Sister Lucky didn’t blink an eye, she stared at the teens
who’d come out from their rooms sleepy-eyed and they all disappeared back into the
rooms. I stood there, daring her to refuse to give me the matches box I needed.
Sister Lucky closed her door and walked out of her room while I followed behind,
already smiling in triumph that I was going to get what I want. We walked into
the kitchen and she saw the already peeled yam in the pot, she turned to look
at me.

“Abosede…” She called in a very calm voice.
“Yes.” I responded.
“Do these yams belong to you?” She asked pointing at the yams
in the pot.
“I hungry…I wan chop.” I said with my rudest tone.
“Everything in this house is earned and so far, you haven’t
earned anything to your name.” She said to me.
“Wetin I go earn? I resemble banker? Or nor be yesterday I
come dis place for first time?” I spat at her.
“Listen to me, these yams do not belong to you. These yams
were bought by someone and it’s rude to take what doesn’t belong to you.”
“Who de pesin be? Nor be you get de yam? Nor be ya house be
dis? Or shebi you just wan form important…”
“If you eat these yams, then you must pay for them.”
“Oya na…I go pay for am…dat one na problem?” I spat.
“You will also pay for the matches box and the kerosene that
you’ll use to cook. Everything in this house was bought through hard work and
things don’t fall into our laps just like dat.”
“Wooo…give me matches abeg. Nor dey yarn like pesin wey
get skoin for head.” I said to her.
She walked to the kitchen cupboard and brings out a match
box which she hands over to me.
“Abosede, you must pay for these yams in full.” She said to
“Dat one nor be problem.” I said as I took the matches box
and begun lighting the stove.
Forty minutes later, I was done with my meal of plain yam
and salt as I didn’t see any palm oil or stew. I dropped the plates and pots in
the sink and head to the sitting room to lie down and sleep.
I had barely closed my eyes when I heard one of the
teenagers, wake me up.
“Auntie Abosede…please wake up.” She said to me.
“Abegi…pesin nor fit sleep for hia? Abeg dey go…” I
hissed as I turned to my side and continued sleeping.
No sooner had I slept again than I felt water drench me to
the skin. I jumped up in fright and started screaming.
“Na who pour me water? Na who…” I screamed as I turned to
face a calm-looking Sister Lucky. “Na you pour me water?” I asked, staring at
the bucket in her hand.
“Will you get up and make yourself useful? The first thing
you have to do is, dry this place up. Next is, go and help my sister in her
salon and the third is bring whatever you’ve earned back home to pay for the
yams you ate last night.” She said to me. “You also have to wash the pot you used in cooking the yam as well as the plate you used.”
“Na de reason you pour me water? You know who I be? You don
take eye see wetin I don see?” I shouted at her as I inched closer to her.
I was bigger than Sister Lucky and from the fights I’d
gotten into in the past, I was so sure that I could take her out.
“Are you threatening me?” Sister Lucky asked.
“Go ask who dem dey call Abosede! Call my people for my
area. I dey scatter pesin ooo…” I said pointing at her chest.
“Do you want to push me? Push me!” Sister Lucky said to me.
I pushed her and she staggered backwards. It was as though
all hell broke loose because the teenagers who I’d thought were quiet and meek
ganged up on me and pushed me to the ground. I struggled as they pounced on me.
They didn’t beat me but they pinned me down. Some held my legs and they others
held my hands. I was helpless.
“Leave me! Una dey craze for dis house! Leave me!” I
screamed. “If I get up from hia ehn, I go handle una one by one.”
I watched as Sister Lucky walked towards the huge cupboard
in the sitting room and brought out a very large cane.
“Ahhhh…wetin you wan do? Ahhh…sister Lucky! Sister Lucky
nor try am ooo…nor try am ooo or else you go see shege for dis house.” I
screamed as I tried to free myself from the strongholds of the teens who held
An hour later, I was standing in Sister Lucky’s sister’s
shop holding some strands of attachment while her apprentices braided a customer’s hair.
“De new girl be like pesin wey dumb. Abi she nor dey talk?”
One of the apprentices said of me as she plaited the customer’s hair.
“See as she just stand hia dey serve attachment like zombie.” Another apprentice said.
The stylist looked at me and said.
“E be like say she nor dey kukuma talk ooo.”


I didn’t respond. After the treatment I’d received from
Sister Lucky that morning, I doubt that I’d ever be able to speak freely again.
To be continued on Wednesday…. 

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