You forcefully open the double doors to your room to see your reflection in the large spotless mirror staring at you, as you try to avoid the Master. Your image kills the mustard seed of hope you have been trying to nurture – your eyes exhausted from too many tears. Your lips are chapped, and the glory of your skin is in the past - your beautiful skin as your mother would remark. You wonder if it’s because of its fairness or the hairless sight of it, or the chubby feeling when touched. And then you reckon the eyes of your mother are not yours. Your beauty lies in your freedom, you think to yourself. You affirm that you don’t belong here, not in this castle with grey walls, lofty ceilings, and heavy brown curtains. Not viewing ancient paintings of wars. Not on a bed for a crowd and certainly not wearing these expensive clothes too pure to smear. You recall the first day of your arrival at your new home. You were greeted by a servant who avoided your eyes as he bowed his head and sai...
“Do not eat like an animal Bomi. Wherever are you from? I told you to close your mouth while munching or you just might make others lose their appetite.” “Sorry Mrs." Said Bomi. “It is I’m sorry ma!” Said Mrs Dagogo. Bomi tried to adhere to her warnings by sitting straight, taking his elbows off the dining table and chewing with mouth closed, which lasted but five minutes. Unconsciously, provoking sounds ca me out of his mouth, food particles dropped on the table and the tarred floor was marred. The fork given to Bomi only decorated his right hand while the left did the job of the fork. These did not go unnoticed by Mrs who cursed herself for her action which she considered stupid and a spur of the moment. She was on her way to work that morning when she witnessed an angry m ob pour ing their wei ghts on a little boy accused of theft. Pleading on his behalf, she asked what he had stolen. It was an apple. Mrs paid the mob for twenty apples and brought the little ...