Bloody meat is still fresh, Aunty Patience was saying, and it will make the soup tasty, ehn? Desi nodded. Pastor John will enjoy his efo riro tomorrow, Aunty Patience continued. There will be plenty meat.
Desi, back erect, hands folded in her lap, nodded again, and tried to ignore the dank stench of the meat as it curled into her nostrils. She even drank Aunty Patience’s disgusting tea – too milky, no sugar – as she sat at the kitchen island, just like Lolo had told her to. Lolo must have been too busy with her new bakery in the north of the city to pick her calls now, but before she left she said she heard from the older maids exactly what to do if Aunty Patience invited you to join her while she was cooking.
That night, Desi’s time had come, and you did not say no to Aunty Patience.
The kitchen in the basement was colder than the rest of the house because of the walk-in freezer, and full of expensive appliances from abroad. Aunty Patience made her maids clean them every Sunday, and made them do it again if it wasn’t clean enough. Aunty Patience missed nothing; sometimes it was like she had eyes all over the house. “She’s always watching,” Funke had said somewhat bitterly. Desi missed her, even if it had only been three weeks.
The walk-in freezer was only slightly ajar, but the chill from it was biting into her bones. Desi knew that was where she hung the fresh cuts of meat she got straight from the farm, a practice from which she never wavered because she wanted her meat as fresh as possible. Aunty Patience had been a surgical nurse before she married her husband, so she did not have trouble draining the blood herself. Funke had once cackled, while they were washing clothes, that it showed how much she loved her husband because it was such a disgusting endeavour.
Desi shivered, watching Aunty Patience concentrate on her task. She was kneading and twisting, her face contorted as she worked out every drop of blood, the red water running in rivulets down her arms staining her fingernails crimson. Desi knew what this meant, that her madam wanted her to keep her company while she prepared the meat for Pastor John’s efo riro. Only she was allowed to cook the Sunday meal for her husband, not the maids, and she was rewarded with the sight of him scooping fistfuls of eba and vegetable into his mouth with his sausage-like fingers, mouth stained with red oil, and chunks of thick, fleshy meat stuck in his teeth. He always smacked his lips and said the same thing when he was done: “This my wife, ehn? I take God swear am, no food dey sweet like her own! ”
And Aunty Patience, who’s black eyes never left the sight of her husband enjoying her food, would smile her little smile and say, You have honoured me, my husband.
The children ate efo riro prepared by the cooks.
The cold must have been making her tired, but still Desi forced lightness into her voice as she answered Aunty Patience’s questions about how teaching the children was going, whether she found the city easy to navigate, when was the last time she spoke to her family. She answered eagerly, honestly, injecting deference into every syllable, peppering her speech with yes mas and thank you mas. Aunty
Patience had selected a knife and was cutting the meat into manageable pieces before tomorrow, glancing at Desi between precise, rhythmic stabs.
How are the twins doing with Dictation? Fine, ma, they have improved very much.
Chop.
And what of my youngest? You know he is going to Primary Four soon, has he been reading his book?
Yes ma, we have been reading Oliver Twist.
Chop.
I hope no one is reading that their nonsense witchcraft book, Harry Trotter or which one. I don’t like witches in my house. No, ma.
Chop, chop, chop.
Everyone knew how lucky you were to work for Pastor John’s family. He was a godly man and a businessman, with the endless piles of money to show for it. And if you served them loyally, well. They made your dreams come true – they paid school fees, took care of hospital bills, even funded businesses. First they watched you, then they rewarded you. And they were never out of excellent workers because who wasn’t desperate for a little help in Lagos? Funke had even predicted it for herself, since Aunty Patience had spent some days watching her before inviting her to keep her company a month ago, and now she had a lucrative hair business in Lagos. “God loves a cheerful giver,” Pastor John sang whenever people expressed their gratitude.
Of course, Funke had also been fucking Pastor John, but Desi didn’t think Aunty Patience knew about that. Desi only knew because Funke had told her. Desi still had the voice notes Funke had forwarded from Pastor John on WhatsApp.
Your body is so sweet. Hai, God, I want you so much. All I want is to be inside you again, my dear. All I want is to taste your breasts again…
Desi had been scandalised, but not shocked – most men were like Pastor John. She could see it in their eyes, when he invited his friends to his house. Share the wealth, abeg, one would say, and the others would bang the table in agreement. Desi hated walking through the big sitting room, feeling them watching her and knowing they wanted to grab at her, to mark her flesh with their Bible-grasping hands. You are rich enough!
But Aunty Patience did not approve of such behaviour, so Pastor John was firm. He did not lend his maids out for help, none of his visitors were permitted to roam their quarters without supervision, and any impropriety was dealt with with swiftness, like the time he threw someone out for cornering Lolo. The man had not been invited back to the house since.
Aunty Patience, Pastor John told the congregation, was his compass. His beating heart. Her goodness was extolled at every service, chapter and verse. How virtuous she was, how she reckoned with and defeated those who would destroy her family, how if he was the leader of the pack, she was the defender of the realm, the keeper of the hearth, last thing their enemies saw before being swallowed by hellfire.
Everyone was warned about Aunty Patience’s goodness.
That was why Desi also hoped. She hoped that Aunty Patience did not know how her husband sometimes squeezed her shoulder when she walked past, how he always managed to find her after she had her bath and was only wrapped in a towel as she walked back to the maids quarters, how she had caught him in her room, sniffing her underwear. He had smiled as he left, and Desi had remembered how the meat got stuck in his teeth when he was eating. So, she hoped. She did not want to face her madam’s goodness.
Aunty Patience was talking, and Desi snapped out of her reverie. The woman was asking her what she wanted in life, and she replied earnestly and honestly. I want to go to school in abroad, ma.
Her madam’ eyes were black and unyielding, fixed so solidly on her she felt like she had been pinned in place. This was her chance, and she took it. She told her about how much she loved learning, how she had been trying to save to find someone to get her to London so she could study, how she wanted to be a teacher, more than anything in the world. She hoped she sounded sufficiently wanting. I would do anything, ma.
Aunty Patience hmmed again, and she took this as a good sign. The woman resumed chopping the meat in quick, powerful stabs.
Drink your tea. Yes, ma. Chop.
My husband talks to me about you. Yes, ma. Chop.
He tells me how hard you work, how much he likes you. He does not do this with all the girls. Yes, ma. Chop.
Desi was nodding and Yes, ma-ing and smiling even as Aunty Patience stopped. She, too, was smiling, her face drawn and tight, her lips pursed, her eyes like black suns. The knife was still in her hand. Her voice, when it came, sliced softly into her very being.
My dear you think I do not know?
Desi’s own smile froze on her face. Know what, ma?
I see you, I see your ways. Showing your bodies, flaunting breast and yansh, thinking you can trap my husband. MY HUSBAND.
No, ma-
SHUT UP. Ashewo! Do you think I am stupid? DO YOU?
Aunty Patience hissed every word, her face twisted with rage, the sides of her mouth flecked with spit.
Desi was mute, frozen, her legs paralysed with fear. Even as she tried to get up, they seemed to be too heavy for her to lift. Why was she so tired?
You see yourself? You see how I caught you? ASHEWO! All of you are very stupid, you will never succeed, you will never succeed in Jesus name!
Desi tried to scramble away but Aunty Patience clawed at her, dragging her up by her arm, her bloody nails digging into her skin. She was crying now, begging for mercy, for forgiveness, but Aunty Patience ignored her. She shoved Desi against the island, pinning her there with her body and pressing her cheek into the cold metal sink with a bloody hand so she was staring at the chunks of meat. Her legs were useless, as dead as the slabs on the counter.
You want to see? You want to see what happens when you go after my husband? FUNKE! Your friend is here to see you, oh!
Desi opened her mouth to scream.
Chop.
