Ozavize

23/08/2025

ADAORA THE MAID

Episode 8 (Written by Ozavize Lovers)

The church became Adaora’s refuge, but refuge didn’t mean safety. Not in Lagos.

For the first time in weeks, she slept on a real mat, under a leaking but familiar roof. Sister Grace gave her warm water to bathe, a wrapper to change into, and a plate of rice that made her cry silently as she ate.

But in Lagos, good things attract eyes and eyes attract danger.

By the third day, some of the church women had begun to whisper.

“Who is that girl?” one asked, eyeing Adaora as she swept the church compound.

“They said she’s pregnant,” another replied in a hushed tone. “And living here without a husband? It’s a bad example for the youth.”

The whispers grew like weeds. Sister Grace defended her at first, saying, “She’s only a child. She needs help, not judgment.”

But even Sister Grace had limits. Her husband, the pastor, called Adaora one evening.

“My daughter,” he began, his voice calm but distant, “this house is a place of God. We cannot harbor secrets here. Tell me, who is responsible for your pregnancy?”

Adaora’s fingers tightened around the hem of her dress. Her throat felt like sand.

“Oga Tade,” she whispered.

The pastor’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The businessman? The one who donates to this church?”

Adaora nodded slowly.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “This is… complicated. We cannot fight a man like that without proof. My hands are tied.”

Adaora’s heart sank. Even here, his shadow reached her.

That night, it rained heavily. Thunder cracked the sky open as Adaora tried to sleep. She was halfway between dream and fear when the church gate creaked open.

She peeked through the curtain and saw a flashlight beam moving in the rain. Then she heard his voice.

Mr. Tade.

Sister Grace opened the door and whispered harshly, “Sir, it’s late. You shouldn’t be here.”

“She doesn’t belong here,” his voice was smooth, almost amused. “Do you know what she’s accusing me of? She wants to destroy my family. I can’t let that happen.”

Adaora’s breath caught.

Sister Grace stood firm. “She is a child, Mr. Tade. If you have a dispute with her, handle it the right way. Don’t come here in the middle of the night.”

There was a pause. Rain drummed harder on the roof.

Then Tade’s voice dropped, dark as the storm: “This is your last warning, woman. Keep her here, and you invite trouble to your door.”

The gate slammed shut moments later.

By morning, Sister Grace called Adaora. Her kind face was lined with worry.

“You cannot stay here much longer,” she said softly. “He is a dangerous man, and I have children to protect.”

Adaora’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Where do I go? I don’t know anywhere. I can’t even go back to the village like this.”

Sister Grace handed her a small envelope with a few crumpled naira notes inside. “Take this. There’s a women’s shelter in Surulere. They help girls like you. I’ll write you a note.”

Adaora clutched the envelope like a lifeline. “Thank you, ma. God bless you.”

The pastor watched silently from the corridor, his face unreadable.

Adaora left the church before sunrise, her bag slung over her shoulder. The streets were wet, the air cold. Each bus stop was another risk. what if Tade had people watching? What if Madam Ronke had sent police to accuse her of theft or blackmail?

She kept her head down and boarded a rickety bus.

By the time she reached Surulere, her stomach was twisting with hunger and fear. She found the shelter, a faded yellow building with a rusty gate and knocked timidly.

A tall woman with glasses opened. “Yes? Who are you?”

Adaora held out the letter. “Sister Grace sent me. Please… I need help.”

The woman read the note, her eyes softening slightly. “Come in, child. You are safe here for now.”

For the first time in days, Adaora felt a little hope, warm food, a bed, and women who smiled at her instead of spitting.

But that night, as she lay down, she overheard two staff members talking outside her door.

“Did you hear? That businessman came here this morning,” one whispered.

“Which one?”

“The one they said got a girl pregnant. He left money. Plenty of it.”

Adaora’s heart thudded in her chest.

So, he had found her again.

And this time… he was paying to control what happened next.

She wrapped her arms around her belly and whispered to the life inside her, “I will protect you. Even if it’s the last thing I do.”

TBC...

21/08/2025

ADAORA THE MAID

Episode 7 (Written by Ozavize)

The streets of Lagos were cruel to a girl with no plan.
Adaora dragged her small bag along the dusty roadside, the sun scorching her skin as people passed by without a second glance. Cars honked. Hawkers shouted. Nobody cared that her whole life had just been thrown away.

For the first few hours, she wandered aimlessly, hoping—praying—that Madam Ronke would send someone to call her back. But no one came.

By evening, hunger gnawed at her belly. Her legs ached. Her lips were dry. She sat under a bridge near Ojota, clutching her stomach, afraid to cry too loudly in case the wrong kind of people noticed her.

“Fine girl, wetin you dey do for here?” a rough voice startled her.

She looked up to see two young men, their clothes torn, their eyes sharp with mischief.

“I… I dey wait for person,” she lied quickly.

They laughed. One of them reached for her bag. She pulled it back, trembling.

“Leave am,” the other said. “She be new fish. She go learn.”

They left her, but their laughter trailed behind like a curse.

That night, Adaora didn’t sleep. The cold bit into her skin, mosquitoes sang in her ears, and the noise of the city was a cruel lullaby.

By dawn, she made a decision: she needed to find Mama Sade. The old cook had been the only one who ever showed her a trace of kindness. Maybe she could help.

A Risky Return

With shaky steps, Adaora made her way back to the estate, hiding behind the walls until she saw Mama Sade leaving for the market.

“Mama,” she called out weakly.

The old woman turned, eyes widening. “Adaora? What are you doing here? They told me you ran away!”

Tears welled up in Adaora’s eyes. “Mama, they lied. They sent me away… Madam knows I am carrying oga’s child.”

Mama Sade gasped and looked around quickly. “Ssshhh! Don’t say that here. Do you want them to hear you? Ehn?”

“But Mama, I don’t know where to go… I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

The old woman’s face softened, but her voice stayed firm. “Follow me. But only for a short while. If Madam sees you, both of us are finished.”

She took Adaora to a small shack behind the market, a place where she kept extra supplies. There, she gave her bread and water.

“You can’t stay here,” Mama Sade whispered. “You need a plan. Go to church. Find a charity. Or…” She paused, lowering her voice even more. “…go to your people.”

“I have no people,” Adaora said bitterly.

Mama Sade sighed. “Then you must be strong, child. Lagos no be for the weak.”

Three nights later, as Adaora slept on a bench outside a roadside canteen, a familiar black SUV stopped by the curb.

Her heart stopped.

It was him—Mr. Tade.

He stepped out, dressed in his usual crisp shirt, eyes scanning the street like a hawk. When he spotted her, a slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” he said, his voice low but laced with triumph.

Adaora’s throat went dry. “I’m not hiding… you threw me out.”

He stepped closer. “I warned you, didn’t I? Lagos will chew you and spit you out. But don’t worry—” he glanced around before leaning in—“I always clean my mess. You are my mess.”

Adaora backed away. “Leave me alone. I will tell everyone what you did to me.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Who will believe you? A homeless maid? Or me—a respected businessman?”

She clenched her fists, tears burning her eyes.

“Go home, Adaora,” he said coldly. “Or don’t. Either way… that child won’t survive to ruin my name.”

And just like that, he entered his car and drove off, leaving her shaking, broken, and more afraid than ever.

The next morning, Adaora made her way to a small church she had seen days earlier. The pastor’s wife, a soft-spoken woman named Sister Grace, found her crying in the pews.

“My dear, what is wrong?” she asked gently.

Adaora hesitated, then whispered the truth.

Sister Grace didn’t shout. She didn’t slap her. She simply held her hand and said, “You are safe here for now. But we must be wise. There are laws to protect girls like you, even if the world pretends not to see.”

For the first time in weeks, Adaora felt a tiny flicker of hope.

She wasn’t safe yet. Not by a long shot.

But maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t completely alone.

TBC...

04/07/2025

ADAORA THE MAID

chapter 6 (written by Ozavize Lovers)

The silence that followed the confrontation in the kitchen was thick and unbearable. Days passed, but nothing felt the same.

Adaora avoided everyone. She kept her head low and her voice even lower. The other staff sensed something was wrong but said nothing. Even Uncle Kunle, who used to nod at her each morning, barely met her eyes now. It was as if the whole house had closed its doors around her.

But what hurt the most was Madam Ronke’s coldness.

She no longer called Adaora by name. She barked orders like she was commanding a stray dog. “You. Wash this.” “You. Come here.” Her face was hard, her tone sharp. And though she never raised the issue again, her every gesture was laced with punishment, more work, less food, zero kindness.

Mr. Tade, on the other hand, didn’t even pretend anymore.

He stopped speaking to her. He didn’t need to. His eyes said it all. Every time their paths crossed, he looked at her with the kind of quiet threat that made her chest tighten. One morning, as she swept the hallway, he whispered just loud enough for her to hear:

“You made a mistake, little girl.”

Adaora froze, broom in hand, heart pounding.

“I could’ve made you somebody,” he continued calmly. “Now you’re just a stupid maid who doesn’t know how the city works.”

He walked away without waiting for a reply.

That was the day Adaora started vomiting.

At first, she thought it was the stress. Or hunger. But when it happened again and again she knew something was wrong. Her body felt foreign. Her breasts were tender. She was dizzy, tired all the time, and her appetite had vanished.

Still, she said nothing. She cleaned. She cooked. She carried out her duties like a machine.

But the fear bloomed in her chest like a silent storm.

Two weeks later, she borrowed a small radio from Mama Sade when the older woman wasn’t looking. She hid in the back shed and listened to a call-in health program. When a nurse described early pregnancy symptoms, Adaora felt the world tilt beneath her feet.

No. It couldn’t be.

But deep down, she knew.

The day her period didn’t come, she sat in the toilet and cried until her throat ached. The truth had arrived. There was no escaping it now.

She was pregnant.

Pregnant for a man who had touched her without consent. A man who was married. A man whose wife already believed the worst about her.

When she finally gathered the courage to tell Madam Ronke, she wasn’t expecting kindness but neither was she prepared for what came.

“You’re what?” Ronke’s voice rang out like a gunshot. She was standing by the dining table, arms akimbo, her face twisted in disbelief.

“I… I think I’m pregnant, ma,” Adaora stammered, her voice barely audible.

“And whose child is it?” Madam asked, already knowing the answer.

Adaora hesitated. “Your husband.”

Silence.

Then a sharp slap cracked across Adaora’s cheek.

“You filthy witch!” Madam screamed. “I brought you into my home, fed you, clothed you, and this is what you do? You open your dirty legs to my husband?”

“No! Madam, please he forced me, I swear”

Another slap. Harder.

“Liar! You seduced him. You knew what you were doing. You wanted to destroy my home!”

“I didn’t… I didn’t…” Adaora wept, trembling on her knees.

“You’ll pack your things and leave this house. Today! Before I call the police and have you arrested for trying to blackmail my family!”

Adaora looked up, dazed, blood on her lip.

“Where will I go?” she whispered. “I don’t know anyone in Lagos. Please…”

But Madam Ronke was already storming away.

Thirty minutes later, Uncle Kunle dropped a small Ghana-Must-Go bag at Adaora’s feet.

“Madam say make you go,” he muttered, unable to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

She stood there, outside the gate, under the scorching afternoon sun, with no phone, no money, no idea where to go—and a child growing inside her.

She was seventeen.

Alone.

And carrying a price she never agreed to pay.

TBC... Follow my page Ozavize to be notified for the next episode.

Written by Ozavize the extraordinary writer.

09/06/2025

09/06/2025

ADAORA THE MAID (written by Ozavize the extraordinary writer).

Chapter Five (5)

The days that followed were strained and uneasy. Adaora moved through the mansion like a ghost, careful not to linger too long in the same room with Mr. Tade. She avoided eye contact. She worked quickly and quietly. But nothing she did seemed to stop him.

The once occasional glances turned into deliberate touches his hand brushing her lower back as he passed, his fingers grazing hers when handing her a glass, his smile lingering just a second too long. She tried to ignore it. Pretend it was nothing. But her body flinched each time he came near.

When Madam Ronke returned from her church retreat, Adaora breathed a little easier. At least now, she wasn’t alone in the house with him. But even with Madam around, Mr. Tade still found ways to corner her, sending her on small errands to his study, calling her late at night to bring him water, or pretending to inspect her work in the kitchen.

One Thursday night, as she was washing plates after dinner, he came again.

“You missed a spot,” he said, standing too close behind her.

“I will clean it now, sir,” she replied, her voice tight, her hands trembling as they gripped the sponge.

He didn’t move. She could feel the heat of his breath near her neck.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Adaora. I can take care of you. Give you everything you’ve never had.”

She said nothing. Just kept scrubbing.

He stepped closer. “You deserve better than this. A girl like you shouldn’t be sleeping in a servant’s room.”

Suddenly, he touched her waist.

Adaora je**ed forward, the plate slipping from her wet hands and crashing into the sink.

He didn’t flinch.

“Let me go, sir,” she whispered, her eyes stinging with tears.

But he didn’t. His hand slid further, and she pushed him hard.

Tade staggered back, more shocked than angry.

“I said let me go!” she cried, chest heaving.

He looked at her, then straightened his shirt and stepped back. “Watch how you speak to me, girl. Do you know who I am in this house?”

“I don’t care!” she snapped, her voice rising. “Don’t touch me again!”

Just then, footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Madam Ronke entered, her heels clicking sharply on the tiled floor.

“What’s going on here?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

Tade turned to her, recovering quickly. “Nothing serious. Your maid is just being clumsy. She broke a plate.”

Adaora stood frozen, staring at Madam with pleading eyes. “Madam, he he touched me. He’s been—”

Madam held up her hand. “Enough. Not in my kitchen.”

“But madam”

“I said enough!” Her voice cracked like a whip. She turned to Tade. “Please go upstairs.”

Tade gave Adaora a last cold glance and walked out, not bothering to explain further.

Ronke turned to Adaora. Her eyes were hard, unreadable.

“You must be careful with the things you say in this house,” she said slowly. “Accusing a man my husband of such things? Are you trying to destroy my home?”

“But I’m telling the truth”

“Truth?” she hissed. “You village girls come here and think you can trap men with fake stories. You think I haven’t seen this before?”

Adaora shook her head, tears now running freely. “No, madam. I swear—I didn’t do anything. He’s the one”

“You’re lucky I don’t throw you out tonight,” Madam snapped. “I gave you a home. Food. Clothes. And this is how you repay me? Don’t ever open your mouth to speak of this again. Do you hear me?”

Adaora was silent.

“I said, do you hear me?”

“Yes, ma,” she whispered.

Ronke looked at her for a long moment, then turned and walked away.

The kitchen fell into silence, broken only by the dripping tap and the soft sobs escaping Adaora’s lips.

That night, she cried herself to sleep, her heart broken in a way she had never known. The city that once looked like a dream now felt like a prison. And there, in the darkness of her tiny room, Adaora realized the bitter truth:

No one was coming to save her.

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04/06/2025

ADAORA THE MAID (written by Ozavize extraordinary writer).

Chapter Four

The rains came suddenly that Thursday afternoon. Heavy clouds rolled across the sky like boiling smoke, and within minutes, the city was drenched. Adaora stood by the window of the boys’ quarters, watching fat drops slap against the concrete, the gutters already beginning to overflow.

She liked the rain. It reminded her of home, of the sound of her mother humming while cooking yam porridge, of the warmth of her siblings huddled together in bed. But here, in this big house where no one ever smiled without reason, the rain only made the loneliness worse.

She had been in Lagos for over a month. She knew every inch of the mansion now, every scratch on the tiles, every broken hinge, every creak in the stairwell. But her world was shrinking. No one had mentioned evening school again. No one had paid her any salary. Every time she asked Madam Ronke about it, she got the same reply:

“Later. Let’s see how useful you are first. You think we have money to throw around?”

Adaora was beginning to understand what Florence’s words had truly meant: “Just behave yourself and you’ll be fine.” The unspoken truth was, she had no power here. No voice. No choice.

That evening, while peeling yam in the kitchen, Mr. Tade, Madam’s husband, returned from a business trip.

He was tall, with a clean-shaven head and an expensive wristwatch that glinted whenever he moved. He carried himself like a man who expected the world to move aside for him. Adaora heard his voice before she saw him, deep, confident, used to being obeyed.

“Who’s this one?” he asked, nodding in her direction as he walked into the kitchen.

Madam smiled. “That’s the new girl. From the village. Florence’s cousin’s child.”

Tade turned to Adaora. “What’s your name?”

“Adaora, sir,” she said, her voice small.

“Hmm. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

He stared at her a second too long. Then smiled faintly. “Welcome.”

As he turned and walked out, Adaora felt a strange chill run down her spine. Something in his eyes unsettled her.

Over the next few days, Tade’s presence grew more noticeable. Unlike his wife, he didn’t shout. He was calm, quiet, always watching. Sometimes when Adaora walked past him in the hallway, she could feel his gaze on her back. Once, she caught him watching her mop the living room. Their eyes met, and he didn’t look away. He just smiled and slowly sipped his wine.

Adaora told herself it was nothing. Maybe she was imagining it. She focused on her tasks, determined to remain invisible.

But on Sunday afternoon, Madam Ronke left for a church women’s retreat, taking the children with her. The house was quiet, unusually so. Adaora was in the kitchen chopping onions when she heard his voice.

“You’ve been working hard.”

She turned quickly. Tade was standing by the kitchen doorway, arms folded, watching her.

“Yes, sir,” she said cautiously, looking down.

“Come,” he said.

She hesitated. “Sir?”

“I said come.”

Slowly, she put down the knife and walked toward him.

He handed her a cold bottle of Fanta. “Relax. You’re doing well here. I’ve been watching.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“You like it here?”

She nodded.

“Good. If you ever need anything, just come to me. Don’t be afraid.” He reached out and touched her arm lightly, but deliberately. “You understand?”

Adaora froze. Something about the touch too familiar, too confident made her throat tighten.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured, and stepped back quickly.

He chuckled and walked away, leaving behind the sickly-sweet smell of cologne and something else, danger.

That night, Adaora couldn’t sleep. Her mind played the moment over and over again. The smile. The touch. The way he had looked at her like she was not a person but a prize.

She wanted to run.

But where would she go? She didn’t know the streets. She had no phone. No money. Even Florence hadn’t called or come to check on her.

In the quiet of the night, she knelt by her bed, trembling.

“God,” she whispered. “Please protect me.”

But even her own voice sounded uncertain.

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03/06/2025

ADAORA THE MAID

Chapter Three

The next morning came with a blaring car horn and the sharp voice of Madam Ronke shouting instructions from the kitchen.

“Adaora! Wake up! Come and boil water!”

Adaora jumped up from her narrow mattress, her joints sore from the unfamiliar bed and the strain of the previous day. She quickly wrapped her wrapper around her chest and dashed into the main house, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Where is the girl?” Madam snapped, arms folded across her chest. “You want to start acting lazy already? This is not your village, o. Wake up before me next time, do you hear?”

“Yes, ma. I’m sorry, ma,” Adaora muttered, bowing slightly.

The house was already stirring to life. The two children, Timi and Debbie, had just woken up and were glued to their tablets, still in their pajamas. The air smelled of fried eggs and toast. Adaora’s stomach rumbled, but she said nothing. She boiled water, ironed school uniforms, and laid out breakfast plates while Madam gave sharp instructions.

By 7:00 a.m., the house was buzzing. A sleek black SUV arrived to take the children to school. Madam Ronke wore a fitted dress, high heels, and a perfume so strong it lingered in every room she entered. Her husband had not yet returned from his trip, and Adaora began to settle into a rhythm—work, clean, listen, and learn.

But everything was different from home.

The television had more channels than she had ever imagined. The kitchen was filled with machines that beeped and hummed. There were gadgets for grinding, blending, chopping even toasting bread. And yet, Adaora was not allowed to touch most of them. Her job, Madam made clear, was manual.

“You're here to clean, not to play with appliances,” she said when Adaora reached for the microwave one afternoon.

“Yes, ma,” she answered quietly, her pride swallowing each word.

Still, she worked hard. She cleaned the glass windows until they gleamed, arranged Madam’s shoe collection in color order, and scrubbed the children’s bathroom every day.

Despite the long hours and the stiffness in her back, she held on to hope. Florence had said Madam would enroll her in evening classes after a few months. She pictured herself walking into a classroom, a book in her arms, sitting beside others and writing with a pen again. The dream gave her strength.

But as days turned into weeks, Adaora noticed something unsettling: the children were rude and spoiled. Debbie, the younger one, once slapped Adaora for accidentally stepping on her doll. Timi threw his cereal at her one morning because it was “too soggy.” Madam said nothing.

“She’s just a maid,” she told them. “If she annoys you, tell me.”

Adaora swallowed her hurt. In her village, elders were respected. Here, she was treated as a thing, less than human.

One Sunday morning, she stood at the gate, watching the family drive off to church without her. She had dressed up, thinking she would join them. She wore her best blouse and even applied a little lip balm. But when Madam saw her, she laughed.

“Who told you you’re going to church with us? Who will cook lunch? Abeg, go and clean the fish.”

The gate closed behind them, and Adaora stood still for a moment, blinking back tears. A lump formed in her throat as she returned to the kitchen.

The loneliness grew heavier each day. The only people she interacted with were the other domestic staff, Uncle Kunle, the driver, who was kind but distant; and Mama Sade, the old cook, who mostly kept to herself.

One night, while scrubbing the marble floor of the main hallway, Kunle approached her and crouched beside her.

“You dey try, Ada,” he said in a low voice. “Just shine your eyes, okay? City no be village. No trust too quick.”

Adaora paused, looking up. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Nothing. Just be careful. People no be who them dey show.”

With that, he stood and walked away, leaving Adaora confused and unsettled.

That night, she lay on her narrow bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above her. For the first time, she began to wonder: was she really safe here?

Her dream of Lagos was still alive—but a dark cloud had begun to creep around its edges.

TBC...
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02/06/2025

ADAORA THE MAID

Chapter Two (written by Ozavize)

The journey to Lagos was long and exhausting. The battered bus wheezed like an old man, coughing its way through towns, villages, and crowded checkpoints. Adaora sat by the window, clutching her bag to her chest. Her eyes devoured the changing landscapes palm trees giving way to concrete buildings, quiet farms replaced by noisy traffic and thick, smoky air.

By the time they reached the outskirts of Lagos, dusk had fallen. Neon signs flickered on buildings. Danfos honked with reckless abandon. Hawkers tapped on windows, selling bottled water, plantain chips, and cheap phone chargers. Adaora’s head buzzed with new sounds and smells. Her excitement was slowly dissolving into anxiety.

“Welcome to Eko!” Aunty Florence said with a laugh, as if the chaos was a joke she’d heard a thousand times. “This city does not sleep. You must learn to be sharp.”

They arrived at Florence’s apartment in Surulere, a cramped two-bedroom flat on the second floor of a faded building. The hallway smelled of kerosene and fish stew. Inside, the walls were covered in plastic wallpaper peeling at the corners. Adaora didn’t mind. It was still better than what she had known.

“You’ll stay here just tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the people you’ll work for.”

That night, Adaora lay on a mattress on the living room floor. The ceiling fan groaned overhead. She stared at it, thoughts swirling. Was this the beginning of her dream? Would they really send her to school? Would she wear a uniform again, hold a pen, raise her hand in class?

In the early hours of the morning, the loud call to prayer from a nearby mosque woke her. The city never truly slept.

The next morning, Aunty Florence dressed Adaora carefully in a modest blouse and a long skirt.

“You must look respectful. Madam Ronke likes neat girls,” she said, brushing down Adaora’s sleeves. “Don’t talk too much. Greet everyone politely. Smile small.”

Adaora nodded, her heart thumping in her chest.

They took a taxi to Lekki Phase 1, a completely different world from Surulere. Smooth roads, high gates, fancy cars, and flowers blooming in well-kept gardens. Adaora’s eyes widened as they approached a cream-colored mansion with tall black gates.

A security man opened the gate and gestured them inside. The house loomed large, with glass windows that shimmered in the sun. She could barely breathe.

“Relax,” Florence whispered. “This is your new home.”

Inside, the floors gleamed like marble rivers. A woman in high heels clicked her way down the staircase. Her dress was sharp, her makeup perfect. Her eyebrows were drawn like arrows.

“Good morning, ma,” Florence greeted her. “This is the girl I told you about—Adaora.”

The woman gave her a once-over, her face unreadable.

“She looks okay. Where’s she from?”

“Umueze, Anambra State.”

“Hmm,” the woman, Madam Ronke said. “Hope she’s clean. I can’t stand dirty girls.”

“Yes, ma.”

“Can she read?”

“Yes, ma. Finished primary school. Smart girl.”

Madam Ronke looked Adaora in the eyes. “You will be in charge of cleaning the house, washing the kids’ clothes, and assisting in the kitchen. You’ll sleep in the boys’ quarters out back. You will wake by five a.m. sharp. Any laziness, you’re out. Understood?”

Adaora swallowed and nodded. “Yes, ma.”

“My husband is not around now. You’ll meet him later. The children are in school.”

They were led outside to a small room behind the main house. It had a bed, a small table, and a ceiling fan that clicked when it spun. Adaora placed her bag on the floor and exhaled.

“She likes you,” Florence said. “Behave yourself and you’ll be fine. They said they’ll pay fifteen thousand naira monthly. And they promised that after a few months, they’ll register you for evening classes. Just make yourself useful.”

That afternoon, Adaora began her duties. She scrubbed floors, cleaned bathrooms, washed dishes, and arranged the children’s toys. Her feet ached by nightfall, but she was proud. She had made it to Lagos. She had a room, food, and work.

That night, she knelt by her bed and prayed.

“Dear God, thank you for bringing me here safely. Please help me to be strong, to work well, and to be sent to school as they promised. I want to make Mama proud. Amen.”

Outside, the city buzzed with laughter, sirens, and the hum of distant traffic.

Inside, Adaora fell asleep, unaware that the price of her dreams would be far higher than she could ever imagine.

TBC...
I'm Ozavize the extraordinary writer.
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01/06/2025

ADAORA THE MAID

CHAPTER ONE

The sun hung low over Umueze, casting golden streaks across the red, cracked earth of the village. Chickens scattered as children chased one another between mud houses roofed with rusted zinc. Smoke curled up from cooking fires, carrying the scent of burning wood and pepper stew. It was evening the hour when life slowed and stories began.

Seventeen-year-old Adaora Nnadozie sat by the wooden bench in front of her family’s small hut, peeling cassava with practiced hands. Her feet were dusty from walking to the stream earlier, and a film of sweat clung to her brow, but her spirit remained light. She peeled with rhythm, her mind elsewhere, dancing through daydreams far from Umueze.

"Ada, you're cutting too deep into the cassava," her mother scolded gently from behind, tying a wrapper tightly around her waist.

"Sorry, Mama," Adaora mumbled, adjusting her grip.

She looked up at the sky. Somewhere beyond those clouds was Lagos, the city of bright lights and fast cars, where dreams came true, at least in the stories.

She had never been beyond the boundaries of Umueze. Her life had been one of routine: fetch water, sweep the compound, help in the farm, cook, and care for her younger siblings. But Adaora was different from most girls in the village. She had dreams, big ones. She wanted to become a teacher, maybe even work in an office with air-conditioning and a desk of her own. The mere thought made her smile.

As if summoned by her thoughts, her father’s distant cousin, Aunty Florence, arrived that evening in a cloud of perfume and sophistication. She stepped out of a black Toyota Corolla, wearing a yellow lace blouse and large dark sunglasses, even though the sun was already slipping behind the trees.

Children gathered, their mouths open. Cars were rare in Umueze, and even rarer were women like her polished, loud, and full of the city’s gloss.

“Chai! Look at Adaora! You’ve grown tall like a mango tree!” Florence declared, pulling Adaora into a tight embrace that smelled of coconut oil and imported soap. “How old are you now, eh?”

“Seventeen, Aunty,” Adaora replied, shy but curious.

The adults gathered inside the hut for conversation. Adaora strained to listen from the doorway, holding a sleeping baby brother in her arms.

“I have a good family in Lagos,” Florence was saying. “Big house, two children. They need help with domestic chores, but they’re decent people. God-fearing. They promised to send the girl to school. Pay her small salary too.”

There was silence. Her mother cleared her throat.

"But Lagos is not here," Mama Chinwe said cautiously. "She’s just a girl. If anything happens"

"Nothing will happen! Do you think I’ll take her there to suffer?" Florence laughed. "She will live better than all of us. A real room! With her own mattress! This is opportunity knocking."

Adaora’s father, Pa Nnadozie, remained quiet for a long time. He stared at the kerosene lamp as though it held answers.

“Let us pray about it,” he finally said.

But Adaora already knew what her answer would be. That night, while lying on a raffia mat beside her little brothers, she stared at the ceiling and whispered, “Please God, let them say yes.”

Three days later, the decision was made.

They packed her clothes in a worn Ghana-must-go bag, two wrappers, three blouses, a comb, her best slippers, and the little Bible her Sunday school teacher had given her. Her mother tucked in a necklace with a tiny wooden crucifix.

At the bus park, the entire village seemed to have shown up to see her off. Her best friend, Ngozi, clung to her side.

"Don't forget us when you start driving cars in Lagos o," Ngozi joked through tears.

Adaora smiled, though her stomach churned with nerves. Her mother hugged her tightly, whispering blessings in her ear.

"You're going to be somebody, Ada. Don’t let anyone make you feel small. And if anything doesn't feel right, run. You hear me? Run."

Adaora nodded, blinking away tears.

As the bus pulled away, she pressed her forehead against the glass window. Her village faded behind her, the red dust swirling in the air like the last whisper of her childhood.

She didn’t know what awaited her in Lagos.

But she believed oh, she truly believed that something better was coming.

TBC...
My name is Ozavize Ozavize extraordinary writer.