There is a strong unity between what we do think and what we do. No action comes out without it not passing through the form of a thought. The opposite happens when these thoughts have become part of us that sometimes we carry them out without thinking. Another name for this is called reflex action.
For many times, I have been called to settle some issues between her and her madam. They used to complain that she was very stubborn and arrogant. Just a little mistake all her good deeds would be forgotten. When you see the marks on her body, you needed no know to tell you what she must have been passing through. Anything the madam found within her reach would be thrown at her whenever she got angry. As if I knew it would happen. I have cautioned her severally to mind the way she used to punish her and throw any nearest available object to her, all in the name of punishment done out of anger. But she gave deaf hear to my words. I saw it as a domestic violence but I was misunderstood.
One fateful morning, my phone rang. And who was calling? It was Uluoma’s mother. “I am finished, ” she said to me and hung up the phone. I tried calling but to no avail. Fifteen minutes later, I received a message from an unknown number that Uluoma was dead. I gazed at the message, tried reading it for the second time. Lo and behold, it was correct. There was no grammatical error in the simple sentence and I knew who Oluoma was. During the funeral, I couldn’t withheld my tears. This was a girl whom I loved so much. She used to work like a machine. Even machines sometimes undergo ware and breakdown, and are be maintained. But her story was different. She was the slave and messenger of every creatures in the house both small and great. She could be cooking, washing, sweeping, and cleaning all at the same time, while queens, princes and princesses would sit down comfortably in the parlour and bedroom entertaining themselves. Poverty led to all these some said. But I totally disagreed with them. “Edu nwam, see what life has done to me,” Uluoma’s mother said to me as I watched how Uluoma’s mistress or the so-called madam was greeting one of the mourners. “Why must it be a knife? Didn’t she know that she was holding a knife? Look for a cane and flog her as usual, and she will not repeat it again. But knife was the only thing she saw. Agnes you have killed not only my daughter but also her mother.” These were her words as she laid beside her daughter’s corps.
It was nothing but a reflex action. She never knew that what she was holding was a knife, and she threw it on her. The innocent knife landed on her stomach with it its sharp and pointed head. Before she could come back to her senses, a lifeless body was already on the floor of the kitchen in a pool of blood. Rest in peace Oluoma. Hope to see you someday, where we will depart no more. I love you.