Orange and spice

There’s a short sharp pain on my hand as an oil splash lands on my skin. Breaking me out of my thoughts. I look down at the pan of chips I am frying. They are starting to burn, the edges turning brown. This is not good; I'm going to be in so much trouble. I quickly take the pan off the fire and start scooping the chips out of the pan with the spatula in my hand. I put it on a plate, and then I look up at the clock. Its eight o clock, I'm late. I rush around the kitchen setting plates and cups on four different trays, I set the glass cup with a green plate for Mr olaa, the pink plate for Mrs ola, Mr Johnny has a green plate and a plastic plate for grandma. I dump the tray down onto the counters and start haphazardly scooping chips into their plates, I've put way too much for Mrs ola who is on a diet but I don’t have time to remove anything. I still have to get tea ready. After burning myself a little with the hot water the tea is finally ready. My hands are shaking as I set Mr olla’s tray on the pusher. The chips look fine, the tea is steaming, the eggs..

"Shhhii!" I curse... I forgot to make the eggs. I almost drop the pusher in my frantic attempt to get to the stove. I bang my head on an overhead counter as I scramble around the kitchen trying to get the eggs. The pain is instantaneous and all-consuming. I clench my fists as tears form in my eyes. I can feel the hot trickle of blood on my forehead. The rage that courses through me is poisonous, and I can’t stop the angry voice in my head. "I HATE this job!! I hate this vicious hateful excuse at a job! I hate this Danm horrible excuse for humanity. I hate EVERYTHING, I HATE the reason I'm here, the people that sent me here, I want to cry out, but I cant. So I screw my eyes as tight as they can go instead. Forcing myself to calm down

'Stop it Tara! Your stronger than this' I try to tell myself.

I try to calm down by thinking of the paper in my pocket, the paper that offers me a scholarship, the paper that could set me free.

It’s working. I can feel myself start to calm down; I unclench my fists and take a deep breath. 'I’m gonna make it through this' I promise myself

'Rrrrrriiiiinnnnnnggggg'. I jump a little, opening my eyes as the sound of the bell startles me. The bell that announces that the Olamide's are hungry, the bell that announces I'm in deep trouble.

I roll my eyes as I dish out whatever egg I managed to make. "I'm coming you useless pack of animals".

.........

The letter in my pocket states that; I have been granted a scholarship to study English literature at the University of Manchester.

Its news I haven't yet shared with anybody cause let’s face it, there isn't exactly a long line of people waiting to hear what I have to say. And even if there were, I would never in a million years be allowed to go, not by the people that employed me and dragged me from my country, Nigeria, to work for them, ever since I was 13. Not by the siblings who sent away a child to work for almost strangers in an unknown land.

My father was a farmer and my mom a housewife who used to tend to 14 children. I was the seventh. Our family as I remember it was loud and happy. Everyone always had a chore to do, people used to joke with my mom and say that with 14 children, she would just be treated like a queen in the house, my mother would tighten the wrapper around her waist, place her hands on her hip, and in a joking voice she would reply

"So because I have 14 children, you want to call me lazy enh?"

We were a happy family, for a while. My father was a hardworking farmer, my mother was the most loving mother who made the best jollof rice in all of Unguru. Her death came as a shock to everyone.

My father passed away a few months after and we were left in the hands of my oldest brother, wale. I wonder if he ever regrets sending us away.

Mrs olamide was a friend of our family. At the time she used to be all sugar smiles, calling us dear this and dear that. After my parents died she offered to 'sponsor' one of us. She said she was relocating to the UK and would love to take one of us along. Wale let her.

You never really know much about a person until you have lived with them. The olamide family was a bucket of ice water on my very warm body. Apparently, their sponsorship meant I was to be their new housemaid. I was stunned by the new hardships I was exposed to doing all the hard work in their house in a new foreign country, filled with people I had only ever seen on television. If I had my family with me I would have been happy, I would have found the new adventure fun. But I only had; the abusive mouth of Mrs olamide, the deep lined frown of Mr olamide, and the kicks of their spoiled brat Jonathan. Those years were the worst I had ever lived. I slept exhausted and dirty and I woke up with tears in my eyes, my heart shattering as I woke up from a dream in which I was back home in my mother's orange-scented arms, My brothers laughing around me.

The days were exhaustingly long and I would welcome the hard surface of my pillow hoping to see my parents in my dreams again.

I can’t imagine how my life would have turned out if I had continued living like that. But relief came to me, it came in the form of a chubby, broad chested, smiling faced old lady.

Mama Maria olumide, she was my Hagrid. She came to live with us after a few months of our stay here. She took one look at me and enveloped me in a fierce soft hug. I was surprised, because I hadn’t been hugged in 3 months but I probably wont have broken down like I did if it weren't for her scent of oranges and spices, suddenly I was back in my mother's arms again, safe, at home where nobody could touch a hair on my head. I knew from that moment that I could trust this lady no matter what.

She held me at arm's length and she said firmly but soothingly "I won't let them hurt you again". And she dints. She is always my constant protective barrier, the person who first called me Tara, She is the one fought Mrs ola until she put me in school. And in her presence, nobody dare raise his or her voice at me.

.........

It’s been eight years since I was the crying sniffing child who used to bend at Mrs. Ola's command, I'm turning 18 this month. Most of my friends from school are going to start college this year, and so will I. but before I do there's one person I need to tell.

.........

Mama Maria is dozing in an armchair when I enter her room, carrying her breakfast. I smile when I see that she has her mouth lolling open, as she snores contentedly. On her laps, there is an envelope and her glasses are perched upon her forehead.

I put the wooden table in front of her chair and arrange her meal on it, as quietly as I can. I turn around and tiptoe my way to the door, ready to slip out.

"Tara." mama Maria calls from behind me.

I smile and turn around, flattening the tray at my side. Mama is fumbling around looking for something.

"Come, Tara, come and look at something...ugh! Where are those my glasses." she is craning her neck around to look behind the armchair.

I laugh as I approach her "good morning mama." I say as I reach out to pluck the glasses from her forehead, carefully, making sure the tray doesn't touch her face.

"Here they are mama," I say, and I laugh again at the expression on her face when she realizes her glasses were on her forehead the whole time.

She shakes her head from side to side, a small smile on her lips.

"Its the old age, my dear," she says as she picks up the envelope from her laps. She opens the envelope and I can see there are pictures inside.

"Well, here are a few photos from when I wasn't so old," she says, her eyes have a soft reminiscent glow in them, and I can see she’s reliving those days in her mind.

She makes me sit cross-legged on the bed next to her, while we spend the morning going through her old pictures. Her voice is lively and animated as she tells the story of everyone in her pictures, the only person I can recognize except for her in the pictures is a young Mr olumide, who had a deep line on his forehead even then.

" Look at me in this dress my dear" she chuckles as she hands me a black and white photo of a very beautiful young mama Maria, I can't see the colour of the dress but from the way it brings out her shape you know she was something to look at. She’s laughing out of the picture at a long-forgotten joke. "Even the British folk would stop and stare when I passed by in that dress,” she laughs.

I look up at her and I smile. Even though the years have done her well, the structure of a long-ago beautiful woman still visible, her dark eyes have a milky sadness to them, her chocolate brown skin has the lines of a woman who has gone through so much. My heart shatters. I can't leave her here alone in the house of Mrs ola, Mrs ola who doesn’t even allow her to eat in glass plates, who doesn’t even invite her to go out with the family anymore.

"I don’t want to tire her fragile bones,” she would say to Mr ola, her eyes as wide as saucers, and of course the blubbering idiot would agree with her.

I can’t leave mama here, not when she saved me from them.

Mama looks down at me and she must see some of the sadness in my eyes because she cups my left cheek with her palm.

"Oh Tara if only you knew how I was back then, fierce and fiery people would say" her eyes look past me as if she were back in time, she smiles showing the gap between her teeth. " I show these pictures to people but nobody would really understand how it was, those who would are already gone".

Tears spring into my eyes at the raw emotion in her voice. I imagine how it must be for her, shut out by her own family watching as an entire generation passed by.

"Mama I have something to tell you," I say, I reach into my pocket and pull out the envelope. I take a deep breath and I hand it to her, my eyes remaining steady on hers.

I wait in patience as she reads the letter, my heart involuntarily hammering on. As she reaches the end, her mouth spreads into the most enormous smile I have ever seen. She looks up at me, her eyes shining stars,

"Oh, this is amaz.."

Before she can finish the sentence I cut her off "mama I'm not going"

The smile vanishes from her face and her eyes turn stern "oh yes you most definitely are"

I squeeze my eyes and shake my head ready to protest my case but she takes hold of my hands with an urgency that makes me look up at her

"Tara I don't know how long I have left, I cannot leave in peace knowing I left you here, so for my sake as well please take this opportunity" her fingers are tight around my own.

"But mama I ca.."

"Yes, you can. You have to leave this godless house, my love, go find your own life, you are smart, funny, and beautiful. Go break the hearts of all those college boys" she smiles her wicked mama Maria smile at this and I realize I'm crying, tears are falling carelessly down my face, maybe because deep down I know I'm going to listen to her, deep down I know I'm going, and I'm sad because if I go ill never see her again. Ill never see the women that named me Tara, the women that hugged me, with the scent of my mother, when everyone else had left me to suffer.

Now she smiles her kind, soft smile. "You are going Tara and you're going today"

That shocks me and I look up in surprise.

"Those people are not going to let you leave on your own free will, catch a train to Manchester tonight and leave without looking back" she gets up and walks slowly over to her dresser, she pulls out her box from inside. "If you're going I want you to have this" she opens the box and I can see her jewels are inside, there's also a purse full of money.

I shake my head, I can't take this from her.

"You are the only one I want to leave them with, Tara."

"TARAA! Bring me some water!" its Mrs olumide shouting from the

Dining room, which is 3 steps away from the water filter.

Mama pushes the box into my hands, and I wrap my arms around her in a huge embrace, sobbing so hard.

"TARRAA! Are you deaf" Mrs ola calls again.

I pull back from mama and I see fresh tears in her eyes, she is biting her lips as if to stop herself from crying and my throat constricts even more. I wipe away her tears with my palm.

"Thank you, mama, thank you for everything" she reaches up and pecks me on the cheek " I love you so much mama, you were a b-blessing in my life".

"You are a special girl, my love d-don't ever let anyone ever convince you o-o-therwi-se" the tears are coming out faster and her words keep breaking off.

I pick her hand from her side and press my lips against them. " I won't mama".

"TAAARRAAA!!!!"

Mama and I both look towards the door then back at each other, and share a magical secret smile.

...

As I climb down the stairs towards Mrs ola I can't stop my smile from spreading, after all, I have an escape mission to plan.