I hated being dressed.
I meant, I had two hands, and I was completely capable of dressing myself. But Abbati always insisted I got dressed by the maids. The maids whose names I never knew up until I left.
They never spoke to me, neither did I. But they came into the attic every morning to bring my bath water, and help me dress after the bath. As though I was incapable.
I was in fact, incapable, according to Abbati.
So now, despite not wanting to, I allowed the two maids to help dress me into a simple free sized ankara boubou. My once straightened hair was slowly curling back again, as it originally was. So I told the girls not to straighten it again. Instead, they wrapped the head tie of the gown I wore around my hair, making it into something like a makeshift bowtie.
I was safe now,
