I am sitting on the floor, massaging Big Madam’s feet and keeping one eye to the tee-vee. He is holding a microphone, his neck long in the gray English jacket he is wearing as he is speaking. “The question in everyone’s mind as 2014 draws to a close is this: Will the giant of Africa continue to be propelled into further instability, bloodshed, and economic woes under the fedora-hat-wearing man who never had shoes as a child, or will Nigerians arise and vote for change under Muhammadu Buhari, the retired major general who was once the nation’s head of state? We have four months until the nation decides. Until then, keep your eyes glued to your favorite channel.”
“Buhari can never rule us again,” Big Madam say, twisting her feet in my hand. “Scratch that place for me, Adunni, yes, that place by my heel. That’s it. Perfect. God forbid that Buhari should become president.”
She is not talking to me, but she is looking me, looking my hand as it is going up and down on her feet. “Buhari is going to deal with all those who benefited under Jonathan. Ah, my God will not let him win. Buhari is an enemy of progress. What corruption is he promising to fight? All lies! Nigerians have been blindfolded by this promise-of-change nonsense. They think the man is the next Obama. I pity them. That man has no heart. He will finish the country with his military-man ruling style.”
There is a knock on the door, and Ms. Tia comes in. She is wearing her same style of t-shirt and jeans-trouser. This time, they write NAIJA GIRL on the t-shirt with shining alphabet. She give me a smile and a wink, nod her head at Big Madam.
“Good morning, Madam Florence,” she say. “Hope you are enjoying your Saturday.”
Big Madam put up her nose in the air, as if about to sniff a smell. “Mrs. Dada.”
Ms. Tia keep her smile. “So, I figured that since it’s a Saturday morning, and we, uh, agreed last week that Adunni could come with me to the market . . . I just thought to check if, you know, today might be a good time, say around two?”
“Adunni is busy,” Big Madam say. “Keep massaging, rub my big toe well,” she say to me.
Ms. Tia give a laugh that sound like it pain her. “Right. I thought we agreed—”
“We did not agree anything,” Big Madam say. She collect her feet, push herself up on the sofa. “I offered you my house help as a favor. I don’t owe you anything. Today, she is busy. Come back on Monday when I am at the shop.”
Ms. Tia sigh. “I’ll check back in next week.”
My heart is heavy as Ms. Tia make to be going. Big Madam hold up her hand. “Wait, Mrs. Dada. As I mentioned to you last week, my agent is called Mr. Kola. He is a very reliable agent. Reasonably priced too. I can give you his number, and if you don’t want Mr. Kola, because I know people like you can like to feel posh, you can try the agency Kiki talked about at the WRWA meeting. What did she call it? Konsult-A-something?”
“Konsult-A-Maid,” Ms. Tia say. “I will come back on Monday.” She reach the door, put one hand on the handle. “What time on Monday?”
“Before midday,” Big Madam say.
“That’s fine,” Ms. Tia say.
“Find yourself your own maid,” Big Madam say as Ms. Tia is leaving the parlor. “I am not a housemaid charity. Enjoy your afternoon, Mrs. Dada.”
Ms. Tia nod her head, keep her mouth in straight line. “Have a lovely weekend.”
* * *
Before Monday, I am using all my brain to be learning English.
I am reading the Collins, doing my best to be learning more hard words.
I turn the pages of the Collins and pick any three hard words I can find and I cannot wait to use the words for Ms. Tia. I learn:
Assimilate
Communicate
Extermination
I am also doing my best to learn my present tense with all she has been teaching me. When she comes on Monday morning, the sun is big in the sky, the heat biting inside of my armpits as if I put one hundred pins under my arm as I am waiting for her by the gate. When I see her running down the road, I raise up my hand and give her a wide smile. She didn’t bring any motorcar, she say her house is just in the afar corner, and that we can be jogging there because car smoke is always causing problems for something in the ozone.
“How was your weekend?” she ask as we are walking down Wellington Road. It is a quiet road, no cars passing, red and green and brown roofs of big houses peeping over curved, high fences.
“I assimilate all my work,” I tell her, and she stop, give me one look like I am saying something so foolish.
“You’ve been reading the dictionary?”
“I am communicating the Collins,” I say, and she throw her head back, laugh a loud laugh that is echoing around us and causing one bird in the palm tree in our front to fly away. She laugh so hard, she stop to put hand on her knees to keep herself from falling.
“Adunni, you are something else. Listen, a dictionary alone would not help you to speak or write better,” she say, wiping the tears under her eyes with her finger. “Work with me at my pace and you will get there. You still have two weeks before the deadline, so take things a little bit easy on yourself, okay?”
I want to answer her with, But I want to extermination my bad English, but I change my mind because I didn’t sure the word is fitting the sentence. So I say, “Okay.”
“Your madam was so not impressed by my visit on Saturday,” she say as we reach the end of Wellington Road. “I thought it’d be great if we could maybe, actually, go to the market together today. I sense she won’t let us continue to hang out, unless of course her husband can convince her to.
“Such a shame really,” she say. “We’ll have to make do with whatever time we have. Right.” She stop walking as we pass one light pole in front of a gray gate with grass in front of it. “That’s my house. It’s the first house when you come in from Milverton Road. Ready to come in?”
I nod my head yes, feeling something tremble inside of me.
Ms. Tia doesn’t have a gate man like Big Madam. She open the gate herself and we enter inside her compound. The house is sitting like one fine queen behind a field of grass. The green on the grass is not dull like the one in Big Madam’s compound, this one is a green color that seem like it is breathing and alive. The house is white, with blue windows and a red roof. There are squares of blue glass on the roof, about thirty of them, all joining each other with white lines and dots, blinking under the early-morning sun. Flowerpots sitting in gray stones line up the floor all the way to the front door of the house, where a round grass decoration of red bows and gold bells is hanging on the front of it.