A bright morning
Mustakeemah P.O.V: (busy singing)
Working is now my hobby,
I work for a living,
I suffer for a living,
I slave for a living…
Those are my hobbies.
Slavery is my source of living,
But I still survive, and I believe I can survive even more.
Hello, my name is Mustakeemah a.k.a. the slave of my family. My song already explains a lot about me. I am 16 years old… that’s right, a teenager. Ever since I lost my mom at the age of seven, my dad sent me to live with different relatives since he couldn’t take responsibility for me. From that moment, I knew I had lost the most valuable possession in my life. I used to pray to Allah for one wish—that someone would replace my mom’s place in my heart. But I later realized I was dreaming a fairy tale. No woman can love another person’s child before her own. So I took myself as an orphan, because after my mom passed away, my dad never cared to check on me.
The only times I see his face are when I’m being chased out from one relative’s house to another. The worst part is that my dad never once listened to me. He always believed their lies, and that only grew the hatred I have for him inside me. Sometimes I even wish it was him that died instead of my mom. I don’t have siblings—I’m the only child she had.
Currently, the house I live in is the sixth family I’ve been with. Out of those six crazy families, this is the only one where I’ve stayed the longest. I barely lasted a year in the previous ones. I’ve gotten used to pain and sorrow, and I’ve already given up on family love. Sometimes I pray for death. Sometimes I feel like committing suicide, but I don’t know why I just can’t.
This current family is the worst of them all, but what can I do other than accept my fate? I live with a husband and wife and their three crazy children. I’m the eldest. Like I said earlier, I’m 16. Their first child is Bolanle, 15 years old. The second is Ayomide, 13. The last born, the spoiled brat of the house, is Olumide—she’s 10. And lastly, the special slave of the house… that’s me, Mustakeemah! Oh, did I forget to mention? I’m related to the wife, not the husband.
Mrs. Shola: Witch! Aren’t you done with the dishes? You have a lot of work to do in this house.
Mustakeemah: (rolls her eyes) Yeah, I know, but I’ve done it.
Mrs. Shola: Have you washed my kids’ clothes?
Mustakeemah: Yes, ma.
Mrs. Shola: My husband’s car?
Mustakeemah: Yes, ma.
Mrs. Shola: Swept the compound? And prepared the breakfast?
Mustakeemah: Yes, ma. I’ve done everything. And speaking of the dishes, I’m done with that too.
Mrs. Shola: (surprised) So… so you’re telling me you’ve done all that? By this time?
Mustakeemah: Yes, ma. As you can see, I’m a good slave, right?
Mrs. Shola: (furious with anger) Okay then, go outside the gate and weed all those grasses. I don’t want to see a single weed around my house. But before that, prepare the dining table—my husband will soon wake up.
Mustakeemah: But ma, I haven’t rested since morning.
Mrs. Shola: Are you talking back at me? Do you want a hot slap this morning? Get the hell out of my sight!
Mustakeemah: (angrily walks out)
Mrs. Shola: Come back here! Won’t you prepare the dining table?
Mustakeemah: (picks up the cutlass angrily and heads out) I’ve done it.
Mrs. Shola: Stupid girl…
Mr. Suraj: Baby, where’s our slave? I can’t find my shoes.
Mrs. Shola: Baby, I’m coming. I’m sure she’s washed them. Let me go get them for you.
Mr. Suraj: I hope breakfast is ready?
Mrs. Shola: Yes, baby!
**************************
Mustakeemah’s P.O.V: (angrily cutting the grasses) Wicked people! All they ever do is make sure I never rest. After all I’ve done for them… and my stupid father doesn’t even care whether I’m alive or dead. The rage inside me is equal to the force with which I cut the grasses—without realizing I was being watched by a total stranger. I was too lost in thought to notice.
Abdulhakeem’s P.O.V: (smiling) You’ll meet different weirdos every single day. Uhmm… hello, sister with the cutlass. Please, take it easy with all that energy—you might hurt yourself. (I noticed how startled she looked.) Oh, I’m sorry to bother you, but be careful with that thing. I’ve been watching you for a few minutes now, and you’re kind of funny when you talk to yourself alone.
(She angrily turned to my direction. To my greatest surprise, I don’t know what came over me, but my heart began to beat faster.)
Mustakeemah: Are you okay? What’s your business with mine? Better go your way before I use this cutlass on you as well! (she yelled)
Abdulhakeem: Uhmm… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you angry. But deep inside, I kept wondering why my heart was beating for her. Still, I tried to act normal in front of her. Please, don’t use the cutlass on me. I’ll be on my way now, just be careful with how you use it. By the way, my name is Abdulhakeem. And you?
(I could see the confusion on her face for asking such a question. But my guess was right.)
Mustakeemah: Did I ask for your name? See, Mr. Man, just leave me alone and go your way. I’m already having a bad morning. (she begged angrily)
Abdulhakeem: Okay, fine. But just tell me your name, and I promise to let you be.
(Suddenly, a voice came from the gate.)
Mrs. Shola: And what if she doesn’t tell you? Mustakeemah! Who are you talking to? Is that the work I sent you?
(Immediately, she pushed me away, begging and pleading that I should leave before I landed her in trouble. I obeyed, because I had finally gotten her name, and also to avoid more trouble for her.)
Mustakeemah’s P.O.V: (sweating, quickly wiping it off with my dirty shirt) Ma, nobody… I was just talking to myself.
(She finally opened the gate and began to yell at me.)
Mrs. Shola: You witch! You’re busy with your fellow witches, abi? So this is where you’re having your meeting today? Right in front of my house? I give you just two minutes to finish what I sent you, or else you’ll have your breakfast by 3 p.m. And after that, I’ll give you another chore! Don’t hurry o! (she yelled angrily and slammed the gate in my face)
Mustakeemah: (sighs) No time to waste… I’m starving already.
******************************
Later that night — 7:12 p.m.
Mustakeemah’s P.O.V: I’m definitely sure you’re thinking I should be eating or praying by now. But guess what? I’m in the kitchen, preparing the dining table for my bosses. Did I tell you they’re not practicing Muslims? Their lifestyle is just like kafirs. No praying, except during Eid.
Mrs. Shola: Where is our dinner, witch?! (yells from the dining table)
Mustakeemah: I’m coming, ma. (to herself) They must be starving today. Soup, please don’t disappoint me again o, I don’t want to be bathed with you again. (She hurries to the dining table with the pot of soup in her hands) Here is the soup, ma.
Mrs. Shola: What took you so long? My kids are starving!
Mustakeemah: I’m sorry, ma.
(She got up and began to serve her family, while I waited for my verdict—whether I’d get bathed with soup or not. Luckily for me, today the head of the fools seemed okay with it. I sighed in relief, turned, and headed back to the kitchen to put my own food together—the leftovers. I’m not allowed to eat with them; I already know the rules. I didn’t waste time. I went straight to my store room and dug in. The food is always burnt, but I’m used to it.
And now, back to the big head who tried to land me in trouble by asking for my name. Who is he? What does he want from me? Kids my age often make fun of me, calling me the witch of my family. But he seemed different… nice, even. Still, he’s clearly not my age mate. So why am I even thinking about him?
I wasn’t done with my thoughts when the most annoying, spoiled brat barged into my palace.)
Mustakeemah: What is it this time? (asked angrily)
Olumide: I want to poo, but the water closet is dirty. You know I can’t use it like that.
Mustakeemah: So what should I do? Leave my food and wash the W.C. for you? (asked furiously)
Olumide: Yes. (she squeezed her stomach and whined) Please hurry before I poo in my pants!
Mustakeemah: (rolls her eyes) How dare she interrupt my royalty? Fine, let’s go now.
(4 minutes later…)
Mustakeemah: I’m done washing it. Now go in. (demonstrating)
Olumide: Thank you, sister. Please, can you go to my room and get my iPad? I want to use it to keep me company while I poo.
Mustakeemah: Excuse me? What did you say? Am I the one you’re talking to like that? Do I look like your maid?
(Mrs. Shola suddenly appeared out of nowhere.)
Mrs. Shola: And what are you? So this is how you talk to my child? How dare you! Ohhh, so now you have the guts to raise your voice in this house? You’re trying me! (She drew her daughter closer) Honey, did she touch you? Did she hit you anywhere?
Mustakeemah: (sadly staring at them)
Olumide: No, mummy. I only asked her to bring my iPad, and she started yelling at me.
Mrs. Shola: She yelled at you? (lands a hot slap on Mustakeemah’s face) This will serve as a lesson. Next time, never shout at my daughter! Now get the hell out of my sight and go get her iPad, you witch!
Mustakeemah: (sadly touches her cheek, not surprised by the slap, then heads quietly to Olumide’s room)
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