NYU Black Renaissance Noire Fall 2015 Volume 15.2 | Page 16
“You are here to prostitute, this white
people will show you pepper because
you are fresh meat,” she kept laughing,
“and you are good money for Matron
and Prince in Nigeria, that is if Uyi
doesn’t kill you first because you have
to also pay her for rent and stay papers.”
She showed me all kinds of panties —
red, pink, blue, netted, transparent,
short and long. Her mini-skirts were
also very short and she had a big box
full of makeup. She threw all kinds
of leggings on the floor like a trader in
a second-hand clothes stall.
I was confused and did not know what
to make of Beauty’s information.
“Itohan, here I play with white men who
are old enough to be my grandfather.
I do anything they want, if they want
me to dance I dance, if they want me
to do myself, I do and if sometimes
they bring their dog…,” Beauty started
crying again, “Just to get money to pay
Matron and stop the nightmare from
Benin whenever I miss a single payment.
Have you been given your payment
plan yet?”
“So it is the same school lie Matron told
you in Benin, abi? Na God go punish
that old witch, I was doing well as a
nursing student at the University of
Benin when she lured me out…Ogun
will punish that woman forever and
ever.” Beauty put both her hands on
her shaven vagina and cursed Matron,
“This my toto will hunt that woman for
the rest of her life,” and she walked to
her room crying.
I followed Beauty to her room, silently.
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“See these, see these clothes? These are
what you will soon be wearing under
red light not the ones you brought
from home.”
“No.” Something was coiling around my
throat, like Matron’s stethoscope, a snake.
I couldn’t breathe and I held my throat.
“Well, that witch who calls herself Uyi
is playing the welcome game with you.
She will soon let you know that you
did not come to Italy to look at the
beaches but to go out and fuck crazy
old white men. You wait and see.”
“Beauty are you alright?” I asked when I
recovered from my choking, I could not
think of any other question to ask her.
“I received a call day before yesterday that
my mother died and I do not feel like
working. If na die, make I die. I have
been working for three years now and
yet my mother died like a chicken in
Benin. I wish it was Matron that died.”
I hugged Beauty and we started crying
together.
“It was the night of my mother’s wake
keeping that Matron offered to bring
me here.” I started rocking back and
forth while holding tight to Beauty,
two of us motherless babies.