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| Photo by Sydney Latham on Unsplash |
I watch with practiced detachment as Chief Ololade starts to throw more than just harsh words around. First it was the heavy spoon he had been eating with. Next it was the plate, thankfully made of stainless steel, and its steaming content. Then it was the chair.
"You talk back to me in my own house?"
I immediately knew what came next and turned to warn Jimi. As it would turn out though, I really didn't need to. He was already out of his chair and on his way out of the house, the slump in his shoulder betraying the pain he was undoubtedly feeling. We hadn't even made it out of the living room when the blows started falling.
The guards were quick to respond, ushering me and the twelve year old Jimi out of the vicinity. I couldn't help but notice that the blows didn't stop falling though. They just closed the door. There seemed to be some protocol in place though, because Jimi didn't even utter a word as a guard led him upstairs to what I assumed was the child's room. Before they turned the stairs, I saw the guard hand Jimi a tablet to "play COD."
"Lesson is over for today. I am sure your employers would love you to have the week off too. See you back here on Monday, same time?"
The guard looked at me expectantly. There was something in his voice and it took me a while to realize that he had been asking me a question.
Do you plan to continue working here?
My reply came a little faster than I would have expected.
"Same time Monday."
