I’m a house girl. Yes, that’s what they call me. But my name is Franca. In all my born days, there’s never been joy. Though, no joy. I must put up asmile and act like all is OK . Most often my Oga forgets my name. When I hear him shout…where is this girl? That’s how I know he wants me for me for one errand or the other.Work work work is all I do.. I have no life. I am just a house help. My madam cannot do without me expect running her bath. I have always been loyal to her. But she treats me like a rag. I dare not look at her husband’s face when I greet him, for fear of been tagged a husband a snatcher. Madam’s children are treated like PRINCESSES. Although they are same age as me, I am their slave. They wear pretty clothes. I have no choice but to wait for their clothes to become rags before they are given me to wear.
Security man and driver think I am their automatic entitlement just because I’m a house girl. Most people are of the impression that housemaids sleep with driver or security guards. Now listen, being a house help does not imply I have no respect for my self. Life has not been rosy for me. Misfortune has dogged every step of mine since my born days, and if I had to choice in life i would never have chooseen the life that I have. Everyone treats me less than a human; but who am I to complain. People call you different names. I am the only one that knows who I really am. House helps are seen as thieves, husband snatches, witches, slaves girlfriends of divers and security men, the list goes on. But God knows who I am. This house can’t function without me, yet, no one values me. I am the first to wake up in wee hours of the morning and the last to go to bed. But no one ever asks how I’m coping. Life isn’t kind, I must say. I hate to wake another day. When domestic violence is mentioned no one considers me and my likes, whereas we are the most abused. Keep In Mind: I am human; i have feelings just like you. EDITED