EPISODE 5
876 Words
The sky was still dark when Amara opened her eyes. The cold morning breeze entered through the broken window above her mat, and she wrapped her thin wrapper tighter around her tiny frame. Her bones ached from sleeping on the hard floor, but there was no time to complain. Madam Stella hated laziness.
Before the first cockcrow, she was already in the kitchen, pounding pepper with a big mortar and pestle that was taller than her. Her small arms trembled with every strike, but she kept pounding. If the pepper wasn’t smooth enough, Madam Stella would shout. Or worse—beat her with the long cane that rested beside the fridge.
As she pounded, a single tear rolled down her cheek. Not because of the pepper. But because of the dream she had. In the dream, she saw Mama calling her from the old mango tree back in the village.
“Amara, come back home,” Mama said with open arms.
But Amara couldn’t move. Chains held her legs.
And as she cried for help, the tree faded away.
She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
The sound of footsteps broke her thoughts. It was Madam Stella, holding her phone and wearing her morning robe.
“Is the pepper ready?” she asked sharply.
“Yes, ma,” Amara said, stepping aside.
Madam Stella dipped her finger into the pepper and licked it.
“Hmm… not bad. Go and clean the toilet. It stinks,” she ordered.
Amara nodded and dropped the pestle. She hurried off.
As she reached the corridor, she passed Princess’s room. The door was open. Princess stood in front of her mirror, brushing her long hair.
“You again,” she muttered when she saw Amara.
Amara didn’t respond. She just walked faster.
“Don’t forget what you did yesterday,” Princess called out. “Next time, you won’t escape so easily.”
Amara paused but didn’t turn. She continued walking, her heart pounding.
In the toilet, she scrubbed harder than usual. She didn’t want any trouble today.
After cleaning, she went back to the kitchen. She helped Aunty Rose prepare breakfast—yam and fried eggs. The aroma filled the house. Her stomach growled, but she wasn’t allowed to taste anything. Not even a drop.
By 8 a.m., the family sat at the table to eat. Amara stood by the wall, watching them laugh and chew loudly. Her eyes were fixed on the steaming plate of food, but she dared not say a word.
“Amara,” Madam Stella said suddenly.
“Yes, ma!”
“Come here.”
She walked over quickly, her bare feet tapping the tiled floor.
“Take this plate to the dog,” she said, handing her a broken plate with bones and little leftovers.
Amara nodded and walked outside.
The dog barked happily when he saw her. She dropped the plate and sat on the step, watching him eat. A part of her felt jealous. At least the dog was fed properly.
“Why am I even here?” she whispered. “Why did Mama let me go?”
The question sat heavy in her heart.
That afternoon, while the family rested in their rooms with the air conditioner blowing, Amara was washing a heap of clothes at the backyard tap. The sun was hot. Her back burned. She twisted and scrubbed until her fingers were sore and wrinkled.
Then something happened.
Madam Stella’s friend, Aunty Rose, came to visit. She was kind, or so she looked.
When she saw Amara working, she smiled. “Is this the maid?” she asked Madam Stella.
“Yes,” Madam Stella replied. “She’s still learning. Lazy and stubborn, but she’ll get used to the system.”
Aunty Rose walked up to Amara and bent slightly. “What’s your name?”
“Amara,” she replied shyly.
“You look tired, my dear. Are they treating you well here?”
Madam Stella’s eyes flashed.
“She’s just shy,” she said quickly. She eats three times a day. We even bought her new clothes.”
Amara looked down at her torn wrapper.
Aunty Rose nodded slowly. “Hmm.”
But later that evening, Aunty Rose saw something that changed everything.
As Amara bent to fetch water, her back was exposed slightly. A fresh scar ran across her shoulder blade, long and red.
“What happened to your back?” Aunty Rose asked softly.
Amara froze. She didn’t know what to say.
Madam Stella appeared quickly and laughed nervously. “Oh, that? She fell while playing. Children, you know…”
But Aunty Rose wasn’t convinced.
That night, Amara sat alone in her corner, tracing the scar with her finger. It was still sore. It was from the last beating, when she accidentally broke a glass cup.
She brought out Mama’s letter again and whispered, “Mama, you said to be strong. But it’s hard. Very hard.”
Tears ran down her cheeks.
Somewhere in the dark, the driver watched her from the veranda. He clenched his fists. His face was tight with anger.
Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would do something.
He didn’t know what yet.
But he couldn’t keep watching.
Not anymore.
- Writer
