Protecting Tam-Tam

“Do you want to go or not?” Wacko asked. He looked up at me from the chair he lounged lazily on, his dark shades not hiding the amusement on his face.

The question was posed in a way that made it seem like I had a choice when I really didn’t. Judging by the annoying smirk that curved Wacko’s lips, I could tell he knew I had no choice. I felt like smacking that smirk off his face.

“Yes,” I said, swallowing hard. I cringed as I thought of the implications of my decision. There was no going back at this point.

“Good.” Wacko nodded. “Meet me here tomorrow evening, 7 p.m. sharp,” he made a sweeping gesture at the abandoned bus park he claimed as his domain. “The others would be here as well. Then we’ll move. Don’t forget to bring the-” he trailed off, rubbing the tips of his thumb and forefinger together- the universal sign for money.

I nodded in understanding, “I will,” I said. “Can I bring someone along?” I asked, my fingers crossed behind my back.

“Someone? Who?” Wacko asked, staring at me in confusion. I could see his eyes moving around widely behind the shades as if trying to figure out who I had in mind. I knew the moment he realized who. “Wait, the little girl?”

Wacko howled and doubled over in laughter. I felt my face heat up, but there was no way I would leave Mercy behind. I loathe to think how much she would suffer in Madam Cynthia’s hands without me.

“Can I bring her?” I asked Wacko impatiently. His laughter was grating in my ears.

“If you want,” Wacko said. He stopped laughing and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs on a short stool. His expression turned serious. “I’ll be expecting payment for her as well. If you don’t have cash,” his eyes roamed my body. “ I’ll take kind.”

I bristled with disgust. The thought of being with him like that made bile rise at the back of my throat. I wondered what he saw; I wore a black skirt that brushed my calf and a long-sleeve top.

“I’ll pay you half,” I said, quelling his perverted thoughts. I had enough money to cover that much. 

He was quiet, staring at me through his dark shades. For once, I didn’t know what he was thinking, and I tugged my sleeve down my wrist nervously.

“Fine,” he said. “How would you manage it? Pulling the little girl from under Madam Cynthia?”

I said nothing. I had a plan brewing in my head. I had been thinking about it since I overheard that conversation between Madam Cynthia and the man she called Chief last month. It was when I decided Mercy and I had to leave Madam Cynthia.

Learning of Wacko’s plan to take some girls out of the country was the lynchpin I needed to set my plans in motion.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be here tomorrow with your money,” I said.

“Hmph.” Wacko looked away. He grabbed the neck of the beer bottle he had abandoned beside him and took a swig. 

I knew I had been dismissed and didn’t need to be told twice as I turned away from him and exited the bus park. I avoided bits of broken bottles and other discarded weapons as I left. Wacko’s domain was a popular hotspot for gang fights and other atrocities. The group of guys smoking pot at the entrance stared at me as I passed. One of them catcalled, and they all laughed. I didn’t glance at them.

Night had already fallen when I came up on the main road and approached Madam Cynthia’s house. 

I was orphaned at 13. My father picked my mother up from work as he usually did that fateful day. I was waiting for them eagerly at home, ready to tell them I had been picked to be the house queen of my school’s inter-house sports competition. I wasn’t prepared to hear that a container had fallen off a bridge, landing directly on my parents’ car and killing them instantly.

My parents had no family I knew about. They never introduced me to anyone. I had no one to go to when people from the bank came to foreclose my father’s house. Then, I was thrown onto the street.

Madam Cynthia saved me from the streets. She came home one day, and I was lying in front of her house, bleeding and helpless. I had just been raped and had crawled to the front of her home, ready to die from the pain I felt.

Madam Cynthia took me in, and while I wasn’t one of her ‘working girls’, she took care of my basic needs, and I worked as a provision storekeeper at the market. I knew it was only a matter of time before she expected me to join her league of girls. But now, I pulled my weight by doing menial jobs for Madam Cynthia and the other girls.

I sighed as I turned into the road leading me to Madam Cynthia’s house. That expected time was rushing at me faster than I expected.

Last month, when I turned 18, Madam Cynthia had a visitor. He was a heavy-set man dressed in a white flowing Agbada, a cap resting halfway on his head. He had a loud booming laugh he seemed to let out only at inappropriate times. Madam Cynthia was smiling like a cat as she tried to pander to him. She called on me to serve him chilled drinks as they talked in the little parlour of Madam Cynthia’s house.

I was washing Uche’s (one of the girls’) clothes then and had to leave halfway to attend to Madam Cynthia and her guest. I was dressed in my ‘hand-me-down’ clothes: leggings and a tank top with no bra—not glamorous.

I placed a glass cup and a bottle of Pepsi on the little table beside the man and made to leave when Madam Cynthia called me back.

“Chief,” Madam Cynthia said. She snaked a hand across my waist and smiled like a proud mother. “This is Tam-Tam. She is one of my girls, but-“ she paused, “not like that.”

Chief raked his eyes over my body, lingering on my chest area. I tried to raise my hands up to block my chest from his view, but Madam Cynthia pinned my hands to my sides.

My heart raced as dread began to fill my chest. I knew what Madam Cynthia was trying to do. I wasn’t ready for it. Panic was starting to grip me. It was herculean to keep down the memory of the last time a man touched me as it wanted to rise in my head.

Chief finally looked into my eyes. I looked away, fearing what he would see in my eyes.

“Chief, what do you think?” Madam Cynthia asked. She still had that smile on her face.

“She’s not bad,” Chief said disinterestedly. I turned to look at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. Just as Madam Cynthia knew, I knew I had been dismissed.

Madam Cynthia released me as if my body burned her. Her smile slipped off her face. She turned to me, that stern look she had reserved for Mercy, and I was firmly in place.

“Go back to what you were doing, but don’t go too far,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.” I turned and left their presence. As I scuttled out of the parlour, I felt their stare burn into my back.

I leaned on the wall just outside the parlour, my hand pressed to my chest to calm my racing heart. I breathed hard as if I had just run a marathon. The roaring in my ears started to relax when bits and pieces of a conversation drifted towards me. I heard a whisper of my name.

I held my breath, moved closer to the door, and pressed my ear against it.

“So, what did you really think of my girl?” Madam Cynthia asked.

“I want her,” Chief said, and I clamped my hand over my mouth to hold my gasp in. “She’s young and fresh, just as I like. She’s pure, I believe.”

Madam Cynthia was quiet for a while, probably weighing the pros and cons of telling Chief the truth.

“No, but she is as close as it can be. She’s only ever been with one person, and it was years ago.” Madam Cynthia said.

I couldn’t see him, but I could feel his waning interest, “What use do I have for her then?”

Madam Cynthia was quiet again, and then as if she had made a decision, she said, “I have a very pure one. She’s still young, but I can keep her pure for you until she’s old enough.”

I caught my gasp in my hands. I couldn’t believe Madam Cynthia was thinking of selling Mercy as well.

“How long do I need to wait?” Chief asked. He sounded more interested in Mercy than he was in me.

“She is 8 years old. I’ll have her ready when she’s 16.” Madam Cynthia said.

My eyes filled with tears. Terror for the poor girl coursed through my veins.

Mercy was Madam Cynthia’s niece. She had promised her dying sister that she would take care of her baby. While Madam Cynthia didn’t treat Mercy like her family, I had hoped that Madam Cynthia had some kind of familial love or affection for the young girl.

“What are you doing?” A voice asked from behind me, jolting me.

One of the girls, Suzie, stood opposite me, her arms crossed and staring at me quizzically. Suzie and I avoided each other in Madam Cynthia’s house. She never liked me, and I didn’t try to cosy up to her. While I washed and did menial tasks for the other girls, Suzie didn’t want me near her things, and I studiously avoided them. Whenever I did the other girls’ makeup when they had a night out, Suzie decided to do hers independently.

“Nothing,” I said, pulling an invincible sleeve down my wrist. “I was attending to Madam and her guest.”

“You were eavesdropping,” Suzie said, a deadpan expression on her face.

“No, I wasn’t,” I said. I didn’t want Suzie to go bearing tales to Madam Cynthia. She was Madam Cynthia’s closest confidante for a reason.

“Who is her guest?” Suzie asked.

“A chief, I don’t know.” I shrugged in response. “Excuse me, I have chores to go back to.”

I shouldered past Suzie, our limbs brushing against each other in the limited space. She turned around to watch me go, an unreadable expression on her face.

Goosebumps rolled on my skin as the memory of that day played in my head. I stared at Madam Cynthia’s house as I stood before it. I was more determined to get Mercy away from there.

The building was a two-storey building consisting of two apartments: one below and one above. The apartment below housed an elderly couple, the landlords of the building, while Madam Cynthia and her girls lived in the upstairs apartment. The paint on the walls was peeling, and some roof parts had caved in.

The landlords didn’t care; they had no kids to leave the house to. In fact, they prayed the house would collapse immediately after their deaths. They tolerated Madam Cynthia and her girls because they paid rent on an apartment no one would go near with a three-foot pole, but they didn’t necessarily like us.

I went upstairs through the dark and cramped stairwell, relying on memory as I climbed the narrow stairs. The light went out years ago, and no one saw it fit to fix it. The girls had mastered going up and down the stairs in high heels.

The stairwell led to a corridor that led to Madam Cynthia’s parlour, and the rest of the apartment lay beyond it. The door was open, and I stepped in. I was eager to rest my feet as I had trekked from Wacko’s hideout to Madam Cynthia’s house.

When I stepped in, Madam Cynthia was in the parlour. A plate of jollof rice sat on the table before her. Mercy was lying on the floor beside Madam Cynthia, her homework in front of her. Madam Cynthia looked up and wasn’t surprised to see me.

“Tam-Tam, where have you been?” Madam Cynthia asked.

“I went to buy something,” I lied automatically. Looking down at my empty hands, I added, “But the seller didn’t have what I was looking for.”

“Auntie Tam-Tam, you said you would buy meat pie for me,” Mercy said, pouting a bit.

I smiled at her, “I’m sorry, I didn’t get to where they’re selling meat pie.”

“Okay.” Mercy looked crestfallen but turned back to her books.

“Madam Cynthia seemed distracted as she raked her eyes over me. She shook her head, clearly not liking what she saw. I knew my outfit was too drab for Madam Cynthia’s liking.

“Go and change. I need you to run an errand for me.” Madam Cynthia said.

I looked up at the wall clock hanging behind Madam Cynthia. The time said 9:30 p.m.

“Tonight?” I asked, my voice going up a pitch. Madam Cynthia stared at me in a way that made me know she had reached the limits of her patience. She hissed at me.

“Yes, tonight. It won’t take long. You won’t even need to trek there,” Madam Cynthia said. “There is a dress on your bed. Put it on and come back.”

I took a shaky breath and left Madam Cynthia’s presence without a word. I delved further into the apartment towards the bedrooms. The air smelt of a combination of cheap perfumes, toilet and sweat. I ignored them as I moved to the last room in the apartment, a small room, probably a former storage room. The room was small enough to fit just one mattress and a small wardrobe. I shared it with Mercy.

Madam Cynthia had five girls who shared three bedrooms. Fights constantly broke out in those rooms. Someone had worn someone’s clothes or stolen the other’s customer. It was a literal madhouse, but it was quiet now. The ladies had gone out and hit the street for work. They would return by morning, the results of the night’s work clenched firmly in their fists.

I entered the room and saw the dress Madam Cynthia had laid out for me. I picked up the dress and observed it. It was a strapped black dress ending mid-thigh with a plunging neckline. My chest area was above average, and my breasts were going to burst out of the dress if I put it on.

“Tam-Tam, be fast!” Madam Cynthia called me.

I quickly changed into the form-fitting cloth, and my suspicion was confirmed. The dress left little to the imagination as far as my chest area was concerned. I pulled on the dress’s neckline, trying to cover as much area as possible. It made me feel very uncomfortable and exposed.

“Tam-Tam!” Madam Cynthia shouted.

“I’m coming!” I replied, hurrying out of the room and back to Madam Cynthia’s parlour. She was standing with a sealed envelope in her hands. A man stood impatiently beside her. She sighed in relief when she saw me and took in my dress. A satisfied smirk bloomed on her face.

“I just knew you were going to do it justice.” Madam Cynthia said, looking like a proud mother.

I move to pull the dress’s sleeve but come up short. I’d forgotten it was sleeveless.

The man stood straighter and checked his wristwatch impatiently, “Oga is waiting,” he said.

“Yes, she’s ready,” Madam Cynthia said. She ran her eyes over my body one more time, her eyes snagging on my bare feet. “Just one more thing. Mercy,” she called, and I took notice of Mercy, who was looking at me with awe in her eyes from behind Madam Cynthia, “Go and bring the shoes that are in Suzie’s room.”

Mercy said nothing but complied. She ran out of the parlour and returned in less than a minute, holding a pair of pencil heels. She handed it to me, and I took it gingerly, meeting Madam Cynthia’s gaze.

“Go on, wear it.” Madam Cynthia said, gesturing at the heels in my hands.

I stared at it for a while. Some other girls allowed me to wear their dresses or shoes, but never Suzie. She doesn’t like sharing her things with others. I put on the heels and stood a head taller than before.

“Perfect,” Madam Cynthia said, her eyes shining. Take.” She stretched the hand holding the sealed envelope to me, “give it to Chief. Don’t leave until he responds.”

A wave of dizziness crashed into me. My legs went weak. “Madam- Chief-?” I could barely get the words out.

Madam Cynthia’s face turned stern; her lips turned down. “Take.” She said, her eyes telling me not to embarrass her.

I collected the envelope; it felt heavier than it should. I felt Mercy slip her hand in mine. I gripped her hand tight before letting it go. I needed all the strength I could get.

“I’ll be waiting in the car.” The man said, his voice sounding gruff. The man turned around and left Madam Cynthia’s parlour.

“Madam Cynthia, please.” I turned my pleading gaze on Madam Cynthia. “Please.”

Madam Cynthia’s stern look bled from her face, and she looked at me softly for the first time. “Tam-Tam. Just close your eyes, and it will be over,” she ran her hand over my shoulder. Her hand could not reach my face because I towered over her.

Tears sprang to my eyes as I looked at Madam Cynthia. “I don’t want to,” I sobbed.

Madam Cynthia gripped my shoulder hard. “We all pull our weight around here. It’s time for you to, as well. Now, go.” She shoved me towards the door.

I shuffled out of Madam Cynthia’s parlour and into the dark stairwell. My eyes blurred with tears. I slid my hand down the stairwell wall and slowly picked my way down the stairs, cautious of the heels I wore.

When I got downstairs and into the open, I saw the man waiting for me by the gate, the red light of a lit cigarette shining between his fingers. He took a last puff before throwing the cigarette on the floor, putting the cigarette out with his foot.

“Let’s go.” He said, moving to the side and waiting for me to leave the gate. Then, he led me towards a waiting black car. He opened the back seat door and watched me enter before running to the driver’s side.

I heard the click as he activated the child lock function before starting the car. He probably thought I was going to run the moment he got distracted. Frankly, I was thinking of that as well.

The car’s AC blasted my face as I sighed and leaned my head on the window. It was all I could do to calm the queasy feeling in my tummy. I smoothened my hand over the sealed brown envelope in my lap. I wondered what was in it.

I closed my eyes, the steady hum of the vehicle lulling me into a false sense of calm. I must have slept off at some point because the next thing I knew, the car had stopped moving, and someone knocked on the window I lay my head on.

I squinted up at the building we were parked in front of. We were at a hotel. It wasn’t like the shabby ones Uche gives me a gist about, but it wasn’t like the high-class one I had heard Suzie occasionally go to. In fact, the name Golden Ledge Hotel, written in bold print across the top of the building, was familiar. It wasn’t far from where I met Wacko earlier. That meeting seemed like ages ago.

He opened the door and pulled me up and out of the car. He said nothing as he grabbed my arm, yanking me towards the wide double doors of the hotel. He pulled me in and made a beeline for the stairs, which were located behind the receptionist’s table. I looked up, trying to see the receptionist’s eyes, but she didn’t look at me purposefully.

I stifled a sob as I allowed the man to pull me up the flight of stairs. We went up another before stopping in front of a door. He knocked once and pulled on the doorknob. He pulled me into what seemed like a sitting area.

Chief was sitting on a couch, wearing a white robe, a glass of something bubbly in his hand, the bottle sitting in a bucket of ice on a table in front of him. I didn’t want to think of what he had underneath. He looked up at us distractedly and waved his free hand.

“Go. Leave us.” Chief said. My companion turned without a word and left the room. The door thudded shut behind him. “Sit.” He gestured at the free space beside him and sipped his drink, his eyes not leaving my body.

I shuffled forward and collapsed on the couch, a safe distance from him. I handed him the envelope from Madam Cynthia. He tore off the top and pulled a sheet of paper from it. He read the content quietly before balling the paper up in his fist and throwing it over his shoulder.

“Move closer.” He said, turning to face me completely.

“Sir?” I asked. I heard him, but I’d instead act like I didn’t.

“I said come closer.”

I didn’t respond. My heart thudded loudly, and I was sure he could hear it. The sound of my dread roared loudly in my ears. I looked down at my hands, and I saw they were trembling.

Chief’s large hand landed on my exposed thigh, and he pulled me roughly towards him. The thick smell of men’s perfume clogged my nose, and I could barely breathe. I struggled against him, not wanting to go anywhere near him. He reared back and then brought his pudgy fist down squarely on my cheek, the force of the hit snapping my neck sideways.

I heard a loud noise and saw nothing but white for a few seconds. As I became aware of my surroundings once again, I realized that I was on my back and Chief’s heavy weight was pressing down on me; one hand was squeezing my throat, and the other was pulling my short dress up.

Adrenaline rushed through my veins as I fought harder against him. My hand clawed at the hand, crushing my windpipe. I stretched out my other hand, looking for anything I could do to stop Chief. I didn’t hesitate when my hand closed around the neck of the champagne bottle resting in a bucket of ice. I pulled the bottle free and brought the thick end on Chief’s head.

With a cracking sound, the bottle made contact with his head. Some liquid spilt out of the opened bottle and got into my eyes. The sting of the alcohol on such a sensitive organ distracted me for a bit. Chief had gone limp over me, his weight crushing my lungs. With an effort, I pushed him off me. He flopped to the floor with a heavy thud.

I took in huge gulps of air as I bent over and tried to make my lungs work. I needed to leave; Chief might wake up anytime. I glanced down at him. He looked like he was sleeping, but then he looked like he wasn’t breathing. Blood rapidly pooled beneath his head, staining his white robe.

Warning bells rang in my head, and panic began to rise in my stomach.  I breathed harshly through my throat, unable to comprehend what I saw.

Oh God, I thought. What had I done? Did I kill him?

check next post for part two.