A NAMELESS STORY #1


Actually wrote it for a Friend.

My dear, i was deeply into Americanah, the novel i was reading. Ferociously enjoying every bit of the book. I was at the part where Ifemelu was at the salon, and her African hairstylist was pestering her, i felt like slapping her hairstylist, but how could i? She was in the book. But any way, in my imagination, i had already given her a dirty slap.

'This stupid girl.'
Woa! I thought to myself, the characters in my book must be coming alive.
'You didn't wash this ...' The voice said again.
My God! I can hear ifemelu talking to the hair stylist. Yes! Tell that useless girl to wash your hair well, i was busy screaming. I had no idea my Mom was the one actually talking. Without prior warning, her stone like palms landed on the soft skin above my feet. Wooh!! Felt like electricity went through my feet. Her hands hurt, that bad!
Her lips were moving, but i couldn't hear a word of what she was saying. My big eyes were just staring at her, my mind was far away, still in the salon with Ifemelu.
It was only when she tapped my feet again with her hammer hands that i snapped out of my daydreams, which she was trying to turn into day mares by her sudden intrusion.
'Before i count to three, you had better go and wash that filthy pot you left in the kitchen. I don't know if you left any house girl in this house.' She said leaving my room. I was only too glad to watch her go!
I hurriedly went back to my sweet novel, not bothering to wash the pot first.
I must've slept for over 13 hours! I'm sure!  It was a knock on my door that actually woke me up.
'What is it na!' I answered from my bed, in annoyance.
'Aunty, you have delivery.'
I angrily wobbled out of my bed, ready to pounce on whoever it was behind the door, who had the audacity to knock on my door? Who could it be calling me aunty, any way, in a matter of seconds, all was bound to be revealed.
'What rubbish...' i stopped cold in my words when i saw a young lady in pink and white dress standing in front of me.
'Cood aftanuun, salut.' She politely greeted me in some kind of french accent.
Heh? Where did this one come from again? Cotonou?
'Toi, a message from your managére.' She handed over a rectangular box to me and turned away. Shame! I was too dumbfounded to ask any questions, who was this strange person in my house. Perhaps my mom had gotten a new house help! If that was so, then great! Now I could eat and dump my plates anyhow in the kitchen!
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