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The Sweaty Housewife Routine…

Black woman
Black woman

It’s 10am. The bedroom lights are on. The cool air and the light hum from the air conditioner gives me hope. “The lights are still on? I guess today is my lucky day,” I say to myself.

At 10:05, the lights flicker, and the humming stops. I spoke too soon. Dumsor (blackout) was in full effect. I stretch, and lazily drag myself out of bed. Time for my quasi-housewife routine.

The lights go off every morning at 10 o’clock. That’s my cue to wake up, take a quick shower, get dressed and head out the house. I meet Thomas for lunch at 12pm. I always leave the house at 11:30am. I grab my big bottle of water from the fridge, and put on my oversized sunglasses. Like clockwork, I triple check to make sure all electrical gadgets are off. I lock the main door, and quadruple check to make sure all bolts and hinges are well fastened. I sometimes question if I have a mild form of OCD. I walk down 2 flights of stairs to the main gate.

I say good morning to the security lady at the gate, and she reluctantly responds with the weirdest smile I have ever seen. I wonder why she feels the need to smile when every muscle in her face refuses to comply. I smile back, and tell her to have a nice day. She doesn’t respond. I close the heavy, metal gate behind me.

I walk past the fat lady next door. To be honest, I have never seen her fully clothed. She always has a piece of African fabric wrapped around her chest, with the knot securely fastened between her breasts. Her black brassier straps dig in her fat shoulders. Her knitted night cap droops over her left eyelid. Dark pencil marks above her eyelids, quietly pay homage to her nonexistent brows.

The puffy skin above her eyelids show traces of where her eyebrows once grew before she did herself the disservice of shaving them off. She takes a quick glance at the big bottle of water in my hand, and shakes her head. I’m sure the over-sized sunglasses that cover half of my tiny, oval face annoy the daylight out of her. I can understand why. I smile, say hello, and keep walking.

The Harmattan sun is up, and shining with vengeance. Cool sweat trickles down my leg. I feel cute in my super skinny jeans and grey t-shirt. My sweaty legs and chaffing thighs beg to differ. Going back home to change into a skirt? Definitely a possibility but I refuse to make it an option. Sweaty legs or not, I have to meet Tom for lunch. I refuse to change my routine. I open my big bottle of water and take a big gulp. Sweat mixed with Mary Kay foundation rolls down my eyelashes, and slowly drips on my eyeballs. My eyes begin to burn. I gently dab sweat off my face, with hopes of not wiping off my beauty enhancer.

I usually hail decent looking cabs; confirm whether or not the car has air conditioning; tell the cab driver where I’m headed and try to decide on a fixed cab fare before I get in his car-not today. I hop in the first cab that pulls over. Who cares if it’s a rusty car, the size of a miniature matchbox? This sweaty, ‘make shift housewife’ just wants to hide from the scorching sun. The tetanus prone cab is her only refuge.

Submitted By: Nana Esi Takyiwaa Cudjoe



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