Chapter 4: Swap of Fates

The madam see me, for the first time, talk long talk.

Her voice reached for me, desperate, as if she finally realized I was more than just hands and feet for labour.

Pass all the words she ever tell me before.

I stared, surprised. Her words filled the room, the air thick with a new kind of honesty.

"Yemisi, this compound wall dey chop people. Everyday I dey fear—fear say food fit get poison, fear at night, fear say even my cloth and jewelry fit get juju inside. I be favoured wife, everybody dey look me, dey jealous."

She hugged her knees, eyes darting around, voice dropping to a whisper. The fear in her tone was raw, reminding me that even big madam no get peace.

I just dey listen.

My face blank, but inside, my mind ran wild. I dey wonder, is this how madam dey feel all this time, or na just today her spirit break? I realized how little separates madam from the rest of us—fear is a great equalizer.

But every food wey you chop, another person don taste am first.

I remembered all the times I tasted her soup, pretending not to notice the bitterness. Our lives spent protecting hers—yet she never felt safe.

Every night, two stewards and two maids dey on duty. If assassin come, na us dem go stab first.

We joked about it, but truly, it was no laughing matter. Each night was a gamble, each dawn a small victory.

Even toilet paper na imported, and dem dey guard am.

I stifled a laugh. In this house, even the smallest things carried weight. We guarded luxury, but we owned nothing.

The madam continue to complain.

Her words tumbled out like water from a broken tap. She listed every slight, every wound, every fake smile she endured.

"Chief talk say na only me he love, but see—he don carry plenty wives, even marry new queen. So who I be? All the sweet talk nko?"

Her voice cracked, a mix of anger and heartbreak. Her dreams had withered, dried up like forgotten egusi on the stove.

But your favour never drop. No matter how you behave, chief still dey pamper you.

I wanted to remind her how she still held power, how the servants danced to her tune. But I bit my tongue—this wasn’t the time.

If he vex, na we servants he go punish; if e pain am well, he go sack one or two, but never let you suffer.

It was true. Even her tears had a price, paid in other people’s pain. I felt the injustice boiling under my skin.

At last, madam come dey cry sotey she almost faint.

I rushed to her side, catching her head before it hit the armrest. The other maids peeped from the door, fear etched on their faces.

"Yemisi, all this wealth and glory na empty. If I fit get true love, even if na ordinary food I dey chop, e no go pain me."

Her face twisted with longing. She wiped her nose, the handkerchief already soaked. Her suffering was honest, for once.

"If I fit live again, I go rather be small housemaid, marry ordinary man, spend my life with am."

I stared at her, wondering if she truly meant it, or if this was just another fantasy—one rich people allow themselves.

"You fit swap with me, Yemisi?"

The room went silent. The only sound was the distant cry of a cockerel. It felt like the world paused, waiting for my answer.

Finally, my brain clear small.

The fog lifted. My thoughts lined up, sharp as broken glass.

All those words I hear—"Ngozi," "leave"—no even make sense.

I wondered if I was dreaming, or if some spirit was playing with us. Still, I couldn’t refuse her—not after all we’d been through.

I hold madam hand tight, dey act loyal maid well.

I squeezed back, our hands locked, the line between servant and madam blurring. My loyalty, always my only weapon.

"Madam, this servant dey willing. My life na your own. If e go make you happy, I go give you anything."

She smiled, weak, relief flooding her face. I swallowed my fear, hiding it deep inside.

Night land. The small maid outside climb stool light compound lanterns, steward for night duty sit for corridor, dey hug him wrapper.

The compound softened under lantern glow, shadows dancing on cracked walls. The air smelt of fried plantain and distant rain.

The other servants go back to their rooms, dey pray say madam go chop tomorrow.

Their prayers floated through the air, a blend of Yoruba hymns and Igbo incantations. Some knelt on mats, others just whispered into the night.

Chief’s Wife Amaka close her eyes, smile.

For the first time in months, her face looked peaceful. The lines of worry melted away, leaving only hope.

"At last—I fit finally comot for this compound wey dey swallow people."

Her words drifted into the darkness, mixing with the call of night insects. My heart ached, knowing tomorrow would not be the same.