Chapter 5: New Skin, Old Fears

When I open my eyes again, I jump up, hold my neck.

My breath came in sharp, my heart beating fast. The air felt strange, scented with perfume and old wood polish, not the usual musty servant quarters.

After I catch breath, I notice all my old sickness don disappear, even that choking from strangling no dey again.

I touched my neck, searching for scars that had vanished. My chest felt light, as if a heavy mortar had been lifted.

My hands fair and soft, no more hard skin or cold wounds.

I stared at my palms, unrecognizable—nails painted, skin supple, no hint of old burns from hot pots or palm oil.

My shoulders and neck light, no more pain or dizziness, no more creak-creak when I move.

I stretched, expecting the usual cracks. Nothing—only the gentle shift of fine bones beneath healthy flesh.

My knees—after all those years kneeling for cement floor—no dey pain me again.

I bent and straightened, marvelling at the strength. Even the old scars were gone, as if they’d been washed away by some holy river.

I lift the soft Ankara quilt, rush go dressing table. For bronze mirror, na Chief’s Wife Amaka face I see.

The sight stopped my heart. Her eyes stared back at me, wide, questioning, rimmed with kohl. I raised a trembling hand, and so did she. My voice caught in my throat.

"Madam, you get nightmare? Make I call Ibrahim go bring calming medicine from health centre."

Sade, wey suppose don die, appear, help me back to couch, her face full of worry.

She guided me gently, the scent of her shea butter mingling with the morning air. My eyes filled with tears—Sade alive, whole, calling me "madam" with genuine concern.

I touch her hand—warm, real, no ghost. Tears rush my face, I almost shout for joy.

I really don swap with Chief’s Wife Amaka.

My heart hammered as reality dawned. I pinched myself, hard, but didn’t wake up. My thoughts spun, the room spinning with them.

And I don go back five years, when Zainab just enter compound.

Everything looked newer, brighter—the curtains crisp, the furniture shining. I realized time had shifted, giving me another chance.

At first, fear catch me.

Sweat broke out on my brow. This was not ordinary, not juju, not trick—this was real. My stomach twisted with dread and hope.

This kind strange, spiritual thing really happen to me.

I whispered a prayer, begging God not to forsake me, not now when things were finally turning.

Madam fine, but she no get sense or sharpness.

As I thought of Amaka, I realized her beauty was like a mask—behind it, nothing sharp, nothing wise. I felt both pity and pride.

She no get filter—if she vex, everybody for compound go hear. If she happy, her laugh fit wake people for next street.

Her laughter had always filled the compound, her anger scattered like hot pepper. She was unpredictable, wild.

She go tell Bisi, wey never get pikin for years, say she too old, even if she carry belle, make she no born.

Those words stung like bee, but madam no send. Her tongue sharper than ogbono soup on a hot day.

She dey call Halima green leaf* and dey make her kneel or slap her anytime dem jam.

*green leaf: person wey dey pretend say she innocent but she get sense pass.*

Nobody was safe from madam’s mouth. You could be chief’s cousin, yet she’d dress you down if you crossed her.

Even when she face big people like council leader daughter, she no dey fear, go talk say na she be chief true love, others na just decoration.

She walked with the pride of a lioness, never bowing, never doubting her place.

If anybody try advise her, she no send.

She rolled her eyes, walked away, sometimes even laughed out loud in their faces. She lived life with her own rules.

"Life and death no be anything. If you get mind, fight me. No fear—dem no fit touch me."

Her words were legend in the compound. Even the guards quoted her when trouble started.

And truly, nobody fit touch her.

Chief protected her, the elders tolerated her, the servants feared her. She was untouchable.

Me, I dey live like person dey walk for egg, treat compound like iron bucket, use all my money buy information.

I learned to be invisible, to listen with my back turned. Gossip was my currency, secrets my only shield.

First, I gats block Bisi plan. Her family big, her sisters full her wing, all of dem sabi compound tricks since small.

I watched from the shadows, noting every whisper, every sly look. Bisi and her clan moved with quiet power.

I gats suppress Halima, wey dey pretend say she humble but for mind, she hate madam. If she get power, she go attack without pity.

Halima’s eyes hid storms. I made sure never to cross her, always keeping a respectful distance.

Still get Fatima, Shade…

Everywhere you looked, alliances shifted like market prices. Survival depended on knowing who to trust.

But me, I be small housemaid. No matter how I try, before power and money, na like ant dey fight iroko tree.

It humbled me, yet gave me courage. I watched, learned, waited for my chance.

I just dey look as dem dey plot, dey plan every time.

From behind curtains, in the shadows by the kitchen, I observed, noting who laughed, who wept, who plotted.

After every wahala, some servants from Main Wing go miss, some cripple, some die.

Their absence never questioned, their beds quickly filled. The compound ate its own and moved on.

All of them loyal like soldiers for war, dey stand for madam, no dey fear.

Their courage shamed me. I wished for their boldness, their confidence in the face of danger.

That time, madam go pat my shoulder, dey proud small.

"No worry, nobody dey remember extras. Me I dey remember. Any small servant wey die for me, I dey remember all of them."

Her words comforted, but also chilled. I knew not all memories are blessings.

As I think am, one stubborn thought enter my mind, word by word:

Why I no fit be madam?

The thought tasted sweet and dangerous. I let it grow, watering it with secret hopes.

She, Zainab, no reach.

I sized her up—her pride, her ambition, her beauty. Beneath it all, I saw cracks.

Now, na me be her.

A rush of power filled me. For once, the world felt open—mine to shape, mine to survive.