Song: On the low — Burnaboy

**Unedited** (Because this song is so good I kept listening to it without pause 😢)

"I do mind," I replied.

"Well too bad. Fast and furious is the only way I drive," he smiled at me. "Get it?"

"Ha."

I'd gotten the hang of sarcasm, though it didn't have the effect I expected because he laughed out loud.

He wasn't joking about his driving. The person who granted him a license must be executed. The path to my house was lighted by his headlights, but everything blurred past me like we had been fast–forwarded.

Somehow, Christian managed to manoeuvre the car like an expert, avoiding every tree or object that blocked our path. No matter how skilled he was, I had to swallow my dinner for the second time that day, this time, being less pleasant. We got to my house much faster than I expected.

"Is this your house?" He asked.

"No. It's someone else's, I'm here to rob it. Wait for me, I'll be out soon."

"You're taking this sarcasm thing too far," he laughed.

"Why ask me a question you already know the answer to?"

"Touché," he laughed again. I'd heard his laugh so much during the past few days, I'd gotten used to it. "Goodnight Elorm. Sweet dreams of standard form and algebra."

"Please, don't remind me," I groaned. "Goodnight Christian. And I can open the door myself. Take your gallantry elsewhere."

He laughed. "You're one of a kind Elorm."

"Enough with the flattery already," I laughed. I opened the door and it went all the way up. He wasn't bragging after all. "Oh, I wanted to ask you something. How did you know that I was Elorm? I doubt you recognised me based on your uncle's description."

"I did. He asked me to look for the most beautiful girl in the village. I knew it was you immediately I saw you."

I stared at him, not daring to reply. How could I? A war amongst butterflies was going on in my belly and my brain had turned to mush.

"Will I see you tomorrow night?" He asked, smirking.

I quickly shook it off. "If all goes well," I said.

He smiled and waved after sparking his car. I waited till he was out of sight and the stupid, goofy smile was off my face, then I unlocked the front door to my house with my spare key.

"Where are you coming from?" Out of the darkness, dada's voice boomed.

I was so startled that I screamed.

"Shut up! Are you aware that by this time, all the decent people are asleep?" Fofo chastised. I refrained from mentioning that that meant that he wasn't a decent person.

The lights came on. They had been lying in ambush for me. Chris' car must have alerted them of my arrival. The small gathering consisted of Sara, her mother, and my parents. The intruders were seated on stools opposite Dada and Fofo.

"Sara, please repeat what you just told us," Dada told the gossip girl with teeth that looked like they had been arranged by a toddler, while glaring at me.

"Yesterday, I saw Elorm going to the white man's area. Naturally, I was curious as to what business she had with them. I asked her, but she insulted me and kicked me out of her house. Today, as I was coming from the borehole, I saw her and followed her to the white man's area and found out that she had been meeting with a certain white boy in his room."

Both women exclaimed in horror, as if they were hearing the tale for the first time. Knowing Sara, she probably narrated the story to them about a hundred times already. The worst part was that they were ignoring the fallacies in her story. I left for Chris' flat at nine pm sharp. No one goes to the borehole at nine in the evening; she had been following me from home.

"Is this true Elorm?" Fofo asked me.

"It is, but it's not what it seems. I only go there—"

The women's wailing drowned out my voice before I could finish.

"Why are you doing this to your parents?" Sara's mother asked me. "What joy do you derive from this? Does hurting your parents make you happy?"

"I'm not sure which question to answer first, but I will attend to my parents before you." Even father's mouth widened with horror as if I just condemned them all to hell. "Both Sara and I know she is lying. She knows that I'm not going to Christian's house to do anything immoral. She is jealous of me because none of the village boys will ever pay her any mind for as long as I live."

"No, you have it all wrong Elorm. They will pay you mind when they're looking for someone to sleep with and they will pay me mind when they're looking for someone to marry. You're just a pit–stop along the way."

"Just admit it Sara. You're jealous of me because you look like an ogre and I'm pretty much Prince Charming."

Looking back, I wondered why I used that comparison. In the movie Shrek, Prince Charming was the bad guy, and the ogres, Shrek and Fiona were the good guys. I was not the bad guy, but I was being a tad bit mean.

The three replies to my Shrek comparison were in unison. They were as follows:

"My daughter can never be jealous of you! Honour is more precious than beauty, for beauty will wilt and die, but honour and legacy remain forever," said Sara's mother.

"This girl is really trying my patience. She wants me to show her my true colours," said fofo.

"Where did you learn this nonsense from? I didn't raise you like this," said dada.

"The only legacy your daughter will leave behind is that of being a gossip and a jealous, ugly freak," I retorted, glaring at Sara. I didn't get to reply to the rest because fofo immediately advanced towards me and slapped me so hard that I fell.

"You're such a stupid girl! It's from the television that you're learning to be disrespectful to your elders," he bent over and pulled me up by my left ear. I refused to scream in pain and resorted to biting down on my lower lip. "We are different from the westerners. Our culture teaches us to show nothing but respect to our elders. You will not talk to your elders like this! Apologise!"

He was right. I was being too harsh even though what I was saying was partly true. Without realising, I was disrespecting Sara's mother and I wasn't raised that way. She did nothing wrong but to believe all the lies that were spread about me.

"I'm sorry," I said to her.

She nodded.

"And to Sara too."

"I can't apologise to her because I'm not sorry. If anything, she should be the one apologising to me. She has accused me without knowing the truth."

I tasted blood. He had tugged so hard that I bit into the flesh of my lower lip.

"Elorm, stop this and apologise. Don't forget that you have more to deal with with us," she gestured to her and father.

"Then let's get to it, shall we? I've already apologised to everyone that I need to."

"I'm so sorry. We'll deal with her, don't worry," mother said. "Sara, I apologise on her behalf."

"It's okay. Thank you for listening to me," she said with a smile. Most people look better when they smile, but it was the exact opposite for her. As long as the apology did not fall from my lips, I was convinced that I won the round.

Fofo released my ear when they were gone. By then, it was throbbing with knee–buckling pain.

"Go to your room. It's late, we'll discuss this in the morning."

My room? Did he mean that small, one–window, concrete room with only a cloth on the floor as my bed? As angry as I was, as much as I wanted to lash out, I bottled it all up — even though it was unhealthy — and went to my room to do math.

* * *

"From now on, you won't go out without either of your brothers. You will go with me to the farm and come back with me. You will not watch television at Olivia's shop until you're old enough to understand what on television is good and what is bad. You will not meet with any of the white people again because, clearly, they aren't influencing you in any positive way. Do you understand?"

"Yes fofo," I replied with my eyes downcast. I knew they thought they were doing what was best for me and I couldn't help but slightly respect them for that, but insinuating what they wanted without allowing me to defend myself was no way to protect me.

"This is for your own good," dada said, her voice softer than few minutes ago when she was yelling at me.

"I know," I muttered.

"Go and start making breakfast now. Hurry up, we're going to the farm after."

I stood up, grinding my teeth in anger. I hated them so much. Didn't they understand that by cutting off my education — forget that it is informal — they were forcing me to stay poor? I wasn't going to accept that. They could try as hard as they wanted but I was not going to stop seeing Chris.

I prepared breakfast and headed to my room for my farm clothes. The owner of the cocoa farms was coming to inspect them.

Fofo and a few other farmers cultivated the owner's farms in exchange for a share of the proceeds. If fofo was educated, he would know that the wages he received for his work were highly unfair. I tried to tell him once when I was sixteen, but I received a dirty slap. Clad in my work clothes, I went to the storeroom and grabbed my farm tools, placed them in the tool bag and came out to meet my father.

"Aren't you going to eat before we go?" He asked.

"I'm not hungry," I lied. I was hungry, but my pride stopped me from eating breakfast with them.

"Punishing yourself because you're angry is going to hurt only you. Besides, I need you to be fully energised because we're behind schedule with the weeding."

"I'll eat some sugar–filled toffees and I'll be just fine."

I walked past him and out of the house, heading towards the farm.

When I got to the farm, the other labourers were hard at work. I'd never seen them work so hard before. On any other day, they would have divided into cliques, conversing about something trivial and ogling me.

Perhaps, it was the frown on my face or the murderous way that I swung my cutlass that made them avoid me. By midday, the farmers and I had done a large amount of work and the weeds were nearly cleared. Fofo hadn't even arrived at the farm yet.

"What is a beautiful girl like you doing here?" A voice behind me asked.

I turned around and spotted an urbanely dressed man. He had dark brown hair and milk-light skin. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans. He had a small shaggy beard and his eyes were bright hazel.

"I am the daughter of one of the labourers," I replied shyly, running a hand through my hair. His good looks made me feel self-conscious. My hair was probably all over the place since I'd been bent over for a while.

"You speak English?" He asked.

"Does my dialect sound like any other language?"

He laughed. "What's your name?"

"Elorm. What's yours? And who are you and what are you doing here? Answer sequentially."

He smiled. "My name is Justus. I am the son of the owner of this farm and many others in this village. I'm here to meet some of my father's workers."

"You're the owner's son?" I asked slowly, not wanting to make a bad impression.

"What happened? Cat's got your tongue?"

"No," I rolled my eyes. "You're too cocky for your own good, you know?"

"The girls seem to like it," he smiled. "And I think you're a girl," his eyes raked my body shamelessly.

"Have you no manners? My face is up here," I scolded. Truth be told, I loved it when men — even women — did a double take when they saw my body. Wouldn't Sara be glad to hear that?

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Forgive me. It's just that your body is too enticing to be ignored."

"Enough with the flattery."

He laughed. "It's not flattery. It's the truth. I'm sure you've heard the same things from many other suitors."

"You have no idea," I replied, turning my back to him. "They don't work anymore."

There was only one plot left that needed weeding. Unfortunately, none of the labourers were working. It was lunchtime so they had most probably left for home to eat.

"Then allow me to try something new," he said, coming so close that I felt his breath on my neck.

My knees were turning to mush. I needed more space to be able to think clearly. I turned to face him, pushing him away with my hand on his chest. "Maintain your distance with me, city boy. I can assure you that you've never met a girl like me."

He laughed and stepped back. "I have met girls like you. Few though. I always manage to get them, no matter how hard to get they play."

"You don't even know me."

"I don't need to."

The only thing I saw in the boy's eyes was lust. I decided at once that I wasn't even going to play hard to get. I was going to turn him down as hard as I could.

"I'm taken," I said. Hypocritical, since I had a boyfriend and I was entertaining perverted thoughts about my tutor.

"I am too, but I'm not looking for anything serious. Just a short fling," he smirked.

I laughed. "So you're admitting to me that you're in a relationship, and you expect me to help you cheat?"

"It'll be worth it," he said and winked.

"Justus! Leave the poor girl alone!"

Another voice was coming from behind me. I turned around to see a tall, brown skinned man. He looked a little bit like Justus but he was older, with a clean face and a bald head. Somehow, he managed to pull it off as well as Dwayne Johnson.

Behind him was a girl with the same light skin as Justus. She looked in her late teens or early twenties. She was very beautiful, but it was enhanced with jewellery, make–up and fancy clothing and even then, I was better looking than she was, so we could be friends.

They were close enough to us now that they could talk without having to shout. "I'm so sorry for my brother's behaviour, please don't take anything he says seriously," his sister said.

"Sis, you don't even know what we're talking about," he retorted.

"With you, it can never be good," the man said.

I smiled. They looked like a happy, bickering family. One I would never have.

"I'm Mark Essiem. This is my daughter Stacey. The idiot is my son Justus," their father introduced his family.

I found myself laughing. He called his son an idiot.

"I know I'm not going to get laid this vacation because of you two," he sighed.

"Justus!" Stacey warned. "Be polite."

"What is your name?" Mr. Essiem asked me.

"She's Elorm. She's a labourer," Justus answered for me.

"I'm the daughter of a labourer. I'm not a labourer," I retorted.

"Lies. I caught you working."

"How can I be a labourer when I don't even get paid?" I glared at him.

"Hold on a second. You work here when you're supposed to be in school and you don't even get paid?" Stacey asked, disbelief etched in her voice.

"Girls in this village don't get educated Stace," Justus said.

What was it with the boy and answering questions on my behalf?

"I'll be eighteen soon. There's no chance for me anyway," I retorted. Had he kept his mouth shut, I would've told them that I had completed senior high already. Stupid boy.

"It's never too late for an education," Stacey said. She looked at me with pity.

I hated it.

"Yes," Mr. Essiem agreed. "And you shouldn't be working here. This is work for men."

"I am perfectly capable of doing 'work for men'. You're trying to be helpful, but now you're just coming across as sexist. It'd please me if you left me alone to my work."

I would've said those clever words if Justus hadn't decided to answer my questions for me.

"Obviously, the boys are busy at school and she's the only girl child in her family old enough to do this work, because if the males were, her father will probably make them skip school to work. That's how villagers live," he said.

I knew there was nothing offensive about being called a villager in the Oxford dictionary, but he said it like I was supposed to be ashamed.

"I can't believe that you expect to lay her when you're being this rude," Stacey said with a sneer.

"The girls love it," he laughed. "Give them a boy who sends them flowers every day and a rude, bad, heartbreaker. They'll choose the heartbreaker."

We'd known each other for a few minutes and I hated him already.

"Do you really work here?" Mr. Essiem asked.

"No. I come here to eat the weeds," I thought. Instead of that, I said, "I do. With my father."

"Who is your father?" He asked.

As if on cue, I sighted fofo from the corner of my eye. I sighed and kept mute, waiting for him to come.

"Landlord!" He exclaimed with enthusiasm.

I smiled, remembering that this was this same landlord he had repeatedly cursed because he was rich while we were 'poor'. We weren't poor.

I knew he'd suck up to him because that was how he was raised. "The rich deserve to be put on a pedestal," he believed.

"Efo, how is life?" Mr. Essiem said in Ewe. I didn't know he could speak our language. Perhaps he was a native who migrated to urban Ghana.

"It's fine, thanks for asking. It's been long since we saw each other."

"Yes. Coming here from the city is tedious. Some of the roads are in terrible condition."

"How is the woman?" Fofo asked, probably referring to his wife.

"She's fine. You know how the women are these days, she said she's afraid of mosquitoes, so she refused to come."

Fofo definitely didn't know. All it would have taken to bring dada with him anywhere he wanted to go was one murderous glare.

"Oh," Fofo said, looking as confused as I expected. He didn't like the silence that ensued — they, thankfully, ran out of small talk — so he turned to me and glared. "What are you doing? Are you done with the weeding? Go back to work!" He yelled at me.

"I figure that she is your daughter. Efo, I did not hire you to let your children work alongside you, especially with no pay."

Fofo frowned. I strongly believed I was going to get beaten that night. "My male children are too young and besides, she is very lazy. She does nothing but sleep all day. I figured that her existence would be put to better use if she were helping on the farm that puts food on our table."

Stacey's mouth was wide with shock, Justus' cocky smile faded, and Mr. Essiem maintained a poker face. They hadn't met him yet, that was why they were so shocked. I'd known him my entire life. It wasn't the first time he had said something so hurtful.

"She doesn't seem so lazy. I've traced her path and noticed that she has cleared a much larger portion of weeds than the other labourers. And you just arrived. I take it that you've done no work since morning?"

Fofo remained silent. He was probably biting his tongue. I wanted nothing more than to laugh out loud.

"I see who I should be paying now," Mr. Essiem smiled at me.

I averted my eyes with a small bashful smile.

Before fofo could retort and lose his job, Stacey cut in. "Daddy, ask him if Elorm can go out with me. It's been awful here so far. I haven't met anyone my age who speaks English but her."

"Yes dad. Let her go out with us," Justus said, winking at me after.

Yes, because he was the one who'd consent for me. How lovely.

Mr. Essiem asked fofo in Ewe. It seemed that his children understood Ewe but they couldn't speak it, so he had to be a translator. It was sad, really. They had abandoned their mother tongue for the queen's language.

Fofo, realising that with me away, he could bad–mouth me to Mr. Essiem so much that he'd lose the good image he had of me, agreed immediately.

"We're going to have so much fun!" Stacey said. She ran up to me and took my hands, making me drop my cutlass.

I wanted to snatch my hands away — I didn't like being touched by strangers and people I wasn't crushing on — but I didn't want to be rude in front of Mr. Essiem.

"Yes, we are," Justus said. He wrapped an arm around my waist. "There's a car waiting for us not so far from here. Let me accompany you," he said.

He then slapped Stacey's hands away from mine. 

The car was — thankfully — bigger than Chris' car. That meant that it'd be slower and more comfortable. It was a black 'Land Rover'. The seats were made from leather and were a mixture of beige and black. The most impressive part was the temperature in the car. While outside was cool, inside made me feel like we were in a temperate zone.

"So Elorm, have you been to a mall before?" Stacey asked me.

"Have you been to a hotel before?" Justus asked.

We were out of sight of his father, so I shoved his arm off my waist.

"Justus! Stop it. Really, it isn't funny anymore."

"I'm not trying to be funny," he turned to me. "Today — and probably tonight — is going to be the best day of your life."

* * *
Justus

Glossary

Efo — Uncle. Not always biological but is used to show endearment.

Does anyone notice anything about Elorm's character here? I'll dedicate a chapter to the first person to solve both math equations. (CORRECTLY)

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