Hey YOU, yes YOU, I hope YOU enjoyed the first part of this story? I am sure you did, the number of views from home and abroad, comments have been intriguing. THANK YOU. Initially, I intended tagging it *Abused by the Maid #1* but I changed my mind due to two reasons: 1.I could not find the hashtag key on my laptop; the sign for the hashtag was giving me the pound currency sign and I had to painstakingly press almost all the keys on my laptop, by the time I found it, I had lost interest. 2. I have observed that most people will not be eager to read a post tagged episode 1 until the whole series was completed and I wanted to gauge the reaction of you amazing readers towards the story so as to help me ascertain the best way to frame the concluding part for YOUR reading pleasure.
Read first episode of Abused by the maid here Abused by the Maid
Do enjoy the concluding part of Abused By The Maid.
After remaining on bended knees for a few more minutes, Aunty hafusa orders me *she was always barking at me as if I had a hearing problem instead of talking like a normal human being* to get up, put on my dress and fade into the house decor because she could not stand the sight of this sweet chocolate skinned chubby little girl #Hater. I dispersed immediately and the rest of the day flew by without any other memorable incident. Fast forward to when dusk had set on the same day.
My siblings were back from summer coaching chit chatting in the living room about the activities of the day, my mum was back from her place of work, my dad was yet to return and Aunty Hafusa was making a certain meal that required the use of a turning stick. Like I mentioned in the previous post, we did not have a generator and there was no government provided power supply at the moment making the air a bit stiff. I was in my Mum’s room with her and I guess she could not resist the urge to play with her little munchkin, I definitely was not in the mood because I was still hurting all over and then she suddenly carries me and starts bouncing me on her thighs *a last born child will always be the baby of the house irrespective of age or achievements; If I was not towering over her in height now, I am sure she would not resist the urge to bounce me on her thighs*#FOCUSTobi. I was feigning enjoyment of the bouncing and tickling but like the popular Nigerian saying goes *Body no just gree me sha.
While My Mum and I were bonding, I start to sweat due to the weather and she tries to take off my dress but I resist*knowing the architectural masterpiece that lay beneath my dress* and she makes one of those sounds that writing won’t do justice to which signifies that my opinion was insignificant and my dress was going to come off, and it sure did. Then she starts to feel the calluses on my back and adjust my sitting position so as to get a better view of my back. Here is the dialogue that ensued in quick procession and I quote.
Mum: Tobi, ahnahn!!! what is this on your back?
Me: What is that, Mummy it is nothing, there is nothing on my back.
Mum: Tobi, who is your mummy?
Me: I point my index finger towards her and answered, You Mummy.
Mum: Tobi, If you tell me who did this to you, you will follow me to work henceforth, sit at the back of my car with a big bowl of milk everyday. I was sold. * I totally loved and still love diary products*
Me: Mummy, Please don’t tell anybody.
Mummy: I promise I wont tell anybody *that promise was null and void ab-initio*. Who is the person?
Me: Errrm… It is Aunty Hafusa that beat me this morning.
Holy Macaroni!!!! I can confidently say that a raging bull had absolutely nothing on my mum in that very moment. All hell broke loose, doomsday had arrived, Khaleesi had unleashed her dragons to cause mayhem, pandemonium broke, My mum threw me to the bed and literally flew out of the room. I just remained on the bed but from my safe point, I could hear slaps, kicks, bangs, blows,wood breaking *Probably the turning stick*, screams, plates breaking, chairs being shoved from their original positions, and then silence. Seconds seemed like minutes and then I heard one of my sibling’s voice in her unique sarcastic tone *Aunty Hafusa is this blood or spit in your mouth? lol*. Like Shakespeare wrote ‘All is Fair in Love and War’ and this was definitely War from a Mama bear’s perspective.
My mum suddenly remembers me, comes back into the room puffing and panting and then starts to examine me, soliloquize, curse, apologize to me. My siblings also filed into the room in tentative steps because nobody wanted to be caught in the cross fire and tension was definitely still running high.Dinner was completely forgotten and I could hear Aunty Hafusa packing her load in her room. It was non-negotiable, she was to leave the next day and not immediately because dusk had set and we could not just throw a fellow human being and her entire belongings on the street irrespective of what she did to me.
My Mum was still fuming when my dad arrived. Even I started to feel some sort of pity for Aunty Hafusa because I knew the end was yet to come. My Dad enters the house, exchange pleasantries and my mum narrates the story to him. He examines me to authenticate the story just because he is a meticulous man and when I saw the rage in his eyes, I started whimpering because my innocent mind thought I also did something wrong to deserve the abuse I suffered from Aunty Hafusa *sighs*. Let’s just say what my Mum did to Aunty Hafusa was like a movie trailer compared to what my Dad did. I don’t even remember if anyone had the appetite for dinner that night.
The next morning, my Mum woke me up and we prepared for work together *yipee!!!*, I was surprised to see Aunty Hafusa still standing on her two feet without any help . I avoided eye contact with her and cowered behind my Mum with my bowl of milk while my Dad was reporting Aunty Hafusa to her Uncle who had come to take her away. Needless to say, that was the last time I saw Aunty Hafusa except I have bumped into her somewhere and I did not recognize her.
Aunty Hafusa left the house that morning but tales of her exploits and name lives on. Uncles, aunties, family friends over time all got creative with, telling my parents how they would have handled the situation if I was their daughter. Some ideas absolutely left us gob smacked and entertained us. There is no atom of hate left in me or my family as I retell this personal story, I am just grateful that my Mum found out that night and Thankful to God because the abuse could have gotten worse or sexual if it had not been nipped in the bud. Aunty Hafusa definitely left her footprints on the sands of time.
Thank YOU so much for taking time out to read this long post, I hope you were able to laugh and learn from my experience. Please do not hesitate to share, like, subscribe, drop your comments, views. xoxoxo.