Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 20

Honey digs out unknown palates from the land, air and sometimes water. Some river fishes are only seen when baits are casted. I was shocked at the number of people lined up at the office which was recruiting people for odd jobs abroad. I heard from other people there that some people came to sleep there overnight. Many were smartly dressed depicting their high social classes. I wondered what was fuelling the needs of people to leave our precious nation but it dawned on me that I was the last person to think of that. I, Adwoa Attaa Anobeng, who have almost forgotten my name, the filthy me who left my village in search of greener pastures in the city and was jumping at the first opportunity to travel out of the country. The need to survive, the need to make it, the need to be the talk of your own after succeeding, the need to earn the bragging rights of a been to, the need to have much dollars and pounds were all part of the factors. 

There were security guards who were making sure all of us were in line and they were all rude. Shouting on top of their voices and going as far as slapping people they thought were out of line and caning sellers who just wanted to make a decent living. I sat there the whole day but it was obvious I would not make it to the interview that day. So I left, hoping to return the next day after asking someone to keep my place and number for me. I was number 3,476 and there were more people after than before me. I left when number 16 was being interviewed at around 2pm.

I had an appointment booked for 2:30 at the Royal Hotel. Mimi had told me it was a very important person so I had to handle him with class. I wore a pretty deep blue short sleeved dress that went down to my knees, put on a sexy see through white brazier with matching panties and chose a Far Away perfume over 212 glam to impress. I had used Scion Fem Wash after using alum water to wash there; my there. I painted my nails red and chose a red lip stick with the best facial powder I had then. I looked and felt good in a blue black stiletto heels with a black handbag.

The Royal Hotel stood like a magnificent dream at the outskirt of Ejisu. Painted sea blue and white with great paintings depicting culture and class with its name carved in a golden metal, its security man was in his security room regulating the main gate. I zoomed in and parked appropriately and made my way to the presidential suit with the help of the receptionist who could not help looking at me. I was shocked to see the Minister of Health seated in one of the finest sofas I had ever seen, drinking Scotch on the rocks.

“Turn around”

I paused for three seconds, looked at the mannerless man and regained my sense of duty. After all, he owed me nothing but orders. Orders I needed to obey, so I turned around, heard him whistle, come closer, smacked me on my buttocks, threw an attire on me and asked me to go in there and change without even a second of rest. I changed into a deep green short skirt and top with a little hat which needed to be pinned into a small part of my big weave. 

“There is my air hostess!” His exclamation told me just what would happen. Role play sex. I was shocked at the furniture and decoration of the room. To say it was beautiful is an understatement. The bedroom had one of the queen size beds with such beautiful sheets and sophisticated shape that took my breath away. He pointed to a cart with food and asked that I served him like an air hostess on a plane? I was taken aback. I had never boarded a plane before and didn’t know how they served. He might have read it on my face but still expected me to make a mess of myself. I pushed the cart with food to him on the bed and asked him what he’d want. He told me coffee and I served it to him. After drinking, he threw the cup away and grabbed me onto the bed. It took me by surprise but I leaned in to his rough kiss. Then he shouted on top of his voice “You wench! Struggle with me! Try not to give in to me! I want you to fight me you wench!” I complied, putting up a fight because at that point, I realized he was not worth it. Seriously, I wanted him to stop so I could leave. I didn’t want to be treated badly by a national thief. 

I put up a fight but it was obviously not enough. He was stronger and had me at a vantage point. He slapped me many times, bit my breast, kicked me in the knees and threw me onto the woolen carpeted floor. I might have twisted my wrist but he did not care. He threw punches that targeted my joints, then tore my clothes off. Still wearing a t-shirt with a jeans shorts, he removed his little man from its hidden supporter and penetrated me while I cried. 

“Cry louder you wench! Cry louder bitch!” I didn’t know the meaning of “wench” then but the sound of it offended me more and enhanced my aching joints. He was a big man. His rude thrusts felt like insults on my injured pride. Pride, a thing needed to be discarded like rubbish in my chosen profession but a thing I couldn’t come to terms with throwing out. The first round ended with pains all over my body, bites around my neck and mouth and a bruised vagina but the brute was not finished with me. He lifted me like garbage and threw me on the merciful bed. He held my knees together and placed me in a doggy position with a heavy dog chain which I failed to see when I entered the room around my neck, penetrated into my painful golden hole with thrusts as painful as the digging of a pickaxe on a live body. It was a very horrible moment with the man rumoured to condone expired drugs importation for huge profits. A man rumoured to care less about the plight of patients in hospitals let alone the feelings of workers under his care. A man chosen into the Health Ministry solely based on his ill wealth and great connections. A man I thought had some conscience and so wanted to believe was a victim of rumour. Too bad that clearly had some truth.  He shattered my soul and body. When he was done with me, he spat on me, unlocked his dog chain and hid it in his bag, then called for someone, leaving me helpless on the bed. I tried to get up many times but could not. 

When the man, a 47 year old looking man, came in, Hon. Shaibu Attugubu ordered that he cleared the bed. It seemed he was used to doing what was asked him so he looked for my clothes in the bathroom after doing away with my ruined panties and brazier and put my deep blue dress on me. He sent me to the sofa in the huge hall, went back to probably finish cleaning and called a doctor or whoever he was, to attend to me. My wounds were attended to in the room close to the presidential suit, I was given some massage and an injection and slept off. When I woke up, I felt a bit better and could move. I called for water and was handed a glass full by the man who cleaned me up. He apologized to me and told me to never mention it to anyone as the minister was going through a tough time with many scandals and problems. Of course I knew it was a cover up but I didn’t want to be threatened now that I had no one to take my side when the law catches up with me. He gave me a sum which blew my mind away, a very huge sum of money and ordered someone to fill my tank and drive me back to wherever I wanted. I knew it was a way to check up on me so I asked the guy to drive me to Hotel Akom at Tech Junction and booked a room to sleep there over the night. 

My cell phone rang and I realized it was Inspector Amamoo. He told me he wanted to collect his gratitude. I was all sore and wanted to reschedule but he insisted. As a rule, I did one man per night and per day, unless on rare occasions. But I just had to invite him over. I put up a face and gave him “some” ride as his lazy bones laid there like a log, moaning like an uncouth housewife in a jealousy taunt sex close to the room of her rival. What was worse, I had to cope with his loud snoring the whole night till dawn. Something which compounded my growing headache. Still, I thought about ending prostitution by going abroad and leaving all the bad memories behind. I would go for my interview even if I am confined in a doomed prison, I thought to myself. 

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © Dec. 2017

Photo Credit: Google Pics

4 thoughts on “Ashawo Diaries (Tales of Adwoa Attaa) Chapter 20

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