hit. I closed my door so I wouldn’t see them. They both won’t talk to me or eat what I’d cooked. One evening, I went and knelt down in front of my madam and apologize for the bad luck I’d brought into their home. I cried while begging her. I said, “I want to go home now. It’s breaking my heart to watch you fight.” She cried but said nothing.
Days later, they both came to my room. The woman said, “You’ll stay here and give birth. You’ll tell no one what has happened, not even your parents. After you give birth, we’ll send you to school to continue your education while we take care of the baby. Listen to me again. You’ll never talk about this to anyone.” I nodded my head.
My baby was two years old when I got admission into training school so I left them. They gave my dad a huge sum of money and told him, “Pay her fees. Let us know when you need something.” On vacations, I went to my parents’ house. I completed teacher training school and started working. I didn’t look for them and I never mentioned my child to my parents or to anyone.
My child is currently ten years old but I don’t know where she is and no one knows that I have a child. I was nineteen years when I gave birth. The sad thing is, I can’t even find my way back to the house where they lived. I barely knew the place. I lived in Accra but Accra didn’t live through me. I was always in that big house pretending the world starts from the walls of the house and ends where the dogs’ cage was.
I’m getting married very soon but the man I’m getting married to doesn’t know that I have a daughter. It haunts me. It breaks my heart actually. I know my daughter is doing well wherever she is but does she know that I’m her mother? Will I meet her one day out of the blues and tell her the truth? Or she’s going to remain forever lost like a pin in a haystack? I use to think about her seldomly but recently I think about her a lot. The man through whom my father got to know about the couple is dead. I remember when I was in school my father called to ask if I hear from the couple and I said no. He said, “Their numbers can’t be reached. I’ve been trying to reach them for the past month.” I didn’t make much of it but now I’m tempted to believe it was a deliberated attempt to cut my dad off.
I want to look for them. I want to meet them and make a claim for my child but the thing is, the child is living with her father. The child belongs to them as much as she belongs to me. Sometimes I want to bury it in my past and move on. After all, no one knows about it. Recently, I went to church. I was even dozing off when I heard the pastor say, “Can a woman forget her nursing child, and have no compassion on the child of her womb?” Isaiah 49:15. I felt he was talking to me. Out of nowhere tears started flowing. I prayed to God and asked for forgiveness.
I hope he did listen to my prayers that day. I hope he has forgiven me.
