Michael Donkor - Housegirl

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For Patrick Netherton and Grace Opoku

Aane Yes

Aba! Exclamation of annoyance, disdain or disbelief

Aboa! You beast!

Abrokyrie Overseas

Abrokyriefo Foreigners

Abusuafo Extended family

Ad n? Why?

Adjei! Exclamation of surprise or shock

Agoo? May I come in?

Akwaaba Welcome

Akwada bone! Naughty child!

Amee Please enter

Ampa Its true

Ewurade God

f paaa Very nice

Fri h ! Go away!

Gyae Stop

Gye nyame Traditional symbol meaning only God

Hw Look

Hw wanim! Look at your face!

Kwadwo besia An effeminate man

Maame Miss/Mistress

Me ba I am coming

Me boa? I lie?

Me da ase I thank you

Me nua My sibling

Me pa wo kyew/me sroe Please (I beg you)

Me yare I am sick

Nananom Elders

Oburoni White person

Oburoni wawu Second-hand clothes (the white man is dead)

Paaa Sign of emphasis

Sa? Really?

Wa bo dam! You are mad!

Wa te? Do you hear?

Wa ye ade Well done

Wo se s n? What did you say?

Wo wein? Where are you?

Wo ye You are

Won sere? You wont laugh?

Yere Wife

The coffin was like a neat slice of wedding cake. Looping curls of silver and pink, fussy like best handwriting, wound around the box. It waited by the gashed earth that the men would rest it in. The mourners admired, clucking. Belinda made herself look at it. Her phone vibrated in her handbag but she let it rumble on. She brought her ankles together, fixed her head-tie and straightened her dress so that it was less bunched around her breasts. She passed her hand over her puffy face and then saw that eyeliner had rubbed onto her palm in streaks.

Belindas inspection of her messsy hands was interrupted by the shouting of the young pallbearers on the opposite side of the grave. They stripped off and swirled the cloths that had been draped over their torsos moments before, then called for hammers. Three little boys, perhaps six or seven years old, flitted back with tools heavier than their tiny limbs. The children hurried off with handfuls of sweet chin chins , nearly falling into the hole not meant for them and only laughing light squeals at how narrowly they had avoided an accident. Belinda wondered if she had ever laughed like that when she was their age.

The men started to thud away the caskets handles, eager for the shiniest decorations, the ones that would fetch the highest prices in the market. She knew it was what always happened at funerals, and that the bashing and breaking was no worse than anything else she had seen in the last few hours but as the mens blows against the handles kept on coming, the sound became a hard hiccupping against Belindas skull. Her chin jutted forward like it was being pulled and her whole body tightened. Belinda tapped the heel of her court shoe into the red earth, matching her galloping blood. Soon, wrenched free of its metal, the coffins surfaces were all marked with deep black gouges.

Someone tried to move Belinda with a shove. She remained where she stood. The pallbearers strutted and touched their muscles. Some yelped for the crowd to cheer. There were whines from older mourners about sharing, relatives and fairness.

Sister! an excitable man said, pushing a brassy knob towards Belinda. She let it fall from his grasp and roll at her feet. It was not enough.

Daban, Kumasi March 2002

Belinda fidgeted in the dimness. She sat up, drawing her knees and the skimpy bedsheets close to her chest. Outside, the Imams rising warble summoned the towns Muslims to prayer. The dawn began to take on peaches and golds and those colours spread through the blinds, across the whitewashed walls and over the child snuffling at Belindas side.

All those months ago, on the morning that they had started working in Aunty and Uncles house, Belinda and Mary had been shown the servants quarters and were told that they would have to share a bed. To begin with, Belinda had found it uncomfortable: sleeping so close to a stranger, sleeping so close to someone who was not Mother. But, as with so many other things about the house, Belinda soon adapted to it and even came to like the whistling snore Mary often made. On that bed, each and every night, Mary slept in exactly the same position; with her small body coiled and her thumb stopping her mouth. Now Belinda watched Mary roll herself up even more tightly and chew on something invisible. She thought about shifting the loosened plait that swept across Marys forehead.

Belinda turned from Mary and moved her palms in slow circles over her temples. The headache came from having to think doubly: once for Mary, once for herself; a daily chore more draining than the plumping of Aunty and Uncles tasselly cushions, the washing of their smalls, the preparing of their complicated breakfasts.

Dangling her legs down and easing herself to the floor, Belinda quietly made her way to the bathroom. She stepped around the controller for the air con they never used and around the remains from the mosquito coil. She brushed by the rail on which their two tabards were hung. Belinda remembered the first time Aunty had said it tabard and how confused Marys expression had become because of the oddness of the word and the oddness of the flowery uniform Aunty insisted they wear when they cleaned. Belinda would miss that about Marys face: how quickly and dramatically it could change.

Under the rusting showerhead, Belinda scrubbed with the medicinal bar of Neko. Steam rose and water splashed. In her mind Belinda heard again the sentences Aunty had promised would win Mary round. She yanked at a hair sprouting from her left, darker nipple, pulling it through bubbles. The root gathered into a frightened peak. She liked the sensation.

Returning to the bedroom, in the small mirror she was ridiculous: the heaped towel like a silly crown. For a moment, she forgot the days requirements, and flicking her heels she pranced across the thin rug. Would Amma like that? Might jokes help heal that broken London girl? Or perhaps Belinda would be too embarrassed.

Mary shot up from beneath the covers and launched herself at Belindas chest. Belinda pushed her off and Mary lost her balance, fell onto the bed.

What is this? Are you a ? Are you a stupid Belinda lifted the towel higher. Grabbing for whatever you want, eh?

What you worried for? Mary arched an eyebrow. I have seen all before. Nothing to be ashamed for. And we both knowing there is gap beneath shower door and Im never pretending to be quiet about my watchings neither. You probably heard me while I was doing my staring. Even maybe you seen my tiny eye looking up, Mary squinted hard, and youve never said nothing about nothing. So I think you must relax now. I only Mary tilted her head left, right, left wanted to see how yours are different from mine. She pulled up her vest and Belinda quickly rolled it down. A ringing quietened in Belindas ears.

And, and here is me ready to speak about treats for you, Belinda began.