CRIES OF A LITTLE MAID

EPISODE 3

The sun had not yet risen, but Amara was already awake.

A c**k crowed far away, and the sound of the generator rumbled softly behind the house. Amara sat on her little mattress, hugging her knees. Her eyes were swollen, but no more tears came. She had cried enough.

Today was her first full day as a maid.

Suddenly, the door opened. Aunty Rose entered with a bucket in her hand.

“Wake up. It’s 4:30,” she said in a firm voice. “Go and sweep the compound. Use this.”

She dropped the broom on the floor and left.

Amara stood up slowly. Her body ached from the hard floor. She picked up the broom and walked outside. The air was cold. The compound was wide—too wide for her tiny hands and small legs. But she started sweeping from the gate, dragging the broom behind her.

As she swept, her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since the village. Nobody gave her food the night before. But Amara didn’t complain. She remembered what Aunty Rose said:

“If you want to cry, cry where nobody will see you.”

She swept for almost one hour. Her small hands began to shake. Her back hurt. But she kept going.

Later, Aunty Rose called her back inside.

“Come and help me wash plates,” she said.

There was a mountain of dirty plates in the sink. Amara stared at them. There were bowls with dried soup, spoons with rice stuck to them, and glasses with greasy fingerprints.

“Don’t just stand there,” Aunty Rose said. “Start washing!”

Amara filled a bowl with water and began to scrub. The soap turned her fingers white, and the cold water made them numb, but she didn’t stop.

Halfway through, she heard footsteps behind her.

It was Madam Stella’s daughter, Princess. She was about Amara’s age, but her hair was long and curly, and she wore a shiny pink dress.

She stared at Amara, then laughed.

“Is this the new maid?” she asked.

“Yes,” Aunty Rose replied.

Princess walked closer and looked at Amara’s torn dress. She wrinkled her nose.

“She smells like bush,” Princess said.

Amara lowered her head, her cheeks burning. She wanted to disappear.

Madam Stella entered the kitchen next. She wore a red gown and golden earrings.

“Make sure she cleans the bathroom after this,” Madam Stella said. “And she must wash Princess’s school uniform every evening.”

“Yes, madam,” Aunty Rose replied.

Amara didn’t speak. Her heart was heavy. Her tiny hands continued washing the plates, but her mind was far away—in the village, with Mama, in the small hut where love lived even without riches.

Around 10 a.m., Madam Stella and Princess had breakfast. The smell of fried eggs and plantain filled the air. Amara watched from the corner of the kitchen. Her stomach made a loud sound.

Aunty Rose walked in with a small plate. She placed it on the table before Amara.

“Eat fast,” she said. “Don’t let Madam see you.”

Amara looked down. On the plate was a small piece of bread and cold tea.

She ate quickly, thankful for the little. It wasn’t enough, but it was better than nothing.

After breakfast, Amara was asked to wash Madam Stella’s clothes. She bent by the tap, scrubbing hard with her tiny fingers. Blisters began to form on her palms, but she didn’t cry. She just kept going.

As she washed, the driver passed by.

He looked at her and stopped. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Amara looked up, surprised. He was the only person who had asked that question since she arrived.

“I’m fine, sir,” she whispered.

He sighed. “Life is not fair sometimes. But be strong, little girl.”

She nodded.

That night, Amara returned to her small room.

She lay on the mattress and stared at the photo of her mother.

“I miss you,” she whispered. “But I’ll survive. I’ll be brave.”

Outside, the wind blew softly. Inside the big house, there was laughter, TV noise, and music. But in the small room behind the generator, a little girl lay alone, with pain in her chest and a dream in her heart.

A dream to one day be free.