The Billionaire's Secret Maid

Amina had never seen a house so big. The gate alone was taller than her entire manyatta in Lodwar. She stood outside the black iron gates of Karen, Nairobi, feeling smaller than ever. The cold wind from the Ngong Hills blew through her. It was nothing like the hot, dry wind of Turkana. This wind bit her skin. Her dress, a faded blue that had once been bright, was torn at the edge. The hem flapped against her legs. She had washed it many times in the river, until the colour left. She clutched her small polythene bag tighter. It was a black paper bag from a shop, folded carefully. Inside was everything she owned that mattered. Her KCPE certificate, with 352 marks, laminated by a man in Lodwar town for 200 shillings. A letter from Chief Ekitela, written in broken English, saying she was a good girl, hardworking and honest. And a small rosary her mother had given her. She had come to Nairobi three days ago. She slept at the bus station in Eastleigh with other girls from upcountry. She had no auntie, no uncle. Only a small paper with an address. "Jake Kingsley Mansion, Karen. Need maid. 40k." A woman at the bus station had given it to her, saying mzungu billionaires pay well. "Bwana, I am here for kazi," she told the guard, her Turkana accent heavy, her voice shaking. The guard was a big man in a black uniform. He looked at her from head to toe and laughed. It was not a kind laugh. "Wewe? This is not a place for shamba girls. Look at you. Torn dress. Fita shoes. This is Jake Kingsley mansion. Mzungu billionaire. He does not hire girls from Turkana. Enda!" Amina swallowed. The shame burned her face. She wanted to run. But she thought of her mother in Lodwar. Her mother was coughing blood, lying on a mat in their manyatta. No food for two days. The neighbour, Mama Atabo, had said, "Amina, if you don't go to Nairobi, your mother will die." Her mother had told her, "Go, my daughter. God will open a door." Her shoes had holes. She had walked from the bus station in Karen, more than one hour, because she had only 50 shillings left. Her feet were bleeding. "Please, bwana. I can clean. I can cook ugali. I can wash clothes. I can wash toilets. I can do anything. I am strong. I carried water from the borehole since I was seven. Please give me a chance. Just one interview," she begged. Her eyes filled with tears but she refused to let them fall. The guard stepped closer. "Did you not hear me? I said enda! Before I call police. These rich people don't want beggars." Amina turned, defeated. The polythene bag felt heavy in her hands. Maybe God had closed this door too. She started to walk away, slowly, her head down. Just then, a black Range Rover Vogue stopped behind her. The brakes made a soft sound. The window rolled down, slowly, smoothly. And a man in a dark suit looked at her. He was not old, maybe 30. His hair was black, his eyes were grey like the Nairobi sky before rain. Cold, tired, and beautiful. He had a scar on his jaw. He looked like a man who never smiled. This was the man on the magazines at the supermarket. Jake Kingsley. "Who is she?" he asked the guard. His voice was deep, with a slight American accent. The guard quickly stood straight, like a soldier. "Some village girl looking for kazi, sir. I am chasing her away. She is wasting time." The man did not look at the guard. He kept looking at Amina. At her torn blue dress. At her shaking hands holding the polythene bag. At her feet with holes in her shoes. At her face, which despite dust and tiredness, was beautiful, with high cheekbones and large brown eyes. "What's your name?" he asked her directly. Amina's heart beat so fast she thought it would come out. "A-Amina, bwana. Amina Lokor." "Amina Lokor," he repeated. "How old are you?" "Nineteen, bwana." "Where are you from?" "Lodwar, Turkana, bwana." He was quiet for five seconds. Those five seconds felt like five years to Amina. Then he said, "Let her in." The guard's mouth opened. "Sir? But..." "I said let her in. She has an interview with Mrs. Atieno. Now." Amina's heart stopped. She couldn't breathe. This was Jake Kingsley. The billionaire everyone feared. The man who owned half of Nairobi. And he had just saved her. She didn't know that stepping through that black gate would change her life forever. She didn't know that this house had many secrets, and that the billionaire himself had the biggest secret of all. She didn't know that soon, she was about to become his secret maid, and his secret would become hers. She only knew she had to feed her mother. She held her polythene bag tighter and walked through the gate, into another world.