It was late at night when I heard a noise coming from the hall. It wasn’t loud—almost a whisper. I thought the kids had sneaked out of their room to play while everyone was asleep, so I got up from my bed and walked to the hall. It weren’t the kids.

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What I saw made me gasp for breath. My madam was holding on to the sofa while her husband was taking her from behind. The whispers came from their excitement. What sounded like kids at play wasn’t really about the kids, but the lords of the house.

I quickly took a step backward, trying to retreat, but they had seen me. The man smiled while still at it. The woman looked through her legs to watch my face. I said sorry. I apologized while quivering. It didn’t bother them. I went back in, put my headphones in my ears so I wouldn’t hear anything. I didn’t know how I was going to face them in the morning. I thought about it, and I felt shy.

I had been their help for only a month. I got recruited through my mother’s friend. I didn’t know them before, but since I’d been around, they had been nothing but amazing. They said they were going to pay me GHC 1,200 a month, but when the month ended, the man gave me GHC 2,000, telling me I deserved more because I’d done a great job. The woman of the house came home with gifts for me: dresses, food I hadn’t eaten before, a watch, snacks, and many more. Their kids—two of them—were also well-behaved, so I didn’t have anything to complain about.

I had bumped into them doing their thing, and I had to bear the shame. I saw the woman first the next morning. She greeted me gleefully as if nothing had happened. While I cooked their breakfast, she talked to me from the hall. Later, the man joined, unbothered and carefree. He said, “Florence, we scared you last night, eh?”

His wife slapped his thigh and said, “Must you bring it up? Why are you like that?”

They laughed, but what he said wasn’t rhetorical. He needed an answer. I responded, “I thought it was the kids who had sneaked out.” The woman responded, “Eiii, can kids make that sound?” And they both laughed. I wondered why they didn’t care like I did. Why they weren’t concerned that I’d seen them do it.

A few weeks later, I walked in on them again. On the same sofa. The woman was lying legs up while the man dug for gold. It was the afternoon. I had come home from the market. I got to the hall, and I was greeted by that scene. I quickly ran back and shut the door. I stayed outside until the woman later came to call me inside.

“We didn’t know you’d be back this soon. Sorry. I hope you didn’t see anything?” The man’s voice echoed from within the hall, “What do you mean she didn’t see anything? Is she blind?” They laughed. The woman tried her best to put my emotions in order. The man said the craziest things, like, “Next time when you see us, don’t bother. Just go about doing your thing. We are not bothered like that.”

So whenever they were around, I walked carefully through the house. I knocked on doors before entering—even on kitchen doors. I remember knocking at the garage gate before going in there. They weren’t even in the house that day. When I prayed, I mentioned them, asking God not to lead my steps to where they would be doing their thing. But soon, I found them doing it for the third time.

I had sent the kids to school and came back to a silent house. Their cars were outside, meaning they hadn’t gone to work, so I thought they were in their room. I pushed the bathroom door open only to find them stuck on the wall like an abandoned photo frame. They froze once the door flung open. “Florence?” The man mentioned my name without looking back. He said, “It looks like you want to join us. Please, you’re invited.”

I heard only the echoes of their laughter. I had shut the door and left. “Or is it intentional?” I asked myself. “They don’t even care that I see them.”

I had gone past worries. Now I was concerned because of what the man had said. They finished, dressed up, and said goodbye to me before leaving the house. In the evening, it was the woman who came home first. While I served her, she said, amidst laughter, “Have you thought about what my husband said? It’s not a joke. We don’t mind.”

I shook my head instantly, “Hmm hmm, I can’t.” “You can, why not? Are you a child? He’ll increase your money if you do it. We just want to have fun.”

The seriousness on her face, how she picked her words without care or a smile—I still remember. “Is this happening for real, or is it in my dreams?” I asked myself. She concluded, “Think about it, but we won’t force you. And I also promise you, you’ll have fun.”

I had been with them for only four months, and all had been perfect except for that. One late evening, they both came to my room. The man asked if I was ready, with a nonchalant smile as if what he was asking for was nothing. The woman only stared at me, wearing a see-through nightie that revealed everything. I said calmly, “I’m still thinking about it. Please give me a few days.”

I used the few days to work and connect with the kids while trying to avoid the lords of the house. When they paid me at the end of the month, I left their house one afternoon when they were both at work. I even cried. “Why won’t they allow me to be a worker and earn clean wages?”

I cried because of the money I was going to miss and the thought of how I was going to get such money again. She called when she didn’t see me in the house. I told her I’d left. “No, I’m not angry,” I told her. “I still love you two for the way you treated me. I just had to leave because I couldn’t do that.” She responded, “Oh, you didn’t have to leave because of that. We were not going to force you. Please come back. We need you. The kids too.”

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The man also called and even apologized. I thought about it for days, but my spirit told me to stay away from them. It simply didn’t feel right to go back again. I stopped picking up their calls, and they soon left me alone. How could good people have this evil about them? The bile is also attached to the bladder, I guess. The yin and yang story.

I still haven’t had any job that paid me better, but I don’t walk in on my masters doing their thing, so it’s all good. Someday, I will save enough and go back to school, and all this will be a thing of the past.

—Florence

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