Rama drew my attention away from the mirror. “One of the boys will bring your luggage soon, and then you can refresh yourself in the bathroom and get some re—”
She paused as if she just remembered something and suddenly looked stricken, but the look left her face so quickly that I wondered if I had imagined it.
For some reason, I could feel that Rama was reluctant to leave me. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she finally said softly before leaving me alone in my room. I was perplexed by her sudden change in demeanour. What was she sorry about? She had been very nice to me so far, and I thought that we could be friends. She reminded me of my mother, but in a different way. There was something warm about Rama that I really liked. I was surrounded by older women at home, but she was different.
Once my luggage arrived, I headed to the bathroom to freshen up. My stomach felt uncomfortable from the day’s nerves and the forced eating I had subjected myself to. I ended up throwing up into the WC before I could shower. I did feel much better afterward, and I used some of the sweet-smelling soap and perfume that my mother and aunt had packed for me for this night. They had also purchased a pretty ivory nightgown for my wedding night, so I wore that and lay on my big comfortable bed that was just for me.
I fell asleep from exhaustion a few minutes afterward and was yanked away from the gentle arms of sleep when I felt hands grabbing my small breasts. I was disoriented for a while until I realised that my husband was joining me in bed to consummate our marriage. It felt weird and uncomfortable to have such big, rough hands pulling and pawing all over me. I knew to expect it, but I hadn’t expected it to feel this unpleasant.
My first night as a married woman was painful. I had been warned that I would feel some pain when I was breached, but I hadn’t expected it to be that severe. Still, I didn’t cry. I knew better than to cry or complain. I had been raised better than that. A good wife lay there and endured it until it was over. So I endured the pawing, grabbing and penetration until it was over. I felt ashamed because I wanted it to end quickly, but it was not a nice experience, and I couldn’t help feeling that way.
Thankfully, my new husband didn’t stay after it was over. He nodded in satisfaction and got off the bed, pulling up his shorts.
“That was excellent, Nhyira. There is something satisfying about a young body that I had not considered before. I will teach you how to do more later.”
I didn’t answer. I was in pain, and I felt some confusion and distress about what had just happened. But I understood that it was just part of being a wife, so I just lay there in discomfort and pain, with nasty white fluid running down my legs. I felt so dirty and wanted to get up and have another bath, but I couldn’t move. I lay there until I finally fell asleep again and slipped into a dream where gentle hands washed me while someone cried quietly. I couldn’t tell if the gentle hands were from the person crying, but it felt safe, so I just relaxed and kept sleeping.
The next morning, I woke up feeling good, and none of the pain I had earlier remained. I must have gotten up and taken a shower anyway, because I felt refreshed and was in a different nightgown from what I had worn to bed.
Rama sent one of the maids to bring me to breakfast, and there, I met her children for the first time. There was an 8-year-old girl called Sophie and a 10-year-old boy called Ohene. I noticed that Rama just told the children my name and the fact that I would be staying with them in the house now. Sophie’s hair was pretty. I especially liked the beads that had been used to decorate the ends of the corn rows. I wondered who would keep my hair pretty now that my mother and aunt were not here to do it for me. I decided to ask Rama later. After the initial introductions were made, Rama took the kids away to their room.
For two weeks, I hardly came into contact with Nafisa, even though I wanted to. I had never seen anyone like her, and I found her fascinating. She never wore anything other than white. She was usually in the same simple, flowing white dress that I first saw her, with multiple beaded necklaces of different lengths and sizes being the only things that added colour to her attire. Each time I had seen her, her feet were bare. There was a large flower garden behind the house sectioned off with a wooden gate, which was her spot. I could see her through the louvres in my room, sitting on a bench and making beaded jewellery. Occasionally, Rama would go sit and talk to her while she worked. Once in a while, Rama’s kids would go over there too, but mostly, it was just her, singing while making jewellery. I didn’t understand the words to the song because they were in a language foreign to me, but she had such a lovely voice and it sounded beautiful.
Many times I was tempted to go to the garden to sit with her or just talk to her, but I didn’t have the nerve. I was curious about the beading she did and wanted to see how she made them up close. I also desperately wanted her to like me, but for some reason, she didn’t. Rama did, though. She reminded me of my mother, but in a different way. She exuded warmth that made me feel happy and safe.
Mr Anderson didn’t come to my room again after the first night, and I was grateful. I went to bed nervous, wondering if he would come back and do that husbandly thing with me. I didn’t want to, and I hoped he wouldn’t, but I knew that I would have no choice if he did. I was relieved when he announced at breakfast at the beginning of my third week there that he would be away at his minefields for two weeks. It was my duty as a wife, and I was ashamed that I wanted to escape it. What would my mother and aunt think? They had called me on the house phone a few times to ask about my new home and were excited to visit after I described it to them. My mother wondered if I thought Mr Anderson would be interested in making some renovations on the family house for them. I said I would ask him when he returned from the mines, and they were both overjoyed.
Three days later, I was having a nap after lunch when Nafisa’s voice woke me up. I moved over to the window to look through the louvres, and I saw her on her usual garden bench, singing as she made jewellery. I couldn’t resist anymore and climbed off the bed, finding my slippers and leaving my room. I hesitated at the wooden gate that led to the garden, but I found the courage to continue and walked through it just as Nafisa’s voice trailed off. She was so engrossed in the necklace she was making and hadn’t noticed my presence yet.
“You have a beautiful voice,” I said, breaking the silence.
She tensed, turning around to face me. She didn’t speak for a while, and neither did I. She just stared at me and then shook her head. “You shouldn’t be here.”
